The Art of Broken Pieces

27 Porgs on the Falcon

Monitoring the Alliance transport's progress on his sensors, Ben tucked his feet up against the Betrayal's console and flexed his hands absently as he finally had time to think. His fingers were still stiff, but since Rey had taken the time to work on them, the pain had mostly faded. Had it really only been two days since they had sat together in the villa, his fingers tucked into hers as the gaps between them began to shrink?

Ben frowned, trying to hold on to the little moments in the muddle of events on Aurelia that lay behind them. Rey's warmth under the blanket as she snuggled against him in the grass. The almost fun they'd had in Invigio's shop, letting the little man charm them as they tried clothes on each other and tried not to stare. The feel of her tensing in his arms at the dance, melting against him before Hux had so rudely pulled him away.

But something had changed, shifted suddenly in the chaos that followed. It wasn't hard to identify, it had been unwelcome hands, and the desperate feeling of being trapped and out of her element.

Cursing, Ben surged to his feet, pacing the tiny cabin. He should have known better! It was never something he should have asked her to do.

The computer pinged softly, informing him that the Alliance transport was launching, the exchange complete. Bringing up his comm, he hailed the Falcon.

>>Need a place to leave Betrayal, found suitable mostly inhabited planet in 47th sector.

He sent her over the coordinates, figuring a few days of distance might do them good.

>>I'll meet you there.

The second night cycle into the journey, Rey lay awake in her bunk, staring at the ceiling, turning Vara's words over in her head. The fear had settled behind her sternum now, hovering like a hard, implacable eventuality. She could think of no way a trial would turn out that would leave Ben both alive and with relative freedom. Yes, he probably deserved whatever punishment they gave him. Logically, she could wrap her mind around that.

He had killed hundreds. Personally. Through orders, it was probably more like thousands. Or more.

But how much of that had been because of Snoke's manipulation? How much did that really matter? There was only so long she could really assign the blame to anyone but Ben. He was a killer. It didn't matter that he'd been hurt, or confused, or conflicted. The moment he'd taken lives, he'd given up his right to blame anyone but himself.

Now, though. He was a different person. He was starting to become the person that Han and Leia had known was there. The person that Luke had given his own father's lightsaber. The person Rey had seen, in that vision—remorseful, strong. A force for change and goodness that would stand beside her and make the galaxy a safer, more balanced place.

She had to believe in that Ben. And that Ben had to survive. Not only for the galaxy, but for her. Because she was afraid to lose him. Because his soul was so entwined with hers that she wasn't sure she could ever fully untangle it. Because she would be devastated beyond measure if he was gone.

She imagined never being able to touch his hand again, never feeling those thick curls in her hands, or hearing his dark, deep voice saying her name. He fought at her side, a savage presence that kept her anchored and honest and challenged.

Rey curled her fingers into the black shirt she still wore. Her heart thudded hard, and she drew up her knees, wishing he were on the ship. Wishing he were with her right now, so she could confirm he was there.

With an almost unconscious tug, she snagged Ben's mind and brought him to her. "Ben," she whispered, without opening her eyes.

The Betrayal faded around him and all that mattered was Rey's mind reaching out for his, drawing him close. He stepped nearer, sitting on the edge of the bunk she lay on.

"I'm here, Rey." He tried to decipher the strange tangle of emotion that he was getting from her. It wasn't something he was familiar with, a strange fear and... possessiveness? Reaching out, he brushed the back of his hand across her knuckles. "Were you dreaming?"

Rey turned her fingers and slid her hand into his. "No," she said, using his arm to tug herself up to sit. She opened her eyes, and seeing him there, real and full and solid beside her, it was easier to catch her breath. "I'm thinking too hard. I'm...thinking too hard about what happens when they call me in. And what happens to you. I don't want..." she leaned her head into his shoulder. "I don't want you to stand trial. I want you out here, safe. Because I know who you are, and I don't know how to show the rest of the galaxy. I'm not a politician. I can't protect you."

"It's not your job to protect me." Ben said quietly, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side. "Or to defend me." He leaned his head against hers, her hair soft under his cheek.

Rey's words made him think, consider the future in a way he had not before. Striking out on his own from Karrakesh with his army in tatters and the ghost of Anakin whispering in his mind, the ragtag new government had been the least of his concerns. He had never planned on being caught by them, frankly he had expected the die on the outer rim, battling the remnants of his own army, and his own ghosts. Actually going back, turning himself in or letting Rey do so... he couldn't imagine it.

"So I stay ahead of them. It's been proven again and again that a lone Jedi is easy to lose in this big galaxy."

"But I can't run forever," Rey said. The ache was throbbing in her chest. Grief, just at the thought of having to choose between the friends that had become her family, and the man who was slowly becoming her law of gravity.

She turned her face against his shoulder, amazed that these Visitations gave her so much now. Even smell. He smelled of sweat and the closeness of two days aboard a starship. It didn't matter, though—the smell was his. And it was comforting. More than comforting. At last, she let herself wind her arms around his chest and scoot closer. "I don't want to leave you."

Ben twisted towards her to pull her against his chest, one arm winding tightly around her as the other hand found her hair. His fingers dug into the fine strands, appreciating the almost-real intimacy of it. There was still a faint 'other' that Visitation lacked, some muffling of all the senses that was almost imperceptible. He could smell the grease on her shirt, feel the warmth of her arms and the faint shake of her hands. But she was still not... there.

"Two more days." He said quietly into her hair. "Two more days and then let's talk. I don't think I could handle you leaving again, and I don't want you to have to run."

She nodded into his shirt, tucking herself up against him. "Can you stay?" She asked. "With me. Until I sleep. Like we were the other day, on that blanket?"

Ben nodded, shifting back onto her bunk and pulling her down against him. She was tucked under his chin, her arm over his chest as he cradled her close. "Like the picnic..." His mind went back even further. "Like in the storm on Artas." He smiled slightly, closing his eyes and running a hand comfortingly down her arm. They were building patterns, and this one with Rey quiet in his arms was beginning to become precious to him.

Rey leaned into him, tossing a leg up over his thigh, feeling her body begin to relax against the warmth of his side. She tightened her arms around his chest, shifting the one beneath him down to his waist, where her circulation was less in danger of being cut off. His bicep was a comfortable pillow, his shirt collar a perfect place to bury her nose and close her eyes.

It was amazing to her that,even Visiting, she could feel his heartbeat against her cheek, pulse flowingstrong down his arm and in the gentle throb beneath the skin of his neck. Sheclosed her eyes and felt their breathing fall into sync.