9. Not Alone

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Rey finally learns why Kylo Ren killed his father.

The boy races down the hall of the ship, panicked, searching.

Where is it? Where is it? It has to be here somewhere.

He runs into the lounge, sliding under the hologame table.

No, not here. Maybe it got stuck somewhere in the seat?

The boy starts patting it all over, feeling for bumps. He crawls on top of it, sliding his hands all over the back, the top.

Nothing.

He crawls back down to the floor, searching around the base of the seat, the crevices behind it.

Nothing.

Now he's really starting to panic, chest tightening, heartbeat racing.

Where is it? Where can it be? His dad's gonna kill him. He's just gonna KILL him.

Suddenly, the boy stops cold.

He hears his dad coming down the hall.

He immediately scrambles up and around the corner, straight to the bunks.

He drops down, belly to the floor, and starts searching under the first bunk, hands sweeping wildly in the darkness.

But he finds nothing but a carpet of Wookie hair.

He shoots up and races to the other bunk, dropping to the floor and reaching under the bed.

Nothing.

How can this be? It has to be on this ship! It has to be SOMEWHERE!

His eyes begin to feel hot, tears pushing to the surface. He squeezes them shut, trying to fight them off, but it's no use. A few escape down his cheeks and trickle along his jaw.

He scrambles to his feet and grabs the sheets on top of the bed, dragging them all over his face to wipe away the tears. He sniffles, preparing to blow his nose.

"Hey, Ben?" His dad's voice fills the annals of the ship.

Uh oh.

"Ben?" He yells a little louder.

The boy flings the sheets back on the bed and begins walking down the hall, wiping his face with the backs of his hands. He shoves them in his pocket before he rounds the corner to the lounge, eyes downcast, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

His dad is with Chewie in front of the technical station, their backs to him. He catches sight of him out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, Spud," his dad starts absently, not really looking at him. "How'd you like it if we didn't go straight home, if we made a little stop along the way?" He turns slyly, eyes alight with mischief.

Suddenly, his face falls.

"Hey." He walks over swiftly, kneeling before him. "What's wrong?" He brings a hand to his cheek, thumb stroking the corner of his eye.

The boy takes a deep breath, fresh tears beginning to well. He tries to look anywhere but at his father, to the ceiling, down the hall, the technical station—

And that's when he sees it.

He gasps, immediately racing towards the gold gleaming in the light. He reaches up for the object dangling from above, his small fingers just barely able to grasp it. He pulls and the chain slides off the hook. He gazes down at the object in his palm.

His dad's lucky dice, the ones he used to win this ship.

"Yeah, good thing Chewie found that before the morning garbage dump, huh?"

The boy lets out an exhale, relieved to hear his dad sound more teasing than angry. He takes a deep breath, feeling his body relax.

He begins to turn but stops cold when something strange happens.

The dice disappear in his palm, crumbling into thin air like nothing.

He catches a breath, confused. He twists towards his dad and is startled to find his face right in front of him.

He doesn't look right. He's wrinkled. His hair is gray. He looks like an old man. And his face is ashen, white like a ghost. His expression… he never knew his dad could look that way.

Scared. Shocked.

Suddenly, he looks down and is surprised to find he's no longer a boy but a man. A man holding a red lightsaber, long fiery blade running straight through—

His heart stops.

No. This can't be.

His dad reaches out to touch his face, just like he did only a minute ago.

No. This can't be real. This can't be what happens.

His eyes are pained, distant, yet… full of love.

No, this isn't me. This can't be me.

His dad begins slipping away. He tries to grab him but he's already falling down, disappearing into the smoky depths below.

Dad, NOOOOO!

Kylo Ren gasps, eyes flying open.

His breath is labored, his body slick with sweat. He's lying flat on his back on a mattress, covered by nothing but a thin pair of pants.

He fights for air but try as he might, he can't get enough. Each breath is shallow, barely entering his lungs.

He sits up and swings his legs over the bed, the lights fading in.

Kylo crosses his arms, clutching himself tightly, fighting to breathe. He's trembling, bordering on convulsing. He tenses, trying to force his body still but it only seems to make it worse.

Now he's feeling queasy. A strange kind of tingle creeps up from his stomach into his throat, arriving as a tangy, metallic taste seeping into his mouth. His throat tightens and he starts to heave.

He shoots up and stumbles to the washing station. He grips the edges, bringing his head down over it, preparing for a stream of vomit.

But instead he retches, just a few dribbles of spit coming out.

He crumbles to the floor, still trembling. He scoots to the wall, resting his back against it. He plants his feet wide and leans forward between his legs, arms crossed tightly.

He closes his eyes, concentrating on the Force within, trying to bring himself into a meditative state.

But all he sees is the look on his father's face when he ran his lightsaber through his body.

His eyes snap open. He tries to suck in a breath, starving for air.

He needs to breathe. Really breathe.

And he needs to get some sleep. He only slept three hours last night. Maybe less. If he has another night like that, he'll be nothing but a raw nerve tomorrow, a half-dead, brain-weary raw nerve.

He needs to get control of himself. Calm down.

Breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

The trembles begin to subside, but he still can't get air all the way into his lungs. His face drips with sweat, his body hot.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

He begins to loosen his hold on himself, uncrossing his arms. He tries to concentrate on inhales and exhales, staring at the floor.

Finally, his breathing begins to even.

He manages to take in one deep, satisfying inhale.

Suddenly he stops, holding it in.

Warmth gently rises in his core.

Oh no.

The warmth grows, stretching into his limbs.

Not now. Please not now.

It surges through him, strong yet calm.

No. Any time but now.

Then it vanishes as quickly as it came.

He lets out his breath slowly.

He doesn't move and doesn't look up. But he knows she's there. Watching him.

The room is silent for a minute. Silent except for the low hum of the ship all around.

At first, he senses irritation, as though she were annoyed with the bond for interrupting her. But her emotions quickly change. Now he senses… concern?

"You look terrible," Rey declares from across the room.

Kylo grunts, covering his eyes with a palm.

"Thanks, Rey." He shakes his head. "That's exactly what I needed to hear right now."

"No, I mean…" she sputters. "I just meant you don't look well. Are you sick?" She starts towards him.

"Stay where you are!" He shoots out a hand.

She stops, eyes wide.

"Please," he follows more calmly.

She gives a nod, then backs away, leaning against the wall just opposite to him.

He sits up a little, looking to right, then left, anywhere but at her.

"You must be sick."

"I'm not sick." He twitches, irritated.

"You're covered in sweat, like you have a fever."

"I'm not sick." He stares at the floor.

"Your hair is soaked and you're sitting next to the washing station. Did you throw up?"

"No." He grits his teeth.

"Well, something happened, clearly. What was it?"

"None of your business." He snaps up.

Rey raises her eyebrows but says nothing.

He looks away, taking a breath.

He hears Rey slide down the wall to take a seat on the floor. She shifts, letting out a sigh. He can feel her eyes on him, sense her curiosity, her concern.

A minute passes. He shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Is it night here?" She finally breaks the silence.

"It's always night in space, Rey." He keeps his eyes on the floor.

She grunts.

"You know what I mean. You should be sleeping, shouldn't you?"

He doesn't respond. He just continues looking down.

"Did you…" She starts hesitantly, "have a nightmare?"

He doesn't look up, trying to clear his mind.

A few seconds pass.

"About…" She searches for what to say next. "Snoke?"

No answer. He doesn't even move.

"One of Snoke's trials?"

Nothing.

"General Hux?"

He snorts without meaning to.

Several seconds pass.

"Your father?"

His blood runs cold. His heart skips a beat.

And she knows… without him saying anything. He felt the realization wash over her.

More silence. A long one this time, one that seems to stretch on forever.

"Do you…" Rey sounds hesitant. "Want to talk about it?"

"No." He snaps up. "Why the hell would I do that?"

Rey rolls her eyes.

She's seated cross-legged, leaning against the wall, hands resting in her lap.

"Because…" She sits up. "Sometimes it's good to talk to people about things, especially…" She pauses a moment. "Especially troubling things."

"That's ridiculous." He shudders, looking away.

"No, it isn't," she insists. "It's actually pretty well established that it's a good thing."

"Oh yeah?" He snipes. "And what would you know about that, living alone in a desert wasteland your whole life?"

She leans forward, eyes intense.

"I'm learning." She draws out the word. "I'm part of a community now. I actually have friends, talk to people, tell them things."

Kylo looks away.

"It's taking time," she continues. "But I'm learning that it's not a weakness to share things with people. Just the opposite. It takes a lot of strength to be vulnerable with someone."

He tenses.

Silence.

Then he hears her shift on the floor. A few more seconds go by.

"Do you remember," she starts tentatively. "When you said you think the bond brings us together when we're feeling vulnerable?"

He doesn't answer. He just crosses his arms.

"Well, I've been thinking about it," she continues despite his ignoring her. "And I'm starting to get the feeling that's the point."

"Of what?"

"The bond."

He furrows his eyebrows.

"What do you mean?" He flits his head, finally looking at her.

She's sitting with one leg curled under her, the other tucked into her chest, an arm wrapped around her shin.

"I mean the point is to see each other's vulnerabilities." Her eyes are clear and confident.

"Rey, no." He shakes his head. "That doesn't make any sense."

"What do you mean it doesn't make sense?" Rey sits up. "It's literally the only pattern we can find so far."

"But why?" He probes. "What would be the point of that?"

"I don't know why." She sounds annoyed. "I can't know that until I see more, find out. But I do know that the bond brought me here tonight because you need to talk about your father." She juts her chin up.

At this, he shoots to his feet, turning his back to her. He grabs a towel from the washing station, starting to wipe his face, his neck, body.

He hears her stand behind him. She waits for a few seconds. Then she steps forward.

"Ben—"

"No!" He whips around. "No!" He gestures emphatically. "I'm not talking about that, with you or anyone else."

He walks away before she can respond, heading to the closet. He hears her take in a breath behind him.

"Ben, I think you need to."

"No, I don't," he answers reflexively. He grabs an undershirt and begins pulling it on.

"Yes, you do." She sounds annoyingly overconfident, as always.

"No, I don't," he bites. He finishes putting on the shirt but doesn't turn around.

"I really think you do."

"NO, I DON'T!" He rages at her and she jumps back, frightened. "I don't need to talk to ANYONE about ANYTHING." He's right in front of her now, bearing over her.

"And even if I did, I wouldn't talk to a nobody like you. SO, SHUT UP ABOUT IT!" He yells this so loud she tenses, scrunching her shoulders as though she's bracing for an impact.

He whips around and strides to the end of the room. He stands, crossing his arms, his back to her.

At first, he doesn't hear anything. The room is quiet.

Then, footsteps walk away from him to the opposite wall. It sounds like she settles on the floor. He imagines her back is to him.

He can't see her, and he can't hear her. Yet somehow…

He knows she's crying. Softly.

He feels a twist in his heart.

No.

He has no reason to feel guilty. She's the one trying to stick her nose where it doesn't belong.

A long silence passes. He begins fiddling in his closet, not for any particular reason, just to do something.

Why is she the one who's upset? He should be upset. She's the one pressing him to talk about something he clearly doesn't want to talk about.

He shifts through a few shirts.

He told her he didn't want to talk about it. Several times. But she kept pushing him. She forced him to yell at her. It's her own fault.

He shifts through more items, not really paying attention. He tries to focus on his anger, his frustration…

But they're quickly melting away, making room for other emotions.

Like guilt. And regret.

He sighs, dropping his arms. He hangs his head for a moment before crossing his arms, annoyed with himself. His jaw twitches.

Then suddenly, a thought occurs to him.

No… that's a bad idea. A terrible idea, actually.

He turns to walk to the chair at his desk. He glances at her on the way.

She's sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing the wall, head bowed.

He takes a seat, staring forward and not at her.

He clenches and unclenches his fists, fighting an internal battle.

Still a bad idea. So many things could go wrong.

He sucks in a breath, frustrated. With himself. With Rey. With the bond. With the whole damn situation.

It's definitely a bad idea. Definitely.

But… he's going to do it anyway.

He lets out a long exhale. He unclenches his fists, wiggling his fingers, trying to loosen his muscles.

"Rey." He turns towards her.

She doesn't respond. She doesn't even react.

"Do you remember…" He purses his lips "When you told me about that trader, the one who found a species where everyone was telepathically connected?"

Still nothing.

He sighs.

"Do you remember what you said you liked about that idea?"

She raises her head.

"You said…" He struggles to continue. "You said you liked it because other people could just know things about you, things…" He pauses. "Things too hard to say out loud."

At this, she swings around, catching his meaning. She starts to rise.

"Ah, ah, ah." He extends a hand, index finger lifted. "There are conditions."

She narrows her eyes.

He turns fully face her, resting his forearm on the desk.

She looks at him expectantly.

"First condition," he begins in an authoritative tone. "Stay on task. I don't want you rifling around my head looking for other things. Just focus on… what we agreed to focus on."

She nods, assenting to this easily.

"Second condition." He looks briefly down and back up. "You get one minute."

"Wha—"

"No negotiating," he cuts her off. "You either agree to the conditions or you don't."

She widens her eyes, clearly frustrated. She looks to the ceiling, shaking her head.

"Fine," she says begrudgingly. She starts to get up.

"Third condition."

She halts, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. She settles back on the floor, resting her hands in her lap.

Kylo straightens, eyes on hers.

"At some point in the future, I don't know when, I'm going to ask you for a favor. I don't even know what it is yet. But when the time comes…" He leans forward. "You have to say yes."

She slides her jaw to the side, suspicious. She juts her chin up, eyes like slits.

"Will the favor be… comparable?" She tilts her head.

"Of course." He shrugs as though this is a given.

Her eyes linger on his for a moment. Finally, she nods.

"Fine." She starts to rise.

"Fourth condition."

"Ben!" She drops to the floor, hands flying up. "This is getting ridiculous."

"No talking about it afterwards." He ignores her protest.

"What!?" She cries out. "But that's the whole point!"

"No," he insists. "The whole point is to share something without having to talk about it. And when I say I don't want to talk about it, I don't just mean tonight. I mean ever. I don't want you to ever bring this up again in any context."

She widens her eyes in disbelief.

"Rey." There's a hint of warning in his voice. "These are the conditions. Do you accept them or not?"

She leans against the wall, crossing her arms. She sulks for a moment, jaw hardened.

"Yes." She's clearly resentful.

"Ok," he says evenly.

Then, he rises.

She doesn't join him at first. She just stares down, irritated by the terms of the deal.

But her irritation is soon replaced by a kind of excitement.

She rises to her knees and stands, looking like she lost the battle but won the war.

She's been dying to know how he feels about his father, about… what he did. Part of him can't believe he's finally giving in.

Maybe he shouldn't do this…

She looks up at him, arms at her sides, intensely curious. Her eyes soften as she walks towards him.

His heartbeat quickens. He's already feeling nervous, a churning in his gut.

She stops just in front of him, eyes clear and solemn.

They stare at each other for a few seconds. Then he feels her slip into his mind, invisible fingers creeping into his thoughts.

"Wait!" He sits down, covering his eyes. "Never mind. I can't do this."

Rey sighs.

"Ben, no." She tugs at his arm. "Come on. This was your idea, and it will only take a minute. All you have to do is just stand there and think. That's all. And we won't speak of it afterwards, just like we agreed."

He pushes out an exhale. He uncovers his eyes, rising slowly.

"That's it," Rey encourages him.

He crosses his arms, looking right, then left, anywhere but her.

"Why don't you just close your eyes." She reaches up and covers his eyes with a palm. "Just breathe and relax."

He does as she suggests, taking a deep inhale.

But he can't relax. His body feels unsettled, as though the blood in his veins were nervous energy coursing through him, putting him on edge.

He feels Rey's palm slip from his face. He senses her just in front of him, senses her anticipation.

Then he feels it again— the invisible fingers creeping into his mind.

He instantly holds his breath. He feels open, exposed, like a body without skin.

He's not sure what to do, what to think.

So, he just starts remembering the dream, the nightmare. He runs through the scenes, the feelings in his mind.

He's a boy, racing through the Falcon, searching desperately for his father's lucky pair of dice. He looks everywhere but he can't find them. He starts to cry, thinking about how angry his dad will be when he finds out.

He hears his name being called from the lounge. He walks in. His father sees him, kneels before him, strokes his face. Then finally he sees the dice hanging just next to the technical station. He grabs them; he's relieved to have found them, more relieved that his dad isn't angry with him.

Then the dice disappear in his palm. He turns around.

And he's there all over again. That moment on Starkiller.

The nightmares start differently. Sometimes it's the first time his dad took him on a speeder. Sometimes it's at the watering hole on Kashyyyk. Sometimes it's just playing games on the Falcon.

But they always end in exactly the same place and exactly the same way.

The worst part about it is that he's a boy the entire time. He sees like a boy, feels like a boy, thinks like a boy. All the way up until the very end.

That's the horror of it. Being a boy in that moment, a boy who realizes that one day he will grow up… and kill his own father. The man who just forgave him for losing his lucky dice... the man who just punched the lights out of merchant for striking his son, … the man who just held him close when he was scared in a thunderstorm… he will grow up to run a lightsaber through his body.

Why did he kill his father?

He's asked himself that question a million times.

Why did he kill his father?

There's only one answer.

For Snoke, of course. To prove his worth, his commitment. To prove that he would be a stronger, better Vader, one who didn't fall prey to sentiment at the crucial moment.

Why else would he kill his own father? Why else would he have done any one of a thousand other things he's ashamed of over the past decade?

Snoke never told him he wanted him to kill his father. But he didn't have to. He felt it. He felt what he now he recognizes as a twisted sort of jealousy.

Because Snoke knew. He knew that he was not Kylo Ren's true master. Not as long as Han Solo was alive.

Because he sensed that deep down, there was still a part of his apprentice… still that boy Ben Solo… the boy who wanted to be his father. Just be him.

Be free like him. Be courageous like him. Be charismatic like him. Be infuriating and likable at the same. Be a rascal. Be a hero.

And Snoke knew it.

Kylo tried to hide it from him, tried to kill it. But that part of him that wanted to be his father… it just wouldn't die. No matter what he did.

So, the moment finally came. Starkiller. The walkway. He's run through the scene so many times.

He knew this was it. It would be now or never.

"Come home. We miss you."

He almost did. In those seconds, those long seconds, there was a war in his mind. He saw himself doing what he knew he had to do.

And he saw himself giving it up right then and there. Giving his father the lightsaber. Embracing him. Leaving with him, the Falcon just a flash of light in the sky, bursting away from Starkiller, from his whole adult life as though it had just been a bad dream.

But there's no way he could have done that.

No. Way.

He'd come too far. Survived too much. Sacrificed too much. Changed too much. He wasn't Ben Solo anymore. He couldn't let everything he'd worked for, everything he'd built, everything he'd done be all for nothing.

So, he switched on the saber, almost without thinking.

And for the first few seconds… It felt good. Like he'd finally done it, like he'd truly become Kylo Ren.

But then the shock in his father's eyes waned. He reached out to touch his face, just like he'd done so many times before, and he looked at him with… love. Almost as though he were happy to see his son's face before he died.

And just for a moment, just for a few fleeting seconds, he was a boy again, a boy looking into his dying father's eyes… knowing that he was the one who killed him.

The horror of that moment has lingered ever since, a tooth of remorse gnawing at the back of his mind. It manifests in nightmares where the moment is interwoven with some of his most tender childhood memories.

He used to have them every night. Now it only happens every few days or so. But no matter how many times he has the nightmares, each one feels like the very first time.

He often lies awake at night afterwards. Thinking. Playing with different scenarios in his mind, the other choices he could have made. But mostly he thinks about what he would tell his father if he could.

That he was right.

Snoke was just using him for his power. He feared him, just as Skywalker had. And just like Skywalker, he would try to kill him. Kylo tried to deny it, tried to avoid the truth right in front of him.

And he let himself be deceived.

Snoke had taught him to think of his father as weak and foolish, a slave to sentiment. And for a time, he believed that. But now, after everything that's happened, he sees that while his father did have many weaknesses, he was strong where it counted, strong in a way that he still isn't.

He knew exactly who he was. Never doubted it, never fought it, never apologized for it. He was a rogue, a smuggler. Every inch his own man.

Until he killed him. Ran him through with his saber. Snuffed out the light.

And now he has to live with that. He killed the man he admired most, the first man he ever wanted to be… for what turned out to be another failed master. Another cutting betrayal.

Suddenly, it occurs to Kylo that it has been far longer than a minute.

"Get out." He sucks in a breath. "Get out."

He feels Rey withdraw from his mind, the tendrils of her presence creeping away.

He exhales nervously, making a point to keep his eyes closed. He's too scared to open them. He can't really feel much from Rey right now except for a kind of numbness. He's not sure what it means.

In an instant, several scenarios play in his mind.

Her eyes are wide with shock and horror.

Or she doesn't look at him at all, arms crossed, jaw set, utterly dumbfounded.

Or she calls him a monster.

He opens his eyes, no longer able to hold himself in suspense.

Rey's face is in her palms. She's bowing her body so he can't quite see her. Then he notices her shoulders heaving.

She's crying.

He freezes, not sure what to do. He's doesn't know what this means either.

Rey cries quietly for a few seconds, her face buried in her hands.

Then suddenly, she lunges forward and embraces him, sobbing into his chest.

At first, he's stunned. His arms hang awkwardly at his sides. He didn't expect this. He's not sure how to react to it.

But he soon does what feels natural to him. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close, cupping the back of her head with a hand. She continues to sob, just melting into him.

He thought for sure she would feel angry. Or disgusted. Or at the very least, disappointed.

But what he feels in her right now… it's the strangest thing. It's like feeling his own emotions through the lens of someone else's.

But not just anyone.

Someone who cares about him. Someone who feels compassion for him.

Someone who didn't enter his mind to judge or blame or criticize but to understand. Just understand.

And now she's giving herself over to everything she experienced, feeling it for herself. The horror. The guilt. The pain. She's sharing it with him, sharing the aftermath of the worst mistake of his life.

He tightens his hold, burying his lips in her hair. She feels so small and so warm. She fits him perfectly, as if she were made for him.

He loses himself in the embrace, in her compassion for him. He loses himself in the comfort that for once, this isn't just his burden to bear. The effect of this weight being lifted feels like a miracle, a gift he doesn't deserve.

But he revels in it nonetheless.

Without quite realizing it, he begins to rock her gently, adjusting his arms wrapped around her, feeling the slender curves of her body. He breathes deeply, breathing in her scent, breathing in the moment.

Then a second later it's over, her warm body disappearing into thin air.

Kylo finds himself literally stepping forward, reaching out, as though he could catch her before the bond takes her away.

But it's no use. She's already gone.

He stands there, arms as his side, shoulders hunched, looking down like he's lost. He struggles to adjust to the contrast, the abrupt change from feeling at one with another person to being utterly alone.

For a minute, he feels hollow. He walks numbly to his bed, lowering on the edge of it, not quite aware of his own movements. His mind is consumed by what just happened, the intensity of the experience, being the recipient of such deep empathy. He sits dazed, staring at nothing.

Then, out of nowhere, he feels it wash over him in a crushing wave. It's certainly not the first time, but he's never felt it like this before. So all-consuming… a deep, primal ache.

He wants her. He just wants her, in every way he could possibly have her.

He wants her heart, her mind, her body, her scent, her intimacy, her passion, her everything.

He closes his eyes, clenching his fists.

Then he shoots to his feet, charging to his closet. He lifts his shirt up and overhead, starting to change clothes.

He needs to go to the training room. He needs to hit something.

The sentry droids are still there from the afternoon. He'll train for an hour, wear himself out to the brink of exhaustion, then come back and just pass out, fall into a deep, dreamless slumber.

He can't stay in this room right now, alone with his thoughts, nothing to do but mull over mistakes, regrets, and wanting things he can't have.

Once he changes, he strides to the door and slaps a panel. He charges into hall, looking around.

It's mostly empty, quiet except for a few operators and a single MSE droid making its way along its route.

He walks swiftly, trying to keep his mind focused on the task ahead.

But it wanders in spite of himself.

He hates to admit it but…

Rey was right.

It felt good share that with someone, with her. He can't put his finger on why...

It doesn't change what he did. It won't banish the nightmares, the guilt or the regret.

But he knows that the next time he has a nightmare… or the next time he lies awake at night thinking about what he did and why... He'll think about her. He'll think about holding her in his arms, feeling his own emotions through her compassion for him.

And he'll know that out there, somewhere in the galaxy, is someone who understands exactly what he's feeling in that moment.

He'll know that he's not alone.