Captive: A Mini Reylo Fic

A Prison of Expectations

Jerking awake with a shout, Ben found himself in a dank, dirty cell. Constructed primarily of roots and branches, he supposed it was the best the Resistance could do on such a primitive planet. But it was laughable to imagine anyone believing it could contain him. Of course, he wasn't much in a mood for laughing. Or escaping, for that matter. Weeping. That was more his mood. Or curling up in a ball, or knocking his head repeatedly against one of these impossibly thick roots. As pathetic as it made him feel, that was his speed at the moment.

He should be dead. Not should be as in couldn't possibly have overcome the odds with which he'd been faced, but as in deserved to be. It was a fundamental truth to which he'd been inexorably drawn many months ago. And the only reason he hadn't achieved that final status already was a ridiculous desire to make his death stand for something good, as if that could hope to balance out the evil laden on his soul. He couldn't believe, after all this time and all their battles, that she hadn't leapt at the opportunity to end him. But it didn't anger him; it saddened him. As if he needed help in that regard. Frustrated, despairing, and forlorn, he turned on his side, presenting his back to anyone who might be inclined to look in on him through the ridiculously insecure door, and pressed his face into the dirt, at least grateful for the ability to feel the Force so much more clearly than he'd ever been able to in space. Which is why, given his closer connection to all nature and life surrounding him, he was both surprised and not when her arrival startled him.

He felt the tension grip his body as he sensed her entering his prison and settling to the ground behind him, but he didn't turn, didn't acknowledge her in any way. Ensuring his mind was well and truly isolated from hers, he closed his eyes and breathed harsh and shallow as he willed the ache in his heart to subside. This could be salvaged. The troopers had seen her take him down through her access to the Force, but he still needed to die. It might not have to be her to do it now, but the end result for him was the same.

"The First Order has withdrawn," she finally offered after an enduring silence.

He knew they would, but still it was nice to have confirmation that at least some part of his plan hadn't gone completely to shit. Despite himself, Ben found his head nodding slightly. He'd noticed the distant sounds of revelry and celebration, and it made more sense now. They were celebrating triumph, rather than merely survival. He wished she would return to rejoice with her friends rather than torture him with her presence and her voice, but as soon as the idea crossed his mind, he was forced to admit the falsehood. He wanted her here with him, though he knew he shouldn't. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the dirt, willing the tightness in his chest to resolve itself.

"I know what you've done," she said, her voice low and soft. "And I have to thank you for it."

"I didn't do it for you," he snapped instinctively, knowing even as the rebuttal left his mouth how much of a lie it was. Of course, he had. He'd done it all for her, just not for the Resistance.

"Then why did you?"

He held his tongue this time, his shoulders hunching further into the dirt and away from her, as if the broad expanse of his back could possibly shield his heart from her presence. He was gratified to know she hadn't discerned the motivations behind his actions when she'd delved into his mind. Or maybe she'd simply stopped looking for answers after she'd become aware of his profound disrespect for his acquired name. Either way, she clearly didn't know how prominently she figured in his thoughts. And it had to stay that way.

"You need to execute me," he pointed out to her, even though it seemed too obvious that she should already be aware of this simple fact. "Very publicly and very soon."