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Long ago, in a galaxy far, far, away…
Rebel Outpost
Ajan Kloss
Four months after Exegol
Rey finishes cleaning her teeth, and loosens her hair from its customary three-bun style. She frowns at her reflection in the small mirror over the sink as the strands fall around her face—is it possible they're getting even whiter? She combs her fingers through the inch-wide streak of gray starting at her right temple and running to the ends of her long hair, longer than it's ever been, past her shoulder blades down to the middle of her back.
Dropping her hand away, she sighs. Just a little unexpected souvenir from being killed by Force energy, that's all.
It doesn't look that bad, she imagines Ben saying, with a teasing smirk on his lips. She can see it perfectly. He'd be leaning against the doorframe behind her, with his arms folded across his bare chest, wondering what's taking so long for her to finish up and come to bed. Actually, I'm really starting to like it.
Easy for you to say, she’d retort, before turning away from the mirror and padding over to him. She'd wrap her arms around his middle and he'd hold her close, looking down at her in that special soft way of his, and there'd be no way she’d be able to stay mad at him after that.
She'd card her fingers through his thick black hair. Too bad we all can't have princely locks such as yours.
He'd slant her a lopsided grin, and then—
A white-hot pain rips through her chest and she gasps, doubling over and gripping the edge of the sink with one hand and pressing her palm over her heart with the other. She squeezes her eyes shut as tears leak out the corners, and tries to focus on her breathing instead of the excruciating pain, just like she's taught herself. In… and out. In… and out.
Kriffing hells! She grips the edge of the sink even harder, when a thick wave of nausea has her knees almost buckling beneath her. She knows better than this. Knows if she allows herself to think about him for too long…
Even the Force seems to tremble and keen around her, as if it, too, senses something is terribly wrong.
After a few minutes that feel like an eternity, the burning pain begins to subside, and once again she's left with the dull, empty ache to which she's become accustomed.
A few more steadying breaths and she straightens, releasing her death grip from the sink.
She gives her ashen, hollow-eyed reflection one last long, searching look before finally turning away from the mirror, flicking off the light with the Force as she exits the ‘fresher.
Even though it's what she had expected, as she pads across the room to her bed, she can't deny the way her heart sank at finding the doorway still empty behind her.
***
Give her time. Just give her time.
Rey frowns at the darkened ceiling, the words whispered by her friends when they think she can't hear them running through her head on a continuous loop.
She's supposed to be stronger than this. She's the last living Jedi, is she not? People are counting on her, she has responsibilities now… she exhales shakily, overwhelmed by the mere thought. Rey supposes she should be grateful for their understanding, even though they don't yet know the full story of what happened.
Oh, it's not that she doesn't want to tell them about Ben, about his sacrifice. But whenever she thinks she's finally mustered the strength to talk about it, well… that searing pain in her chest returns, and she knows there's no way she can get through it.
They're busy enough anyway as it is.
It turns out Poe and Finn are both adept in diplomacy and politics, and the remaining former Resistance members have informally elected them as representatives on their behalf, and now the two of them have become immersed in the systematic rebuilding and unification of an entire galaxy.
Rey doesn't envy them one bit, if truth be told.
Her idea of problem-solving is more along the lines of strike, swing, or shoot, and diplomacy is not exactly part of her skill set.
People around the outpost seem to be inclined to give her a wide berth, and whether it's due to her new reputation as some exalted Jedi goddess who single-handedly defeated the evil Palpatine, or simply because of the dull, haunted look in her eyes, she's glad for it just the same.
Even Chewie stays away more often than not. But he always leaves her with the Falcon, as if he knows it's the only thing that gives her peace during the day. Taking little sections apart here and there before putting them back together again; it's tedious, mindless work but it keeps her busy and keeps her from thinking about things she cannot fixate on for too long, otherwise…
Give her time. Just give her time.
She sinks deeper into her pillow and pulls the collar of his sweater up over her nose, covering the entire lower half of her face and inhales deeply. Blood and sweat and him. The familiarity washes over her.
The only reason she doesn't wear it during the day too is because she's afraid it'll start picking up other smells. So she saves it for bedtime only.
It's comically big on her, and she smiles as she rubs the soft knit sleeve against her cheek and under her nose, taking another deep whiff. Was he really that massive? Looking back, she guesses it was something she was always aware of, but never really lingered over for very long. She was too busy being in a constant state of flux: frustrated with him, angry or confused by him or—on those rarer occasions—of being entirely awed and consumed by him.
How could someone with such a huge presence, someone so strong, so healthy, so vital, be here one minute and gone forever in the next?
Tears well up and stream down her cheeks, pooling into her ears and hair.
It's the same question she's asked herself every night since he disappeared.
I'll always be with you, sweetheart. I promise.
Her blood simmers. He'd promised he'd always be with her, so where is he?
Turning her focus inward, she searches for him again, even though she knows it's a fruitless attempt. The bond is dead, and Ben's Force-signature along with it.
Even during all those months when he chased her around the galaxy, when hurt and foolish pride wouldn't allow either of them to lower their guards for even a moment, she was secretly comforted by his strong presence in the Force. Knowing she wasn't alone and that eventually, he'd come to his senses and find his way home.
To her.
And of course he finally did, but by then it was too late.
A mouthful of sweater stifles a loud sob, and all around her the Force trembles and shakes like a bonshyyyr leaf.
As each day passes without him, she suspects something went horribly wrong in all this. Surely, a Force dyad like she and Ben were never meant to be separated.
Tomorrow, she'll start muddling through the ancient Jedi texts. If Ben isn't going to return to her, then she's going to have to begin figuring out a way to bring him back.
I'll always be with you, sweetheart. I promise.
Her mouth quirks despite herself. Not only is Ben Solo persistent and doggedly relentless when he wants something, Rey has also never known him to be a liar.
He'll come back for her, she knows it.
It's only a matter of time.
Her jaw cracks on a wide yawn and she settles back, exhaustion finally taking over. She closes her eyes and like always, hopes tonight is the night Ben finally makes good on his promise.
***
Just before dawn, a soft, humid breeze sweeps through the jungle, carrying the sweet scent of sea lilies as it enters the clearing and winds through the quiet military outpost, the day's activities not yet begun.
It flutters the thin curtains on an open window and drifts across a single bunk; empty now but for a tear-stained pillow and one tattered, nearly threadbare black sweater.
All across the galaxy, there are those who will awaken from heady dreams of lush fields blooming with wildflowers and heave a long, cleansing sigh, wondering why they're filled with such a deep sense of peace and contentment.
And the Force, finally, at long last, will sigh along with them.