The Art of Broken Pieces

A Plethora of Porgish Pets

With the unconscious Chamberlain stowed safely in one of the Betrayal's small cargo pods, Ben finally allowed some of the tension to drain from his back and shoulders. The pods were not in any way intended for human transport, and he relished the thought of the large man waking up in the small space and howling for his freedom. Walls insulated for the cold pressure of space would trap any sound he made, avoiding attention.

Walking up the ramp into the ship's cozy interior, he looked around for the first time at the repairs that Rey had managed to make in such a short time. There were still scars across the walls and the metal of the consoles, but exposed wires were neatly tucked back into place and the reassuring glow of her instrument panels had come back to life.

Rey herself was tucked into the pilot's seat, dangerous shoes tossed into a corner and her knees drawn up to her chest. The golden gown was wrinkled and out of place, and as her fingers toyed absently with one of the console's switches she looked distantly out the windows into the spaceport. She seemed small, and lonely.

Though she hid it well, he hated the effect the night had had on her, the position that he had put her in. It had all seemed so theoretical, planning their mission, using their target's cravings against him. Theoretical until it had hurt her, filled her mind with memories of reaching hands that he wasn't sure she could forget easily.

Approaching quietly, Ben crouched on the floor of the ship beside her seat, turning the chair to face him and pulling her hands into his.

"I'm sorry, Rey." He said softly, wishing he could take the memories for her. "I never meant..."

"I know you didn't," she said, fighting not to pull her hands away. "I don't blame you. I blame him." She clenched her jaw. "Alright, I sort of blame you, but only for bringing me here. I saw into his mind, and I knew what he wanted. I didn't think he'd try it until we were somewhere private, where I could break his hand." The words came out acid through her teeth, and she twisted her fingers into Ben's, clenching his hands until it hurt.

"It wasn't that bad," she said. "It wasn't anything more than the Irving Boys tried on Jakku, but then I could fight back without giving anything away. I don't like subterfuge. I'm not good at it." Absurdly, she sort of wanted RD, with its mechanical scrubbing and programmed personality full of pure, robotic intentions. "And I want to punch him a few more times."

Rey's hands were trembling slightly in his own, and the slow ebb of anger in Ben's stomach was turning to pain for her. He pulled her hands towards him, kissing the backs of them without thinking.

He let her go and stood, moving towards the small cubby behind the pilot's chair and digging through the old things he had stashed there. Pieces of his old life. Finding what he was looking for he silently handed her one of his old shirts, the soft black fabric wrinkled, but clean. The magic of the beautiful dress was gone.

"We can't go back to the villa now." He said quietly. "Too much risk." Turning away, he walked back down the ramp of the ship and let it close with a soft swish behind him, giving her a moment alone.

Rey felt absurdly relieved that Ben hadn't tried to hug her. She twisted her fingers in the black fabric, recognizing the feel of it, the grooves worn into it from the cross-straps of the ribbed gauntlets that had once covered Kylo Ren from shoulder to wrist. She pressed it to her face, almost surprised that it smelled like Ben. In her mind, they were separate men. They should have separate scents. But they didn't.

Slowly, she pulled the shirt from her face and stripped out of the dress, dragging the shirt over her head. It fell to mid-thigh. That was long enough for her. She kicked the gilded fabric into the corner with her shoes and stood, flicking a few switches to get the Betrayal started up.