4. Chapter 4

The truth is, Rey doesn't actually mind Mos Eisley all that much. It's noisy and crowded, yes, but not as noisy and crowded as Coruscant is, and it's practically a thriving urban paradise compared to the rudimentary outposts and desolate villages of Jakku.

"Lando calls this place the armpit of the galaxy," Ben mutters as the speeder cruises through the Old Quarter's maze of ramshackle buildings and sleazy kiosks. Hunched over Rey as he is, his lips graze the shell of her ear while he speaks; bursts of pleasant static crawl down to her spine from each point of contact. She's still thinking about how softly those lips had dropped a kiss on the top of her head out on the Great Chott.

But the mention of General Calrissian jogs another recollection— something Leia had told her once, the latter's Force signature heavy with a tortured sort of nostalgia as she tried to make sense of what had happened to her family.

"Speaking of Lando-approved nicknames," Rey says to Ben, "where'd you dock the shuttle, little starfighter?"

He pinches her thigh. It's a casual gesture of teasing reprimand that Rey has never experienced the likes of before, and she all but jumps up from her perch between his legs. No one's ever touched her the way Ben does— so freely, with such possessive affection. She's not used to it.

She never wants him to stop.

"Don't start anything you can't win," he chides, "sweetheart."

Another endearment. "Ben," she protests faintly as she blushes again, and she can feel his smirk grow against her temple.

Keeping his hand on her thigh, he directs her to one of the 362 individual hangar bays scattered throughout Mos Eisley. The speeder groans to a halt outside the north entrance and the two of them hop off and walk in, Ben already rifling through his pockets for the credit chip which he'll use to pay the attendant droid.

But he soon freezes, and Rey does, too.

The ship that Ben had commandeered at Celanon is a Durotech Mneffe- class superluminal shuttle, an old model from the early years of the Galactic Empire that's comprised of a long central fuselage slung beneath a semi-circular wing. Standing in front of it— as if they've been waiting for a while— are five males of various species, each one sporting inky black tattoos and a mishmash of leather and armor plating. There's a gaunt, lanky Pau'an with pinstriped gray skin and jagged teeth; a sandy-hued Weequay with frilled jowls and sunken eyes; a bulky Gamorrean with sharp horns and even sharper tusks; a reptilian Nikto; and a statuesque, ridged-faced Falleen with long silver hair tugged up into a high ponytail.

The Falleen is wielding a bladed-trident, the Gamorrean a war axe. The other three have blasters, which they aim at the new arrivals the instant they see them.

"You're going to say it, aren't you?" Although Rey's deadpan question is addressed to Ben, her gaze remains fixed ahead.

"You know I am," Ben replies out of the corner of his mouth. "'I have a bad feeling about this.'" He takes a step forward, subtly placing himself between her and the group before asking, in much louder tones, "Which one of you is the attendant droid?"

"We scrapped it because it got in the way of us locking down the shuttle," the Pau'an sneers, unimpressed by Ben's cutting-edge wit. "Did you really think we wouldn't have a trace on all our vessels? How dare you steal from the Black Sun!"

The name of the notorious criminal syndicate rings through the air, but Rey is too incredulous to afford it any semblance of dramatic due. "You didn't scan for a tracker?" she bursts out.

Ben casts a long-suffering glance over his shoulder. "It's not as if I've had a lot of practice stealing ships—"

Three blasters discharge at the same time.

Rey draws her lightsaber, the beam of yellow plasma crackling into existence; Ben immediately ducks in response to the movement, allowing her to deflect the bolts— two of which bounce off the hangar walls while the last one rebounds on the Nikto who had fired it. He falls to the ground, dead, and that's all the impetus that the Falleen and the Gamorrean need to charge at Ben, who activates his own lightsaber just in time to block their attacks.

Rey leaves him to it, concentrating on the remaining blaster wielders. She splays out her off-hand to telekinetically knock the Weequay into a nearby pillar and then she runs at the Pau'an, her blade zigzagging in front of her as it redirects laser after laser. Once the Pau'an is within range, she leaps into the air and spins, kicking him square across the jaw before he can fire off another shot. He stumbles, dropping the blaster, which she doesn't take long to summon into her free hand.

Rey hears the Weequay comming for reinforcements in Huttese, the criminal underworld's lingua franca. She catches the word Jeedai as she whirls around to see him still slumped against the pillar but taking aim at her again. Rey's quicker on the draw, shooting him before he can shoot her, but it's already too late— the other members of the Black Sun are guaranteed to converge on their location any minute now.

First things first, though. The Pau'an has recovered, and he's coming her way with a knife.

It's not a fair fight anymore. If she kills him, it won't be in self-defense; it would be just killing him because she could. And that would be too close to the darkness that lives on in her veins.

Rey holsters the blaster as she evades the Pau'an's first slash with ease, then slices her empty fingers alongside the back of his head, stunning him with the Force. Once he has toppled over in an unconscious heap, she turns to help Ben.

The Gamorrean is flat on the ground, eerily still, blood oozing from his snout. It had been either a fist or an elbow rather than a lightsaber strike that did that, but Ben is currently making full use of the weapon as he tangles with the Falleen, blue plasma shrieking against the trident's sturdy prongs.

Trawling the currents of the Force, Rey detects the approach of a swarm of hostile lifeforms— the other gang members will be barging in from the south entrance long before she can bypass the shuttle's lock. She sweeps out an arm and the Falleen is lifted off his feet and hurled against the far wall.

"Time to go," Rey pants as she grabs Ben's hand and breaks into a run. Back towards the north entrance, back towards the speeder.

It looks like they'll be taking the Millennium Falcon to Coruscant, after all.

If they can make it.

☾✩☽

The gangsters catch up halfway through the Sluuce Canyon. Distant roars pierce through the blood pounding in Ben's ears and he looks back to see an array of black assault speeders dotting the horizon that they're leaving behind.

"Now would be the perfect time to step on it," he tells Rey.

"This isn't a racing engine!" she snaps. "They're going to outflank us in two minutes, maybe less."

Ben pries the blaster free from the utility belt cinched around Rey's waist and starts firing— he picks off a couple of the nearest pilots easily enough and manages to ignite a third one's reactor, but that still leaves several more to contend with, and they're all too happy to start returning fire.

Laser cannons strafe the bone-dry earth in bright red shards, missing Ben and Rey by inches. There's enough space in the tiny corner of his mind that's removed from the situation to be amazed by the effortless way that they immediately fall into sync— her weaving to throw off their opponents' aim, him lining up shots during each split second that she holds still to the side. They take out another three members of the Black Sun like this, and then she's shouting at him to hang on tight as she accelerates, plunging into a narrow labyrinth of spindly rock formations.

The syndicate's speeders are faster, but Rey is without question the better pilot. As Ben clings to her for dear life, she darts to and fro amidst the spires in a lethal game of chicken, and one by one their pursuers are dashed against the rocks.

By the time they exit the Sluuce Canyon, they're down to two enemy repulsorcraft, and Ben's head is spinning, and he is— in all honesty— incredibly turned on by Rey's deft maneuvers.

Too bad that he's in no position to do anything about it.

Instead, he loosens his grip on her so he can continue shooting as they zip over the dunes. The remaining foes are much more adept at dodging, though, and he only manages another few rounds before the trigger produces nothing save for a hollow clicking sound.

Cursing under his breath, Ben tosses the blaster, prompting a squawk of indignation from Rey as she sees it sailing into the golden sands out of the corner of her eye. "What the— we could've just recharged that later!"

"I'll buy you a nicer one," Ben promises. One of the Black Sun speeders is now right behind them; he reaches out a hand and he concentrates, his fingers making a crumpling gesture. A wide section of the pursuing vehicle's hull crumples along with it, durasteel panels rippling away to reveal the circuitry underneath. The hapless pilot yells obscenities as he crash-lands in a blaze of smoke and twisted metal.

One left.

The hardest one to get rid of, as it turns out.

The lone surviving gangster is green-skinned and slight of build; although the upper half of his face is obscured by the visor of a black riding helmet, the saucer-shaped antennae poking out signify that he's a Rodian. He's tenacious, his speeder's cannons blasting away as he gives chase, and despite Ben's own reckless brand of flying he's starting to get motion sickness from the sharp, violent turns that Rey is forced to make in order to dodge the never-ending barrage of artillery.

Ben belatedly notices that she's driven them far north, away from her hut in the Jundland Wastes. Just as he starts to wonder what her game plan is, he spies an unusually large depression in the sands up ahead.

"Oh, my stars," breathes a familiar voice, and Ben whips his head around to see Luke sitting cross-legged on the flat bed with an expression that suggests he's enjoying himself immensely. "It's the Great Pit of Carkoon."

"Ben—" Rey starts to say, but he cuts her off as he finally realizes what she's up to.

"I'm on it." He waits for her to slow down before he freezes the Rodian's latest shots in place. The black speeder draws almost level with them as they coast over the banks of the pit, and then Ben's wrist slashes through the dusty air, redirecting the lasers to hit what lurks below.

An enraged, guttural shriek rings out over the Dune Sea.

The sarlacc stirs, rings upon rings of spear-like teeth blossoming amidst the shifting sands.

Rey fires up the thrusters, narrowly avoiding the massive tentacles that erupt from out of the abyss. The Rodian is not so lucky; he screams as the appendages wrap around his speeder, pulling it— and him— into the sarlacc's gigantic, waiting maw.

Luke shakes his head. "You kids are even crazier than we were," he remarks before fading away.

As the adrenaline slowly drains out of his system, Ben leans into Rey, winded from physical exertion and copious use of the Force. Tightening his arms around her midriff, he buries his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent until the sense of danger passes and calm is restored.

She steers them to the western border in alert silence. When the distant ridges of the bluff where her hut is located has come into view with no more Black Sun repulsorcraft swooping down upon them, she kills the engine and turns her whole body to face his. The smallness of the seat ensures that she's practically straddling him in this position, but he doesn't have time to think about that because her hazel eyes are glassy with anxiety, slightly red because she hadn't had time to put on her goggles. Her hands run over his torso in feverish search.

"Are you okay—" Her voice is so strained and choked that a part of him withers at the sound of it— "are you injured— let me heal—"

Her fear of losing him again is such a palpable thing that he would have felt it in the Force even without the bond. His hands fly up to her shoulders, his thumbs massaging soothing circles along the edges of her collarbone. "I'm fine," he assures her. "Not a scratch. I'm all right, Rey."

He's about to move in to embrace her, but she starts rooting around in her pack, a strangled sob tearing loose from her throat. He sits there, stunned, as her emotions roll over him like a tide. Anguish. Terror. Despair.

Exegol.

She's shaking all over as she pulls out the rags and arranges them around his head once more. Shielding him from the harsh sand and the sweltering heat. It's only then that he's galvanized into action, kissing her trembling fingers every time they drift within reach of his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Ben mumbles. "Of all the ships I could have stolen— I should have checked for a tracker. I'm an idiot."

"You're my idiot," Rey says fiercely as she tucks the last fold of fabric, the last knot, into place.

☾✩☽

By the time they reach the base of the cliff where the Falcon is docked, she appears to have regained control, more or less. It's his turn to feel a little fragile as he is brought up short by the sight of his father's ship for the first time in ages.

It... doesn't look all that bad, actually. Still a piece of junk, but certainly in far better condition than he'd expected, considering that it's been rotting out here in the desert for the past several months.

"You maintain her regularly?" Ben asks Rey as they levitate the vacant speeder into the cargo hold.

"Whenever I have time and materials," she says, telekinetically popping the freight loading doors back into place with a flick of her wrist. "Mostly, I just do what I can to keep it from rusting over."

"You've done well. She doesn't look a day over five hundred years old."

Rey scrunches up her nose at his teasing, and Ben's heart skips a beat. Fuck, she's so cute. It's an odd thing to notice this late into their acquaintance, but their previous circumstances hadn't exactly afforded a lot of opportunities for her to make that face at him.

Wait...

He thinks about the forest on Takodana, and how Rey had glowed like a tiny sun against all that lush emerald green as she blasted away at him. Her nose scrunched up, her eyes fiery.

Yeah, she'd been cute even then. He just hadn't been able to properly appreciate it.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

He blinks, jolted back to the present. Rey's gaze is inquisitive; she has a few more freckles on her left cheek than she'd had back then. Ben shrugs, the corners of his lips quirking in a rueful half-smile. "Just remembering something."

☾✩☽

Ben is quiet as they board the Falcon. Rey can only guess that, for him, it must be like stepping backwards through time. She knows he traveled with Han a lot before being sent off to Luke's academy. She knows he'd wanted to be a pilot, like his dad. These are the things Leia had told her during that long, long year of war, and even now Rey isn't so sure that the General hadn't found her completely transparent, hadn't peppered in anecdotes about Ben's childhood precisely because Rey was starving for them even though she'd tried to convince herself that she no longer cared after Crait.

Rey had always been good at lying. Suppressing her feelings for the Supreme Leader had been one of her greatest cons yet, until it all fell apart amidst the ruins of the second Death Star on Kef Bir.

"I did want to take your hand."

Her fingers itch to do so now, but she has no wish to intrude. Ben's dark eyes are roaming every inch of the dilapidated main corridor that they're traversing, lost in remembrance. She would be selfish to insert herself into his headspace.

"I boarded this ship when we found it on Starkiller Base," he says. "It was the first time I'd seen it as a man. But Kylo Ren was a frightened child aping skewed constructs of manhood, so I think— I think that perhaps this is the first time, after all."

Ben is a mess of contradictions. Moving so much like his father, yet apparently given to bouts of pensive introspection like his mother, or like Luke. He's all sharp wit and scholarly vocabulary and warrior's heart, these things combining to form what is entirely his own blazingly honest self. Rey is entranced— and excited, to know more about him, to learn every single layer that he is willingly peeling back.

She trails after him as he makes his way to the cockpit, his loping stride tentative and unsure. He sucks in a harsh breath as his gaze falls on the pilot seat, and her brows knit together and she begins to suspect...

"Can you— are you seeing him, right now?" Her faltering voice is too loud in the stale air. Han had not been Force-sensitive; he shouldn't be able to manifest this way.

Ben shakes his head— but it's more to clear it, rather than to signify a negation. "He's just a memory," he says in distant tones. "But he is— my memory. Maybe that's enough."

"I think it must be," Rey tells him softly, and in that moment it's suddenly crystal clear to her what Han would have wanted. "And I think you should be the pilot."

Ben frowns. "Rey, I—"

She fakes a yawn, figuring it's high time that she put her ability to lie to some kind of better use. "Oh, I'm so tired. I'll end up flying us into a ditch, for sure. Co-piloting is all I'll be good for until I've rested up."

"Rey," he says again. Exasperated, reluctantly amused.

"I'll just drop my pack off at the crew's quarters." She tips him a mock salute. "Be right back, captain."

Rey leaves the cockpit before Ben can say another word. Once she's in the hallway, though, she gives in to the temptation to glance over her shoulder.

Ben's silhouette is outlined against the desert sunlight pouring in through the ship's transparisteel viewport. With his back to her in his battered jacket and worn trousers, he could almost pass for the younger version of Han that she'd seen in old holos. As she watches, he runs his fingers over the backrest of the pilot seat, and then he folds himself into it— slowly, so slowly, like a child afraid of getting caught.

For a while, he's as still as a statue. And then those same fingers rise up to wrap around the Millennium Falcon' s control yoke, and Rey can't shake the feeling of how right it looks. Can't help but think that Ben Solo is finally, finally home.