The Art of Broken Pieces

100 Porgs

The scent of oil and ozone and burning steel swirled around him, and in the chaos of it all Ben could feel her distantly. She was in pain, but not grievously so. His mind still buzzed with frustrated violence, tension in every muscle. It had felt like moments, though he knew it had been long minutes since the battle began.

Ben almost reached out to Rey then, to assure himself of her presence, to help to sooth his raw nerves, but he stopped himself. No. This was the battle she could not be allowed to help him with, the one he had to conquer on his own. Only once had he slipped so far that he had been forced to call out to her, and it had set her on this foolish path with him. He forced numb fingers to open, letting his lightsaber fall to the snow as the red glow flickered out and Ben struggled out from under the weight of the Force, finally letting it go as well. In its wake he felt stripped and empty, more exhausted by the fight to restrain his darker instincts than from the actual battle.

He opened his eyes and saw her then, slowly coming to a standstill near the torn tracks of a ship. The Force was still wrapped tightly around her, and he envied the ease with which she seemed to flow within it. Perhaps that was the way of the Light that evaded him still.

A deafening screech of metal echoed in his ears, and the wounded First Order ship rocked in its moorings, tilting towards the edge of the platform.

The ship's thrusters engaged, but the antenna was swinging back. It bull-whipped across the ship, smashing stabilizers and sending it rolling on its side, tipping back, back, back...

It cranked over, snapping the cable barrier behind the hangar, and fell. The First Order ship hit the sea, which responded with a glasslike shatter before liquefying again, and slurping the vessel into its gluey hold.

Rey stood, lightsaber ignited, and stared after it, the wind and sleet swirling around her in a Force-controlled shell.

At last, she let it go. Rey extinguished her lightsaber with a hiss and pivoted, her senses already reaching for Ben.

He stood in the middle of the warehouse yard, a tall, dark spire against the dull metal and ice. He buzzed in her brain, his spite-blackened presence rippling with the same unstable energy as his blade. That instability was not, however, the thing that drew her.

No, what drew her was the brutal effort he exerted to clench off that violent fugue, to stop it in its tracks.

And that was why he needed civilians. He needed the temptation to be there, because without it, he could never really be sure he was controlling it. He was the alcoholic who needed to sit with an open bottle and a fresh poured glass, refusing to drink, before he would believe he could. It was a tap he'd barely learned to close, a muscle that needed to be trained, and strengthened.

Rey crossed the yard and scooped up Ben's heavy, fallen lightsaber. He was a well of dark gravity, and she put a hand on the back of his trembling fist, waiting for it to let go.

Her presence calmed him, but the control he gained was from within. Slowly he let the tension drain away though he still vibrated with energy, his own, not that of the Force. He welcomed the gentle pressure of Rey's hand against his own, muffled as it was through the layers of their gloves. Her face was flushed with exertion and the biting cold.

"We should go before the fighting draws too much attention." Ben's voice was rough from wordless shouting. He glanced towards the shivering technicians whose lives he had spared. "They'll spread the word, and we don't still want to be here when they do." He paused, glancing at her. "Rather, I don't. You they might welcome with open arms." He tried to keep the bitter edge from creeping into his tone.