Ouroboros

Three

Three:

No one came. Finn and Poe didn't return and there was no one else who really wanted to talk to him-though he strongly suspected many people wanted to have the kind of 'talk' that ended in blood and pain, curled on the ground, struggling to breathe or in the swift thrust of a knife or the fading whine of a blaster shot. They dispatched a droid to check his wounds and ensure that they were healing as planned and to administer a further shot of whatever they had drugged him with but they didn't provide food or even water and he found his throat growing parched and his lips cracked.

Then the guards came in, stone-faced and brusque, unlocking the binders and unceremoniously hauling his large frame from the inadequate bed. His head spun at the sudden, vicious change of position and he pressed his lips together to forestall any sort of groan, though he guessed they would see the scrunching of his brow. His injured leg stabbed a sharp jab of pain as he was dragged along, The corridors were suddenly crowded with members of the Resistance, all stationery and glaring at him. Some remaining spark of pride had him straightening up his tall frame and pulling his broad shoulders back, lifting his chin to meet their contempt. And he had never been more glad that his connection with the Force was almost completely suppressed. The intensity of the hatred in every eye was stunning, the emotion almost crackling about the watchers: it would have been a literal hurricane, howling in his ears if he could still feel it through the force. Taking a deep breath, and feeling a throbbing in the back of his head, he lowered his eyes.

It was a relief when they shoved him into the cell and the door slammed behind him, walling off all those glaring eyes. Pausing for a long moment, he limped over to the simple ledge that served as a bed and slumped down to sit on the edge, briefly covering his face and then running his fingers back through his hair. And then he rose, ignoring the gentle vertigo and limped back and forth across the small cell, trying to work the kinks out of his body from being immobilised for so long and trying to think. First and foremost, he needed to get out of the cell. Poe and Finn were probably the only people here who would even grant him a thought before trying to kill him-and only for Rey. The rest...well, he was pretty sure they would shoot him out of hand. Unconsciously rubbing his wrists and trying to ease the red weals from his binders, he turned and limped back across the cell.

And there was Rey. Back on Exegol, he had been injured, exhausted, drained...but here, he could think a little more clearly. And he knew that something was wrong. There should be no body, no remains. Jedi merged with the force when they died, leaving artefacts but no body.

Vader was cremated, he reminded himself. Though he had spent decades as a Sith and in any case, Rey was no Vader. He paused. Nor was he, though he had spent wasted years trying to be. His fist curled instinctively, a surge of anger and disgust at himself rising and he took a shuddering breath. It would be easy to fall back into old, familiar patterns, allowing himself to be drawn back into the dark. The darkness was always there, a part of him, an old friend. Becoming Ben Solo was a conscious choice, one that he would have to live with-including all of its consequences. He forced his hand to uncurl without punching the wall.

Time was running out. The Council of whoever was left in the Resistance would be meeting and they would decide his fate. From the reaction of the Resistance members, it didn't take any imagination to figure out what that would be. No matter what happened, no matter his decision, the sacrifice he had made, the battle he had fought...Rey was dead. And without her, he stood less chance than the inhabitants of the Hosnian System had against the Starkiller weapon. Lifting his head, he peered at the door.

He was going to have to escape.

-o0o-

Time seemed immaterial in the strange fog of the Force. She had been walking, hand in hand with Luke and Yoda forever-or it could have been a few seconds. But the conversation had gently faded and they just walked together, slower than Rey would normally have moved because even here, in the unreal realm of the Force, Yoda seemed to be old and limped along with the help of a staff.