Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He can hear the rebels cheer where he sits, leaning against a tree, but the sounds are muted by distance. In the dark he sees little more than their silhouettes, outlined by the great bonfire in the center of the clearing. Black shapes, sharp yet utterly indistinct, weaving around each other, hugging, crying, dancing, singing. Kissing, he thinks, but those could just be embraces. It is impossible to tell in the dark and at this distance. Is it lovers he sees, reunited against all hope after a battle against seemingly impossible odds, or friends? And does it really matter? He feels their joy, reverberating through the Force and for a fleeting moment he wishes he could join them.

Nothing really keeps him from it, he supposes. He doesn't wear binders, the traitor had told him that he was free to go wherever he pleased, as long as he stayed away from the ships. All that keeps him here is the weight of his guilt. So he sits, feeling the rough bark of a tree dig into his back, irritating his bruised ribs, and the moist soil slowly dampening his trousers.

He shifts, and the movement only serves to make the pain in his side flare up sharply.

Are you alright? Chewie warbles.

"Fine," Ben says. He isn't, but bacta won't fix what's wrong with him.

Chewie shrugs and goes back to cleaning his bowcaster. Making a point, Ben thinks. It is the same weapon that almost killed him on Starkiller. The wookiee's back is to the flames, which paint auburn highlights into his brown coat. Watching Ben, rather than the bonfire. Another point that is being made, Ben thinks. As if he needed any more.

"You can go, you know," he offers.

Chewie looks up at him, his head cocked.

"To celebrate," Ben motions towards the fire and winces again as his ribs grind against each other. "I'm not going anywhere," he adds, motioning to his thickly bandaged leg.

Chewie looks over his shoulder once, considering, and then shakes his great head.

I think I should stay.

"Suit yourself."

And that he does. They sit in silence once more, the old wookiee busy with his weapon, Ben busy with his thoughts.

They'd come back from Exegol a few hours ago, him and Rey, almost the last to arrive, with the main bulk of the fleet already back on Ajan Kloss. The Resistance had been quick to declare the war over and the celebrations had begun, with many already deep in their cups.

A few had held out, nervously, for their Jedi to return. The traitor - Finn, Ben reminds himself -, Chewbacca, and Dameron, plus a some others that he had never seen before, had rushed Rey as soon as she half climbed, half fell out of Luke's battered old X-Wing. As her friends were surrounding Rey, her passenger was almost overlooked. Ben might have climbed out of the ancient craft and walked off into the jungle, with no one but Rey any the wiser to his presence, had he only had the strength. Instead he had sat patiently in the cramped cockpit and watched Finn and Poe hugged Rey close to them, biting down on the fierce jab of jealousy that the sight of this easy intimacy brought him, and waited for any of them to acknowledge him. When they spotted the former Supreme Leader of the First Order blasters were quickly drawn and for a moment he thought it might end then and there, before his life as Ben Solo had any chance to truly begin, but Rey had somehow gathered enough strength in the Force to rip the weapons out of their hands and onto the ground, before all but collapsing against a tiny black-haired woman.

He supposes that she might have said something next, something about how he came to save her on Exogol, about how he is a different man, not Kylo Ren at all, but Ben Solo now, and that her friends would probably not have believed a single words of it. Just like he is not so sure if any of that is true. Except that he came for her. That he will always come for her if he has a choice. That part is true.

But nothing of the like is said, for he feels Rey's force signature waver and dim, her having expended the last of her energies to save his useless hide and he watches in horror as she clutches at the black-haired girl, who barely manages to grasp her around the waist to stop the Jedi from tumbling to the ground.

Ben is briefly forgotten in the chaos that follows, with the traitor and the pilot both racing to Rey, while an even tinier alien with giant goggles tells them to give her some kriffing room to breathe and Ben scrambles to get out of the decrepit x-wing, anything to get to her side, but all he manages is to land in a crumpled heap at the foot of the landing strut, while he watches as the pilot picks up Rey in his arms and carries her off to the infirmary.

The traitor stays behind, eying his blaster, which lies forgotten on the ground between them. He thinks the dark skinned man might have picked the weapon up and used it to end his miserable life after all, but Chewie mewls a soft warning and the traitor purses his lips.

"Alright," he mutters, "let's not shoot him. Sure. Right. No way that that's gonna bite us in the ass."

And with that he motions for Ben to follow him to the command center, where he spends the next few hours being debriefed.

He hasn't seen Rey since.

Ben wonders where she is now, if she was any of those shapes that were hugging and maybe kissing by the fire. He'd like to think that he would feel that in the Force, either of it, would be able to feel her presence as he had been able to on the other occasions when they found themselves on the same planet, but ever since Rey had been led away to the med bay her end of the bond has been clamped shut as tightly as it had been in the days and months after Crait.

A branch snaps loudly to his left, bringing him out of his thoughts and Chewie swings his bowcaster up quickly, aiming into the dark. His uncle holds that pose for a moment, before relaxing, as two women stumble past them, deeper into the forest, too lost in each other to really notice the wookiee and the former Supreme Leader. One of them had been waiting for Rey on the landing pad and had later been present in the control room. Kaydel, he thinks her name is. Her blonde hair is made up in a braided crown, reminding him achingly of his mother.

He turns to look at Chewie, who is placing his weapon on the ground next his folded knees, always in easy reach. A thought creeps up on Ben and he feels his throat constrict with sudden emotion.

"Who exactly are you guarding, Chewie?" Ben asks softly. "Me, or them?"

His uncle meets his gaze and holds it for a second.

Haven't decided yet, he replies, just a softly.

Fair enough, Ben thinks, swallowing back tears. Fair enough.

They sit in silence once more, both in their own fashion thinking about the attainability of forgiveness.

Again he is startled out of his thoughts by someone's approach. Only this time it's not the snapping of a twig that alerts him, but a Force signature that slots into his own as seamlessly as a missing puzzle piece.

Rey, Ben thinks, and his heart probably misses a few beats right there and then.

He looks over to Chewie, ready to interfere should the wookiee attempt to raise his weapon, but his uncle barley twitches a muscle. Ben knows for a fact that the wookiee is as Force sensitive as Han has been, which is to say not at all, but he supposes one doesn't reach the age of 235 and survive at least 3 major wars without developing a few useful instincts.

Rey's form solidifies out of the dancing shadows as she comes to a halt by Ben's tree. Unlike him, she has managed to visit a fresher sometime in the intervening hours. Her hair is shiny and bound in her customary three buns, and she has exchanged her dirty and torn white tunic for a light grey one, accented by dark blue wraps, and black leggins. Ben thinks she looks absolutely radiant.

She stops for a moment, her eyes flitting from Ben to Chewie and back, before she hesitantly holds out a bowl.

"I, uh, brought you some food." She says, haltingly, her eyes settling on the ground as a blush spreads over her face. "I didn't bring anything for you Chewie, sorry. Didn't know you would be here."

Someone has to keep an eye on stupid boy, Chewie growls. Maybe desert girl can keep an eye on stupid boy while I get food?

Rey's eyes snap up, almost comically wide.

"I... I mean, I don't think he needs a guard. Ben wouldn't..." she stutters and her determination to defend him makes Ben's heart swell.

"I think," he offers, "he means guard me from the Resistance. At least in part."

"Oh, yes, of course" Rey nods quickly as her blush roars back to life, "I can do that. Go get some food, Chewie."

The wookiee lumbers to his feet and walks off towards the fire without saying another word, leaving Ben and Rey alone in the near dark.

Rey's eyes trail after him, before she seems to snap out of it and back into the present.

"I hope you're hungry," she says, offering the bowl again.

He isn't, even though he hasn't eaten anything since yesterday. His nerves have turned his stomach into a lump of rock.

He pauses for a second, not quite sure if he should force himself to eat something, partially because it would be the polite thing to do and partially because he knows that his body needs sustenance, but it seems he has hesitated too long.

Rey pulls the bowl back, cradling it to her stomach.

"Oh, I am sorry, I shouldn't..." she wipes her nose on her sleeve, "I mean, of course you don't want this. You don't have to eat it."

He blinks, confused and aching, for she seems so upset all of a sudden.

"No, no, it's alright," he says, holding a hand out for the dish, "I should probably eat something."

She sniffs again and looks down at the ground.

"You really don't have to."

He sighs.

"Please Rey," he reaches out a little further, his fingertips almost grazing her arm-wraps, "it smells really good."

It really doesn't. Between the stale smell of vegmeat and the borderline nausea that he feels from both being very hungry and not hungry at all, the scent is enough to make him gag.

"Ok," she says, and she looks up at him and little smile is playing around her lips. He finds that he'd do anything to keep that smile there so he reaches out and gently takes the bowl from her. Ben wishes fiercely that their fingers might briefly touch as he takes it, but he is not so lucky.

"It's only vegmeat stew," she says quietly, settling down in front of him with her knees crossed, almost touching his. "We don't have a lot of provisions left."

He is briefly distracted by her sudden closeness and tries to cover his nervousness by taking a spoonful of stew.

"Oww," he hisses around the spoon, mouth half-open to let out the heat. His mother would have a fit, seeing him like this, chewing with his mouth open, he thinks bitterly.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Rey winces in sympathy, "it's hot. Vegmeat really keeps the heat."

That it does. He continues to breathe through his mouth, concentrating on not scalding his tongue any further.

"'m alright," he mumbles around the mouthful of stew.

She nods, but doesn't say anything else, instead electing to watch him eat.

This isn't the best stew he's ever had, as the Supreme Leader he was used to much better fare, but it also isn't the worst and he feels his appetite return rather suddenly as his stomach remembers the concept of food.

"Are you alright?" She asks, rather hesitantly, while he concentrates on shoveling food in his mouth without sustaining third degree burns.

Caught unawares he only manages to grunt something that might sound like a yes while he quickly swallows.

"Fine," he finally manages to say and Rey gives him a small nod and another, equally diminutive, smile.

"Good. I am sorry that I didn't come and find you, earlier," she continues, picking at a lose thread in her wraps, "Dr Kalonia insisted on doing some tests, and then Poe wanted a debrief and you know how Poe... I mean I suppose you don't, but he's really very thorough, usually, and..."

She rambling and he raises his spoon to stop her.

"Rey," he tries to meet her eyes and fails, for Rey seems determined to look at her fraying wraps and nothing else, "it's okay. I am alright and Chewie was keeping an eye on me."

She nods again.

"Is he," she bites her lower lip, which looks terribly distracting, "uh, is he afraid that something might happen to you, or to, uh, us?"

Us. The rebels.

That shouldn't hurt so much, he thinks, that she puts him and her in different categories. This morning they had been on opposite sides of a war after all.

"He hasn't decided yet."

"I see," she is still picking at her wraps and a rather large thread has come lose now. He sort of wants to stop her from destroying them even further, but she is so skittish that he thinks she might not appreciate if he touched her. "I could talk to him."

"What?"

"To Chewie," she clarifies. "I could tell him that you're not a threat. Because you're not. They need to know that."

He shakes his head.

"Don't," he says quietly, "I can handle that myself. You don't need to involve yourself. Chewie and I will sort ourselves out."

She mumbles something that sounds a bit like that's what I am afraid of, but he can't be certain. Still a small smile plays around his lips at that. That she would be comfortable enough to do that. To grumble. It isn't much, but he thinks it might be something.

His spoon scrapes on the empty bowl and he realizes that he has somehow eaten the entire portion without throwing up. He holds the empty container out to Rey.

"Thank you," he says, "that was actually very good."

She beams and reaches for the bowl and that's when their fingers finally touch, ever so briefly. A bolt of static electricity shoots through Ben's arm and he gasps and Rey must have felt the same, for the bowl falls from her hand and onto the hard ground with a loud clatter, as she hastily jerks back her fingers, cradling them to her stomach.

"I..." she stammers.

"Sorry..."

"No, don't," she hastily scoops up the bowl and spoon with her other hand, the one that touched him still tucked against her middle.

Ben's heart sinks. Of course she doesn't want to touch him.

Before either of them can anything else, Chewie comes back to the little clearing, balancing a large bowl and a few slices of flatbread. Ben feels his mouth water as he sees the bread. It seems at least his stomach is having a good evening.

Chewie looks from Ben to Rey and then to Ben again before he sits with a tired growl and a shrug, tossing a chunk of bread at Ben, which he barely manages to catch with the Force and even this tiny effort makes his bones ache.

Another piece of bread is offered to Rey, who looks at it hungrily, but declines with another adorable blush and a quick look at Ben.

"I..." she rubs her hand over her arms, as if cold, even though the air on the jungle moon is almost unpleasantly warm, "I should get back to the others."

He wants to say something, anything to make her stay, but ultimately falls silent. It is clear that she only stayed as long as she had to and is eager to get back to her friends. He should let her, he thinks, remembering how she snatched her hand back.

"Goodnight, Ben," she says, quietly, as she steps over the tall ferns at the edge of the clearing, casting a quick glance at him over her shoulder.

By the time he echoes her words, she is probably already out of earshot.

Chewie huffs, stirring his stew.

Solo men, he says, before he starts eating. Ben is too tired to ask him what he means.

***

After a while Ben finds himself almost nodding off, despite all his aches. The day has been long. He's almost died twice, rediscovered the Light, helped kill an Emperor and kissed the girl of his dreams, and all of that before noon. Now, late at night, he suddenly finds is difficult to keep his eyes open.

No one has told him where to sleep and he supposed he might just as well do it right here. He slides down the tree a bit, arranging his long body in a half-way comfortable shape, but Chewie softly grabs his ankle to get his attention before he can close his eyes again.
You should come with me, the wookiee moans, maybe you'll still fit in your old bunk.

His bunk. On the Falcon, Ben's sleep addled brain helpfully supplies.

He really, really doesn't want to sleep on his father's old ship, but then again the ground is lumpy and slightly moist and his ribs hurt something fierce.

Come on, Ben Solo, Chewie says, as though he knows what Ben is thinking, the ship won't bite, but the zymods might.

Ben has no idea what zymods are, but he knows that he has no particular desire to find out in his sleep.

He grunts, heaving himself into a sitting position.

"You make a compelling argument."

Chewie snorts.

First time I hear that from a Solo, he says and offers Ben his hand to get him to his feet.

They stand, Ben somewhat more shakily than he would like, and then the wookiee is lumbering off towards the landing fields, expecting Ben to follow.

"I'm not supposed to go near the ships," he calls after his uncle, as a last ditch effort to maybe have him find somewhere else to sleep.

Flyboy can take it up with me in the morning, Chewie mutters without stopping.

The thought of his uncle defending him willingly against the cocky pilot is enough to quell the last of Ben's fears and he starts limping after the tall receding shape as fast as his bum leg will let him.

He wonders, with a last look towards the dying bonfire, where Rey will sleep tonight.