41. Unforgiven

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Kylo Ren wrestles with a deep-seated need.

Kylo grips the edges of the washing station, retching. His throat's on fire, bile stinging and burning its way up.

He gasps for air the moment the retching stops, metallic bitterness searing his tongue. He spits, weak and shaking, barely holding himself up. He feels his legs start give out, and he lets himself crumple to the floor, sweaty hands slipping from the washing station. He crawls to the wall, then turns to slump against it, legs splayed in front of him.

He wraps his arms across his chest, trying to control the shaking. He's only wearing a thin pair of pants, fabric drenched and sticking to his skin. Cold sweat drips from his hair, his face, and he starts to lift a palm to wipe his eyes but stops, thinking better of it.

No. He needs to keep his eyes open at all costs.

He fixes on a red light across the room, soft flashing from the console above his desk.

But it's no use. Even with his eyes open, the images play like a holo in his mind.

Kylo sees him crouching, that twinkling mischief as he brings his hand from behind his back. He's trying not to smile but he can't help it, his lips turning up in spite of himself. He uncurls his fingers slowly.

There's a small stone in the center of his palm. It looks black at first, but when it catches the light, there's a sheen to it.

"Go on." He nods to the stone. "Take it."

Small fingers reach out, lifting it with a thumb and index finger. It's a deep, silvery purple, yet somehow transparent, a starry, night sky inside of it…

"That's the rarest substance in the galaxy, kid. Even rarer than kyber." There's pride in his voice. "Most don't even get so see starstone, much less have a piece of their own. It's precious…" He leans closer. "Like you."

Kylo exhales weakly. He brings a hand to his cheek, wiping away wetness.

He hates that one. Hates it.

Out of all the versions of the nightmare, that's the one he dreads the most. There's something about his father's voice at the end, so quiet and tender, that makes the shift to Starkiller all the more cutting.

Kylo shivers, staring intently at the red light, trying to force his mind elsewhere.

He thinks about Sylas, pictures his boyish face. He thinks about how much he's learning, growing, the leader he could become someday. For a split second, he swells with pride.

But the feeling just brings the memory back, the look in his father's eyes when he gave him the starstone.

Kylo sucks in a breath.

He shifts to his cadets now, running through them one by one, saying their names in his head. He thinks about the way he feels when he trains with them, the sense of loyalty and brotherhood, the way they look to him for guidance, for confidence.

But that just brings his father's face back, the joy in his heart when he told him he was precious.

Kylo growls, sitting up angrily.

There must be something he can think about that won't lead back to the nightmare.

His mind drifts to its default, the place it always goes when he's not forcing it elsewhere.

Rey.

Kylo slumps against the wall.

Normally, it's such a comfort to think of her, to rebuild her features, from the curve of her chin to the softness in her eyes.

But not anymore.

Now she's the doorway to an avalanche of horrors, and once it's opened, there's no stopping it.

Because when he thinks about Rey, he thinks about the last time he saw her. He thinks about her lying, whispering secrets to his mother even after she promised she wouldn't. Then, he thinks about all the things she's likely told her…

And that's when it starts, the involuntary montage, a mixture of memories and imagined conversations.

His mother smiling down at him as they walk into the Senate. The way she nods when she listens, brown eyes sharp. How she used to ruffle his hair and wink at him. Her voice when she's angry, the way it deepens like thunder.

He sees her leaning forward, tilting her head as she listens to Rey. She looks young in his mind, though he knows she's not. Her hair is probably gray, face wrinkled like his father's, but he can only picture her as she was the last time he saw her.

She's tilting her chin up as Rey tells her about his problems with Hux. She's darkening when Rey tells her about the Knights, about J'ia. She shakes her head when Rey tells her about Apatros, how he only helped her after she gave him an ultimatum. Her throat tightens when Rey tells her about his nightmares, her eyes pained as she's reminded of everything she's lost, everything he took from her.

And with the images come the emotions— the guilt, the shame, the yearning.

And the paranoia.

He feels her. He feels his mother watching him. Before, he was hidden, the traces of his former self concealed behind a carefully cultivated image.

But now he's out in the open, exposed.

She knows. She knows all of it. Now she can see him…

She can see his insecurity. She can see his fear. She can see his longing. She can see everything.

He swears he actually feels her thinking about him. He's always aware of it, like she's right behind him, looking over his shoulder.

She's even in his dreams. She's in the nightmare now, her voice quiet and steady. He hears it at the very end, at the height of the horror, that final moment between his father falling from the bridge and his eyes flying open.

It's just a whisper, the last thing she ever said to him.

You'll always be my boy.

He shudders at the memory. He hears the words every night— every damn night.

Before, he'd only been having the nightmares once a week, but after finding out about his mother, he's having them multiple times a night. As hard as his days are, he dreads the nights, what waits for him when he closes his eyes…

And this couldn't be happening at a worse time. With the way things are now— the chaos, the fighting, the attempts to undermine his authority— he needs to be alert, vigilant.

Instead, he's barely able to function. He's hardly aware of himself as he stumbles half-wake through meetings, inspections, reports… More and more, he can't concentrate, voices running together as his lids drift over his eyes.

He's unraveling. He can feel it in his mind, his body. He's unraveling and the First Order is too, his grip on the organization loosening. There was a time when he was always thinking about the future, his ambitions, his plans. But now he's trapped in the present, forced to take it day by day, trying to make sure there'll be a future.

Things have settled down somewhat, or as much as they can in this madness. After he banished DeVries and Meric on remote assignments, the generals have fallen in line. Hux's lap dogs haven't tried to cross him again, their fear of demotion outweighing their loyalty.

He's keeping a very close eye on them though, all of the generals. And he's watching Hux, of course. The man doesn't sneeze without him knowing about it. He's watching the Knights too, carefully reviewing their reports, their movements. After J'ia, he changed the protocol so he'll be notified the instant any of them tamper with their trackers.

For a few days, he allowed himself to hope, to believe the rumors after Bandomeer would truly die away, or at least reduce to cheap entertainment for the masses.

But then reports from their allies started to filter in, whispers of Resistance members claiming the rumors are true. That inflamed the tension— the fights, the gossip, the battle lines etching deeper. Those on Hux's side see it as a confirmation, but those on his think the Resistance is taking advantage of the opportunity, trying to weaken his authority so the First Order is vulnerable to attack. It would certainly be an effective strategy…

Kylo sighs, covering his eyes with a palm.

It instantly flashes, his father's face when he first turned on the saber.

Kylo whips his hand away, searching for the red flashing, trying to focus on it and only it.

But he stills sees his father's face. It's softer now, the shock waning, replaced by tenderness. He lifts a hand to his cheek, rough callouses grazing his skin. He falls away and Kylo reaches for him, but he's already disappearing into the smoke…

You'll always be my boy.

Kylo squeezes his eyes shut, hot pressure pushing against his lids.

It's no use. There's no fighting it, no escaping the pain, the horror.

And why should he? Why should he be able to escape it?

He deserves this. It's his punishment for what he's done. He must endure it, give himself over to the agony.

He hangs his head.

But the next instant, he snaps up.

Oh no.

He opens his eyes and brings a hand to his stomach, still cold with sweat.

No, no, no, no, no…

Warmth rises gently in his core.

Not now.

It stretches to chest and into his limbs.

Please, not now. Any time but now.

The warmth fills him like lifeblood, heating him from the inside out.

He curls his knees up, pressing back against the wall.

The warmth disappears as quickly as it came.

Kylo stiffens, eyes fixed down. The room is dead silent, the air cold and empty. It's like he's still alone, huddled on the floor by the washing station.

But he knows he's not.

She must be just as frozen as he is. If he concentrates, he can faintly hear her breath, but that's it. She not moving, not speaking, nothing.

He doesn't do anything either. The muscles of his back are stiff, screaming for relief, but he doesn't budge.

The seconds crawl like hours, each one a labor of stillness. No matter how much his eyes yearn to drift up, he keeps them fixed on the floor.

Finally, he hears movement. She's shifting, her clothes rustling softly. She takes a step forward.

He tenses, and she stops.

Silence.

She takes another step.

Then another.

Then another.

She moves cautiously, her progress slow. He doesn't look up, but he hears her approaching, his heart thumping the closer she gets.

Finally, she stops a foot in front of him. He can see her boots, worn and brown, traces of mud on the edges. She stands for a moment, watching him.

Then, she crouches.

He tucks his chin, keeping his eyes down. He's so focused on the blackness of the floor he can hardly see her.

But he senses her emotions, compassion and love weighing on his heart, filling it with that sweet pain.

She shifts and a second later he sees her hand slide towards him, palm up.

"Come on," she says softly.

His throat tightens. He doesn't move. Her hand rests beside him, so close he can see the lines of her palm.

"Come on," she says again.

He lets out an exhale, going slack against the wall. He stares at her hand for a moment.

Then, he takes it.

He rises but doesn't look at her, keeping his eyes down. She quickly disappears behind him, turning him to the bed and pressing gently at his back. He stumbles to the mattress, dazed, crawling onto it when they get there. He immediately turns to the wall, scooting in.

He hears her fumble with something, rustling followed by a soft thud, then another. He realizes she's taking off her shoes.

Then, the mattress sinks behind him, and there's warmth at his back. Her breath tickles his neck, her body curling into his as she slips one arm under him and another around him, her hand at his stomach. He instinctively takes it into his, bringing it to his chest.

Then, they just lie there, silent. She's pressed close, so close he can feel the rising and falling of her breath. Soon, they synchronize, taking their inhales and exhales together. He closes his eyes, concentrating on the rhythm, the steadiness.

She tightens her hold, nuzzling his neck. He can feel her lips on his skin…

He grunts without meaning to.

Out of all the ways he imagined their next meeting, this is the last thing he expected to happen.

He'd pictured all kinds of scenarios, toying with them in his mind. He imagined picking up the fight exactly where they left off, the audacity of her anger at him about J'ia when she's been sneaking behind his back this whole time.

But the winning scene was the one where he ignores her completely. He decided on that days ago.

She'd appear and he'd keep his back to her. She'd come up to him, apologizing, try to touch him and he'd walk away like he didn't know she was there. She'd grow increasingly frustrated, even hurt, but he'd never yield, wearing her down with his coldness. Finally, she'd give up, just sit in some corner and sulk until the connection ended. He imagined it a thousand times with great satisfaction.

And now here he is, curled up in bed with her, her hand tucked in his chest.

The strange thing is nothing's changed. He's still furious. He's getting angry just thinking about it, how she looked him in the eye and promised him then almost immediately broke her word.

And yet, even as he curses her, he's so damn happy to feel her at his back, the warmth of her body enveloping him. It's like he's been out in the cold for days, and now he's finally back home. It doesn't make a damn bit of sense…

How is this possible? How can he be so angry with her yet lost in the comfort of her at the same time? It defies all logic, the way he just melts into her, the way he loves her even when he feels so betrayed. This shouldn't be happening.

Then again, none of it should be happening— the bond, them, the Supreme Leader of the First Order in bed with a leader of the Resistance sworn to destroy him. The bizarreness of it all has become so much more apparent after Bandomeer.

Yet, in spite of everything, it still feels right. He's had so many doubts lately, the future he pictured for him and Rey crumbling before his eyes, but now that she's here, he still feels confident in this, their destiny.

They're meant to be together. He's not sure how anymore, but they are.

It's good to feel certain about something. With everything in shambles, it's good to know that if they can just survive, no matter what happens, this will still be here when the dust settles.

He lets out a sigh, squeezing her hand.

She kisses his neck, tightening her arms around him.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

He stiffens. He hears her gulp behind him.

"I—" She struggles to find her words. "I could give you excuses, tell you I needed someone to talk to, someone who would understand, who would keep me from feeling lost but…" She takes a breath. "It wouldn't make what I did any less wrong. All I can say is—" Her voice breaks. "I'm sorry, Ben. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I betrayed your trust. I'm sorry I made a promise I couldn't keep. I wish I could go back and make a different choice." A sob gets caught in her throat. "But I can't. All I can do is admit I was wrong and ask for your forgiveness." She buries her face in his neck. He can feel the wetness of her tears. "Please forgive me, Ben. Please."

She's in agony, twisting with guilt and regret. The emotions are so familiar, like old friends. He knows them well enough to sense they've been constant, eating at her day in and day out.

He releases her hand and turns to face her.

She scoots back an inch, lifting her eyes to his. She swallows, trying not to cry, but tears roll down her cheeks despite the effort. She looks so broken…

He knows this feeling. He's all too familiar with it. He knows what it means to carry guilt through every minute of every day, through long nights spent half awake, staring into nothing. He knows what it means to be unforgiven.

He watches her silently for a moment.

Then, he lifts a hand to her face. He leans in, pressing his lips to her cheek, kissing away one tear, then another. He moves down, following the curve of her jaw, the faint taste of salt seeping into his mouth. One by one, he kisses away the tears until his lips are at her ear, his hand slipping to the back of her head.

"I forgive you," he whispers. "And I love you. Nothing will ever change that."

A fresh wave of tears spill down her cheeks. She throws an arm around him, pressing her face into the space between his neck and his collarbone.

"Thank you." Her voice is muffled. "Thank you."

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her body into his and gripping tightly. He buries his lips in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, letting it fill his lungs.

He has missed this. It's felt like years since he held her close, felt the smallness of her body, the way she fits him perfectly. If he could have this every night, he would leap out of bed in the morning, well-rested and alert, ready for any challenge.

He nuzzles her, running a hand over soft curves, stopping at the hip to cup it gently.

"I'm sorry," he mutters into her hair.

She pulls her head back, looking up.

"About J'ia."

She knits her eyebrows.

"The defected knight."

She parts her lips in recognition.

"I…" He sighs. "I should've told you when I had the chance. I should've trusted you with that."

"Why didn't you?"

He looks away. He thinks for a minute, staring across the room.

"I was…" He swallows. "Worried about what she would tell you. What I did to her, Alyse, all of them…" His throat tightens. "I thought if you knew about that, about the man I was…"

Rey lifts a hand, brushing away a lock of his hair. She pulls herself up, bringing her lips to his ear.

"I love you," she whispers. "Nothing will ever change that."

He lets out an exhale, not realizing he was holding it in. He tightens his arms around her, and she melts into the embrace.

He drinks in the warmth, the forgiveness, the love, all the while knowing he deserves none of it. After the life he's lived, the choices he's made… A gift like this is not for the likes of him. He's always known life is unfair, but nothing proves that reality more than this, the fact that someone like Rey can love a man like him. There's always that fear in the back of his mind that one day she'll discover something, a dark stain that'll just be too much, that'll drive her away.

That's when the thought flashes. There's a coldness to it, a chill in the bone.

He should tell her about the tracker.

He swallows, finding it hard to force the movement.

For a time, he told himself he just had to wait until she joined the First Order. Then, she'd be outfitted with a tracker anyway. She'd never have to know about the one he already put there.

But then things started to fall apart, her rise as the Chainbreaker, Bandomeer… And he realized there's no way around it. He'll have to tell her the truth.

She's going to be furious. She'll forgive him… eventually. He's confident about that now. But it won't be easy. Who knows how long it'll take?

It all depends on how he frames it. He was only trying to protect her. Even she must admit she gets herself into stupidly dangerous situations sometimes, and though she's powerful, she's not invincible. If she only thought about it from his perspective, what it was like to find her bleeding out in that transport, surrounded by enemies. She won't agree with the decision, but she can understand it, surely…

He's already started imagining the fight, what he'll say, what she'll say, what his response will be… It's going to be a damn nightmare.

He sighs, burying his lips in her hair.

Not now.

He'll do it. Soon. But not now.

Now, he just wants to enjoy the peace of the moment. Things have been so hard lately. He needs this. They both do.

He lifts a hand, brushing back her hair and kissing the top of her head.

She wiggles against him, pressing her face into his skin. He swears he can feel her smile…

The lie like this, tangled in one another, losing track of time. He starts to feel tired, but he doesn't dare fall asleep. He's not missing a single second of this.

Finally, Rey pulls away, slipping her arm from around him and scooting back an inch. They're eye to eye, their heads on either side of the pillow.

"How are things?" She asks softly. "With Hux?"

He cringes.

"Exactly how you'd expect." He withdraws, rolling on his back. "He's taken full advantage of Bandomeer. The First Order's split down the middle, those who support him and those who support me." He covers his eyes with a palm. "We're living on a fault line that could tear any minute."

Rey presses her lips together.

"And…" She starts hesitantly. "Do you think it will?"

"No." He slides his hand away. "Hux has bigger ambitions than splitting the First Order in half." He grunts. "It's actually a good thing. It buys me time to make sure that'll never happen."

She nods against the pillow.

"Has, uh…" She gulps. "There been any word on the Resistance?"

"You mean about Resistance members confirming the rumors?" He turns his head.

Her eyes flicker.

"There've been rumblings." He turns back to the ceiling. "Fortunately, most of the leadership doesn't consider the Resistance a trustworthy source of information."

She exhales, relieved.

"Good." She turns on her back. For a minute, they're quiet.

"How about you?" He glances at her. "How are things now that you've told the truth?"

She takes a breath.

"Things are…" She blows out a puff of air. "Chaos. Lots of fighting, debating. I've got a couple converts, though."

"Converts?"

"Yeah." She looks to him. "For considering negotiation instead of war."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Don't look so surprised. I can be persuasive when I need to be." She rolls on her side. "And there are people in the Resistance who are well aware not everyone in the First Order is a villain or even chooses to be here at all. Given time…" She nods to herself. "I think I could convince enough of the leadership it's worth a try."

He rolls to face her.

"Besides…" She sits up, propping her head in a hand. "A lot of our new recruits are more interested in stopping slavery than the First Order, and since you declared it illegal, they're starting to think…" She tilts her head. "Working together might not be such a bad idea."

"Hm." He looks down. He thinks for a moment before looking back up. "I heard you returned Raiden's merchandise."

"Finally." She widens her eyes. "All our storerooms have been full of drugs and spice. We really need a better plan for next time."

"So, there'll be a next time?"

"Yeah." She nods. "We're looking at slavers in the Outer Rim. In fact…" She draws out the words. "I think we'll be keeping all our activities to the Outer Rim for now."

"Why?" He knits his eyebrows. "Slavery's in almost every region."

"Well…" She shifts a little. "You've been taking care of markets in the Core— Coruscant, then Chandrila, and we heard you just started raids on few others. We thought maybe…" She bobs her head. "If you're starting in the center and working your way out, we should keep to the outskirts and work our way in. Then perhaps we'd…" Her face is careful. "Meet in the middle?"

He stares at her a moment.

Then, he sits up, stretching his arm over the pillow and propping his head in a hand.

"That could be a good strategy, but there's no way you have the manpower to cover the whole Outer Rim. Even we don't have that."

"True." She tilts her head. "But still, we could box the slavers into certain regions, chip away at their territory bit by bit. They know they're living on borrowed time. Someone's coming for them— whether it's you or me." She squints with a glimmer.

He shakes his head.

"Come on, Ben." She scoots in. "Admit it. This could work. This could be how we get a foot in the door for negotiation. Now, I know—" She lifts a hand, stopping his protest before he opens his mouth. "That this isn't a good time for you, and I'm not saying we do it now, but…" Her eyes are hopeful. "Given enough time, when we both get things in order, we could start a committee, get your people together with my people, share information, help each other. If we can show we're capable of working together, that'll help me get the Resistance on board for—"

"Rey." Kylo sucks in a breath. "I can't think about that right now. I've got to focus on getting this organization back in line."

She sighs.

"Alright." She nods. "Do what you have to do. I can hold back the leadership a bit longer, especially since—" She stops, looking away.

Kylo studies her, confused.

Then, it hits him.

His mother.

Of course, it's his mother. She knows about all of this. She's probably the first person Rey went to when he asked her to convince the Resistance to back down.

He rolls on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Rey watches him for a minute. Then, she turns on her back, her hand falling by her head.

He hears her fidgeting. She seems to be debating with herself. He can sense that inner tension, the back and forth of competing thoughts.

"I—" She drums her fingers on her pants. "I'm supposed to give you a message." She hesitates. "From… your mother."

His blood runs cold. He doesn't move, stiff and silent as the dead.

"She says…" Rey clears her throat. "'Tell that boy…'" She adopts a tone of command. "'That I love him, and I'm watching out for him like I always do.'" She pauses. "And… when you're ready, she's waiting."

He fixes his eyes on the ceiling, focusing on the blackness.

It starts to creep up on him, that paranoia. His skin goes cold, the hair standing up, the shadow of his mother's presence descending. It's like she's everywhere, a Force spirit, watching him. He suddenly feels the impulse to wrench the sheet from under him and cover himself.

"Ben…" Rey breaks the silence. "Can I ask you something?" She waits several seconds.

He doesn't answer.

"How…?" She shifts, sitting up a little. "How often do you have the nightmares these days?"

He instantly shoots up, scooting forward. He rests his elbows on his knees, glaring at the washing station.

She sits up straight, drawing her legs in to cross them.

"Do you have them…?" She continues. "More than before? Less?"

He stiffens, keeping his eyes forward.

"You used to have them every night but then they started to drop off, right?" She pauses, waiting for a response.

Nothing.

"Do you have them once every few days, or once a week, or…?"

Still nothing.

"Do you ever have them more than once a night?"

"Rey!" He hisses. "I thought we agreed not to talk about this." He doesn't turn.

"Actually…" She scoots closer. "We agreed not to talk about your father. You never said anything about the nightmares."

He growls under his breath.

She sighs. For a minute, she's silent.

"You're having them more frequently, aren't you?"

He tenses.

"Since…" She shifts a little. "Since you found out about your mother."

He freezes.

How could she possibly know that…?

He remains still, keenly aware of her eyes on his back. It's like she's looking through him.

"Why do you think that is?" She asks quietly.

He sets his jaw.

"Why would your mother knowing about us, about…" She pauses. "You, make the nightmares more frequent?"

He scrambles from the bed, shooting up and charging to the washing station. He yanks a towel from the edge of it, then dampens the cloth. He brings it behind his neck, wiping dried sweat from his skin.

Rey moves to the edge of the mattress, her legs dangling over the end.

"You know…"

He twitches when she speaks.

"I've been thinking a lot about the night I made you that promise about your mother."

He moves the towel to his shoulder, wiping from one to the other.

"Mostly, I thought about what I should have done…" She sighs. "But I also thought about why you wanted me to promise in the first place." She tucks a knee into her chest, her heel on the edge of the bed.

He dampens the towel again, his movements jerky and forced.

"At the time, I thought it was because you were trying to protect her." She wraps an arm around her leg. "But then I started thinking about it…" She presses her lips together. "And I realized… It was never really about her, was it?"

He tenses, dragging the towel over his stomach.

"It was about you."

He casts the towel to the side, stomping to the closet.

"It was about you hiding from her."

He halts but does nothing, just stands there with clenched fists.

"Why?" Rey presses. "Why do you want to hide from your mother?"

"Are you serious!?" Kylo whips around. "You're bringing this up after what you did, after looking me in the eye and lying to me?"

"Yes." She looks at him steadily. "Because I've realized I shouldn't have made that promise. Just like I shouldn't have promised not to talk about your father."

He sucks in a breath.

"Because these things are related, you see. You want to hide from your mother because of what happened with your father."

He growls, turning away. He hears her stand and walk towards him.

"That's why I'm going to say it again." She steps closer. "And I'm going to keep saying it until it happens." She stops just behind him. "You need. To talk. To your mother."

"Why?" He spits, whipping around. "What would that accomplish other than making us both miserable?"

"It'll give you what you need." She juts her chin up. "To move on, to heal, to become the man you were meant to be."

"And what do I need?" He leans in.

"Forgiveness."

"NO!" Kylo explodes. "NO, NO, NO! I've told you. There is no forgiveness. I don't want it, and I don't need it!"

"Yes, you do." She holds her ground. "You just can't admit it."

"REY!" His face is growing red. "It's not for you to say what I want or what I need. I decide that!"

"Actually…" She crosses her arms. "I know exactly what you need because I'm bonded to you. I feel what you feel. I've seen inside your mind, your heart. I know you."

"You know nothing!" He slices a hand through the air.

"No." She shakes her head. "I know you well enough to know that you need forgiveness. You're desperate for it."

"DAMN IT!" Without thinking, he waves a hand, tossing loose items across the room— a pillow, his master comm, other miscellany scattered across his desk. "Don't you understand!?" He roars. "This is my punishment. To live with what I've done, unforgiven. To bear it every day!"

"Ben." She sets her jaw. "Why? Why do you need to be punished?"

"What do you mean why!?" He roars in her face. "You were there. You saw it. You saw—" He stops, his throat tightening. He tries to swallow but finds he can't. "You…" He croaks hoarsely. "You saw what I did."

"Yes." She nods, her eyes starting to glisten. "I did see. I saw then, and I see now. I see what it's doing to you." Her lips tremble. "I feel the brokenness. I feel it eating at you, weakening you."

"That's—" The word gets caught in his throat. "That's my burden."

"But, it's not." Tears spill over her cheeks. "Don't you understand? It's not just your burden. It's your mother's too. She needs to forgive you just as much as you need to be forgiven."

"No." He shakes his head, turning away.

"Yes." She follows after him. "What you're doing isn't just cruel to yourself. It's cruel to her, and it's cruel to me."

"To you?" He whips around.

"Yes." Her throat tightens. "Because I love you, and I'm bonded to you. Everything that hurts in you hurts in me. That's how I know…" Her voice breaks. "How much this is killing you because—" She catches a sob. "It's killing me too."

Kylo's face falls. He stares at Rey standing in front of him, wiping tears with the back of a hand.

"D-do you know…?" Her shoulders heave softly. "What it's like to love someone so much and feel them dying inside?"

He just stares.

"When I'm around you… there's this pain." She clenches her heart. "It's like I'm rotting from the inside, and I want to help you but I can'tbecause you won't help yourself. All I can do…" She squeezes her eyes shut. "Is hope that someday, you'll want to heal, to become whole again before this pain…" She chokes on a half breath. "Kills both of us."

Kylo stands, frozen. He can't move. He can hardly feel his body at all.

He just feels Rey.

He watches her bowl over with soft sobs. She's being torn to pieces. He imagines shards of glass in her blood, ripping her to shreds as it flows through her, tender flesh screaming. He wants to reach out, take her in his arms, kiss the pain away.

But how can he do that? How can he do anything when he's the reason she's feeling this way?

He steps back to his desk, never taking his eyes off Rey. She struggles to compose herself, wiping tears from her cheeks with both hands. Her sobs die slowly, and she straightens, wrapping her arms across her chest like she's giving herself a hug.

He stares at her, his throat so tight he can hardly breathe.

Finally, he clears his throat.

"I…" He looks down. "I'm sorry, Rey. You…" He sinks. "You don't deserve this, any of this. It's not your mistake, not your burden…" He fights to swallow. "I wish I could take it away from you, but…" He shakes his head. "I can't change the bond, and I can't change my past. I can't erase the consequences." He closes his eyes. "There are some things that can't be forgiven."

Rey scoffs softly.

"And why…?" She lifts her head. "Is it up to you to decide what is and is not forgivable?" Her eyes are still wet from tears but there's a steadiness to them. "Shouldn't that be up to the person wronged?"

He stares blankly.

She tilts her chin up, waiting for an answer.

He never gives her one.

She pushes out an exhale, hanging her head. She's frustrated but it's the exhausted kind, a heaviness weighing on her heart.

Suddenly, she snaps up. She whips around and heads for the bed, sweeping her shoes from the floor. She sits on the mattress, starting to shove her foot in a boot.

"What are you doing?" He knits his eyebrows.

"The bond's about to end." She pulls on the boot, then quickly moves to the other.

He catches his breath, watching her jerk on the shoe. He searches his mind for a word of comfort, something to give her before she goes.

"Do you know why—" She shoots up. "I can sense when the bond will end and you can't?" She crosses her arms. "I think it's because I reflect." She answers before he can. "On the bond, the Force, my actions. I try to be honest with myself, and because of that, I understand things better, but you…?" She shakes her head.

Then, just like that, she's gone.

The room is quiet, that cold, empty quiet. The loss of her presence is cutting, like a vital organ was just ripped from his body. For a minute, he just stands, staring numbly at his bed.

Then he turns, lowering to the chair in front of his desk. He leans over, resting his forearms on his knees. He stares at the blackness of the floor, seeing Rey's face there. He remembers her tear-stained cheeks, the brokenness in her eyes, that agony ripping her to shreds.

He slumps, hanging his head.

How has this has never occurred to him before? The bond's been bringing them together for over a year. He knows what it does, how it binds them, makes their emotions shared experiences. How is he only just now understanding what that means for her?

All of the things he's done… All of the things he carries, a decade's worth of shame and guilt and regret… She carries it too. Or at least, she does when she's with him.

He sinks, burying his face in his palms.

All he wants is to protect her, keep her safe, happy… But how does he protect her from this? How does he protect her from himself?

He slides his palms from his face, hopelessness starting to creep in. He sighs, closing his eyes, and for a minute, he sits, body hunched, until a different feeling descends.

Exhaustion.

He drags his lids up, glancing at the bed.

He should get some sleep. He needs it, badly. But if he goes back to bed, he knows exactly where he'll end up…

Eyes flying wide, gasping, his father's face burned in his mind.

He sits up, leaning back against the chair. He stares at his bed for a few seconds, then turns, pulling out a drawer to reach for a chrono.

4:30.

He closes the drawer.

How much sleep would he get, really? Ninety minutes at the most, and probably not half that.

He shakes his head.

No. It's not worth it. Might as well start his day.

He sighs, passing a hand over his face. He places a palm on the desk, pushing up then turning to head for the closet.

He gets dressed quickly, focusing on his movements, consciously making them sharp and purposeful. He's already started the performance— the preeminent sovereign, well-rested and alert, the embodiment of absolute power.

Four hours of sleep isn't so bad. He's made it through hard days on less.

He attaches his lightsaber to his belt, then turns, searching for his comm. Was it not on his desk…?

Then, he remembers. He looks down, searching the floor, loose items scattered across the room. He stoops over, sweeping up his comm, then heads for the door, attaching the device as he walks. He lifts a hand when he gets there, ready to slap the panel.

But instead, he presses a gloved palm to the wall. He leans against it, overcome with a wave of exhaustion. He stands there a minute, his mind growing hazy. His lids start to drift, closing slowly until there's nothing but blackness. He begins to nod off, his body slackening muscle by muscle…

You'll always be my boy.

Kylo snaps up, eyes flying wide. He takes a deep breath, fighting the tightness in his throat.

Then, he slaps the panel, the door whirring open. He charges into the hall without looking back.