8. Chapter 8

The docks for visitors are located to the side of a sprawling, busy courtyard, which is dominated by a towering white pillar capped off by a flag that bears what was formerly the Resistance symbol and is now the emblem of the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances. Behind the structure looms the old Imperial Palace, an amalgam of block-shaped edifices with facades that slope down from a quincunx of spires.

It's the pillar that captures Ben's interest. It appears to be a monument of sorts; as he and Rey draw closer, he notices that it's covered in etched strings of tiny Aurebesh lettering from top to base. Before he can read any of it, though, Rey's steps quicken and she grabs his arm and leads him to the palace's set of elaborate doors, giving the snowy-hued monolith a wide berth.

It's intentional. Ben knows it's intentional, because Rey always gets a certain look on her face when she's being less than honest— a certain defiance, like she's daring someone, most often him, to call her out. But he has little opportunity to so much as wonder what she doesn't want him to see because, all of a sudden, they're inside the headquarters of the Galactic Alliance and she's making a beeline for the front office.

The receptionist is an elderly Togruta with rusty red skin, cone-shaped montrals, and graceful, flowing lekku the color of ivory and sea foam. She's slouched behind a wraparound desk, sporting a bored expression as she files her nails.

Rey clears her throat. "We're here to see General Poe Dameron."

The Togruta barely glances up from her task. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Er, no—"

"It's appointments only in the morning. Walk-ins won't be entertained until after noonday break."

"Carshotta, it's me," Rey persists. She darts a furtive, almost ashamed glance at Ben before elaborating, "Rey Skywalker."

It's the first time he's actually heard her refer to herself as such. It elicits a sour feeling of wrongness in him that had been far easier to play off when he was drunk and cracking jokes about kissing cousins.

The receptionist— Carshotta— isn't impressed. "The Galactic Alliance will not afford special treatment to leaders, friends of leaders, war heroes, and the like," she intones. "All power to all the people, or else all power is a tool of systematic oppression."

"I see you've been talking to Rose," Rey grumps. "Look— we've come all the way from the Outer Rim. We need to meet with Poe. It's an emergency."

Carshotta exhales a long-suffering sigh, setting down her nail file with a pointed clatter and picking up her datapad. After a few minutes of typing, she offers Ben and Rey a curt nod. "General Dameron will see you now."

"Lovely woman," Ben quips to Rey once they've drifted out of earshot.

"She used to be a big star in a traveling carnival act," Rey says as they head to the turbolifts. "I think she's cranky that she had to retire from the stage, but she's good at her current job. This place would fall apart without her."

This place is a maze of expansive corridors and pillared halls teeming with people of various species who scurry to and fro, some with noses buried in datapads, some rapidly chattering away on comlinks, others walking in groups and arguing among themselves as they hurry from one meeting to the next. There is none of the hushed precision that had been so characteristic of the First Order or the stateliness that Ben remembers from the few times his mother had brought him to the Senate. Perhaps that's a good thing.

Although a few individuals call out greetings to Rey, most are content to stare as she walks past them, her stride brisk, her chin held high, and the look on her face just shy of stonily unapproachable. Is this how she always is, or is it a ruse to prevent too much scrutiny from falling on her and, consequently, her companion? For his part, he is busy manipulating the currents of the Force to dampen others' perception of him; it's a lighter, more generalized variant of the mind trick, subtle nudges instead of brute shoves. Gazes flicker to him and then flicker away, deeming him inconsequential.

It works quite well, actually, and soon the turbolift doors are sliding shut. Ben and Rey stand side by side, saying nothing for a while. The contraption is old and slow, and it has creakily hauled them up a couple of levels when she turns to face him, her hazel eyes so wide and earnest.

"This is familiar," she says softly.

"It is," he agrees. His eyes drift over her features as he absently catalogs once again the placement of each freckle, the delicateness of the bow of her lips. "You were wearing your hair down."

How long is her hair now? He's seized by the urge to find out for himself, to tug each bun loose. To unravel her.

"I saw your future," she'd told him back then. "The shape of it."

"I saw something, too," he'd replied. "You'll be the one to turn. You'll stand with me."

It had all come true, in a fashion, at the very end. But he's not such a fool that he doesn't realize it could all have gone better, if only his choices had been different. If only he hadn't let the dark side consume him.

He's about to reach out to her, to pull her close, when the turbolift groans to a stop quite a few levels away from their destination and the doors hiss open, and a blond man with a scruffy beard strides in. Ben only has a second to register the flare of panic in Rey's Force signature before they're ascending again.

"Master Skywalker!" The blond man smiles at Rey, who's gone all tense while Ben does his very best to camouflage into the wall. "What brings you to Coruscant?"

"Oh, just—" Rey shrugs— "stuff. Good to see you, Beaumont."

"Lovely to see you as well. You should drop by more often." Beaumont turns to Ben, who can only grimace as recognition dawns on the other man's features in a slow wash of horror and bewilderment combined. "Y— you!"

Rey moves as quickly as lightning, slipping in between the two other passengers as her fingers stretch out to the side of Beaumont's skull. "You don't know this man." Her voice rings with a quiet, measured authority. The Force hums.

"I don't know this man," Beaumont says, his blue eyes glazing over.

"You will exit the turbolift at the next level."

"I will exit the turbolift at the next level."

"You're a dunderhead," Ben helpfully chimes in.

"I'm a dunderhead," Beaumont echoes, resigned, as he does what Rey had bid.

Once they're alone again, Rey levels Ben with a stern glare, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He smirks. "What?"

☾✩☽

The top floor of Galactic Alliance HQ is home to the workstations of High Command— the seven officers of the former Resistance who are at the helm of the fledgling new republic until they complete the transition to a real democracy. It won't be for another few years yet— not until more progress has been made with the rebuilding efforts and the new generation of politicians finish their training— but Rey knows that, as far as Finn and Poe and Rose are concerned, it won't be a moment too soon. Her friends have learned the hard way that leading combat operations is far simpler and more preferable compared to trying to get an entire galaxy to cooperate with one another.

Poe has his back turned to the door when Ben and Rey enter his office, his head of curly brown hair bent over a map of Wild Space glowing in sapphire light above a holotable. Judging by the frustration that rolls off of his sinewy frame in waves, he's still embroiled in the logistical nightmare of shipping supplies to the remote sectors that had been hit hard during the war. The last time Rey visited Coruscant, Poe had been attempting to devise a more efficient route.

He doesn't immediately react to the arrival of his visitors. This in itself is already an indication of how much things have changed— Poe Dameron the soldier, the ace pilot, would have whirled around in a flash, always gung-ho, always ready. Instead, he merely calls out, "That you, Rey?" in a distracted tone of voice, still deep in thought.

"Don't freak out," Rey says.

Poe glances at her over his shoulder. "Why would I..."

He trails off, his mouth snapping shut at the sight of Ben.

Of all her friends' possible reactions to the return of Ben Solo that Rey had been frantically envisioning, this hadn't been on the list— Poe very slowly, very carefully switching off the holo, and then just as slowly and just as carefully walking over to his desk and taking a seat.

"Poe?" she ventures as he and Ben stare at each other in silence.

"I'm not freaking out," Poe says. "You told me not to freak out, so I'm not. This is me not freaking out." He presses a button on the intercom at his desk. "Finn, could you come in here, please?"

There's a synthleather couch shoved up against the wall. Rey decides to make herself comfortable but Ben stays rooted to the spot, wary and incredibly obvious in his wish to be anywhere but here. It's not long before Finn's strolling into Poe's office, holding an open packet of moss chips in one hand and blithely munching away.

"Rey, you're here!" he exclaims, beaming, mouth full, the door shutting behind him. "What—" He freezes mid-chew, his gaze landing on Ben— "the fu—"

"My sentiments exactly," Poe interrupts with all the conscientiousness of a struggling amateur diplomat who has recently been advised that foul language can cause a tense situation to deteriorate even further.

"We can explain." Rey pats the empty space next to her on the couch. "Finn? Do you want to sit down?"

Finn shoves another moss chip into his mouth, crunching it viciously and deliberately. "I'm good where I am."

His meaning is clear. He wants to remain on his feet so that he can quickly subdue Ben if the latter were to do anything suspicious.

Ben picks up on Finn's reasoning right away. "What are you going to do," he drawls, "throw junk food at me?"

"Kriff," Rey mutters under her breath while Finn bristles, the foil packet crinkling as the hand clutching it draws into a fist.

"Okay, no," he snarls, narrowing his eyes at Ben. "We're not going to do that thing where we waste time trading smartass remarks. I'm not Poe—"

"Hey!"

Finn waves a dismissive hand in the other general's direction, focusing solely on the person whom he must for all intents and purposes think is a ghost. "I don't want to hear another word out of you unless it's to explain why you're here. How you're here." He pauses as an idea occurs to him. "Are you projecting from the afterlife?"

"I'm not dead," Ben replies tersely. "I was dead, but the Daughter brought me back."

"Who," Finn says, in an admirable albeit slightly put-upon display of patience, "is the Daughter?"

"She's also dead." The faintest of sardonic grins curls at the corners of Ben's lips as the younger man starts to look like he's about to pop a blood vessel. Finally, though, he relents. "She was an extremely powerful Force wielder. Her spirit now dwells in the Netherworld, which is where I met her, and she resurrected me."

Poe speaks up. "And she did this out of the goodness of her spectral heart, or...?"

Finn shoots him a pointed glance. "What did I say about wasting time with smartass remarks?"

"Can't remember, I only caught the part where you waste time scolding me for making them—"

"Enough," Rey growls. The room immediately falls silent, three pairs of eyes swiveling towards her. "The Force brought Ben back to life because his time wasn't done yet. He wasn't supposed to die on Exegol. There is something dangerous that has made its way into our galaxy and Ben and I need to stop it before it destroys us all." She is perhaps laying it on a bit thick, but she has to stress how utterly vital Ben is so that High Command doesn't end up throwing him behind bars.

To her friends' credit, they more or less take the revelation in stride; they'd seen for themselves what the Force was capable of during the war. And although Rey can sense that the conversation about Ben Solo and his allegiances is far from over, Finn and Poe are leaders, first and foremost— they've had to be. Poe is all business when he asks, brow knitted in concern, "So what's this new threat, then?"

"We don't know," says Rey. "That's why we came here— to see if Galactic Alliance intelligence might have picked up anything out of the ordinary. It seemed like the best place to start."

Finn and Poe exchange looks. "I wonder if it's..." muses the former.

"Yeah, yeah." Poe reaches for his datapad. "Let me pull up the file."

Rey makes eye contact with Ben from across the room. She offers a small, tentative smile; in contrast, he doesn't seem particularly encouraged by the way events are unfolding, but he nods stiffly at her.

Such a grump, Rey thinks with fondness. It's going so much smoother than she'd ever dared to hope. No one's drawn their lightsaber, no one's gotten shot, and Finn's even resumed chowing down on his moss chips...

The door opens. A spherical, orange and white astromech droid comes trundling in, followed by Commander Rose Tico.

"Poe? I've fixed Beebee's photoreceptor, there was a loose wire causing significant processing delay. His optics should be as good as—" Rose stops in her tracks, Ben's six-foot-three frame naturally the first thing in the room to catch her attention— "new," she squeaks out, utter shock written all over her olive-toned features.

And, before Rey can say or do anything, before she can assure the other woman that Ben means no harm, before any member of what has become a frozen tableau can even begin to catch Rose up on the situation—

— BB-8 charges.

☾✩☽

So far, Han Solo's lucky dice are doing a crap job, because it is not— by any stretch of the imagination— Ben's day at all.

Not only did he get recognized in the turbolift, not only has he been forced to endure the most awkward conversation in the history of the spoken tongue with two former enemies, not only is Rey several feet away from him instead of by his side— but he is also currently being attacked by a ball.

Unleashing the shrillest of battle cries, BB-8 rams into his shins. Ben topples over, crashing to the floor with an undignified yelp, and then the droid is upon him, zapping him repeatedly with an arc welder. There's a lot of shouting that sounds far away over the rapid-fire bursts of electric heat being injected into Ben's system; he's seeing stars by the time Rey has scrambled to her feet and shot out a hand to telekinetically wrench BB-8 away from him. BB-8 emits an indignant screech as he's blasted into the air and sent sprawling across Poe's desk, rolling onto the floor with a heavy thunk.

Poe has also stood up at some point within the last few seconds and is now brandishing an outraged finger at Rey. "Don't use the Force on my droid!"

"Don't yell at her!" Finn snaps at Poe.

"Don't let your droid attack innocent bystanders!" Rey yells back in kind, rushing to kneel at Ben's side.

Finn rounds on her in disbelief. "Don't call him innocent—"

"Don't," Rose addresses everyone in the office. "Just don't." She locks the door and then plops down into the nearest available chair, her gaze falling on Rey and Ben. Whatever she sees as Rey runs her hands over Ben's crumpled form in a methodical search for any lasting injuries, she keeps to herself.

"Let's start from the top," Rose suggests.

Since Rey doesn't answer, too preoccupied with channeling healing energy into Ben's veins to wear away the scorch marks and the lingering static, Ben takes it upon himself to launch into a curt, dry recapitulation. Rey shifts his head onto her lap while he speaks and, by the time he falls silent, she's cradling his face in one work-roughened palm while her free hand strokes his hair.

Actually, it hadn't hurt all that much compared to past trials, but he'd be lying if he were to say that there isn't at least some measure of enjoyment derived from Rey fussing over him. Especially in front of Finn and Poe, who are casting dark glares at the two of them.

"How do we know for sure that we can trust you?" Rose asks Ben bluntly. "Rey's not what I'd call unbiased— no offense, Rey—"

"I'm sure you meant a little offense," Rey grumbles.

To Ben's surprise, it's Finn who begrudgingly says, "He's telling the truth."

Poe and Rose appear to relax at this, if only by a small amount. Confused as to why they'd take Finn at his word— and why Finn would even vouch for him in the first place— Ben extends his perception, trying to glean what he can from everything unspoken that's hanging in the air.

"You're Force-sensitive," Ben realizes out loud, peering at Finn from where he's sprawled on the floor.

"Shut up," Finn tells him, with feeling.

Rey hunches protectively over Ben. "Finn."

He ignores her, turning to Poe. "Do you have that file yet?"

"Oh." Poe blinks. "Right." He grabs his datapad, but not before reaching down to give a very disgruntled BB-8 a pat on his domed metal head. Ben makes eye contact with the droid's photoreceptor, hoping that the expression on his face makes it clear that this isn't over.

BB-8 flicks out his blowtorch with all the aplomb of someone flipping the bird.

Thankfully, Rey either doesn't notice this interaction or she chooses not to mind it. "Are you all right?" she asks Ben gently.

She looks so concerned that he can't stop himself from grabbing hold of her wrist, squeezing once in reassurance. Finn is quite emphatically not looking at them, but Rose is, her eyebrows all but disappearing into her hairline.

"Okay, here it is," Poe announces a short while after Rey has helped Ben to his feet. "Nine standard days ago, we received a dispatch from one of our contacts in the Outer Rim. He thinks the Hutts are up to something."

Ben scoffs. "When are the Hutts ever not up to something?"

"I'll give you that," Poe says, "but our contact believes this is a special case. He has someone on the inside with the Besadii kajidic and, according to that person, there's been a lot of offworlders moving around the Y'Toub system as of late."

"What sort of offworlders?" Rey asks.

Poe shrugs. "Our contact doesn't know. His spy doesn't recognize the species, but apparently they're strange— and so are their ships. I put in a request for more information. Still waiting on that."

"Could be nothing," Rose chimes in. "Could just be a new trade deal in the works, in which case the Galactic Alliance will have to keep an eye on it, but it's hardly sufficient reason for the Force to bring someone back to life. However, since you're searching for something out of the ordinary, Nal Hutta strikes me as the best place to start."

"And with that," Finn says, "I'd like to invite my co-leaders to join me in a private meeting."

Without further ado, he leads Poe and Rose to a side door that Rey knows from previous visits leads to the 'fresher. "That went well," she says to Ben once the aforementioned door has shut.

"I'd have to agree," Ben concedes. "With the exception of the droid—" And here he darts a censuring look at BB-8, who's stayed behind and is surveying him with all the wariness of a guard dog— "your friends are taking this remarkably calmly."

"I told them what happened on Exegol. And, well—" Rey's chest puffs with pride— "they're in charge of an entire galaxy now, aren't they? They've really matured."

Suddenly, muffled shouting emanates from behind the 'fresher door. The three voices are indistinct but heated, and one increases in volume long enough for Rey to catch the words, "— Just comes waltzing in here with his stupid hair—!"

"I spoke too soon," Rey sighs, not knowing whether to admonish Ben for the return of the smirk on his pale, handsome face, or to kiss it off of him.

After several minutes of blistering argument, Finn, Poe, and Rose march out of the 'fresher.

"Okay!" Rose says briskly, nodding at Ben and Rey. "We need a few hours to put together a game plan— establish communication lines and safety nets and all that— then we're off to Hutt Space."

"We?" Ben echoes.

"Oh, yes." Rose stares him down. "We're going with you."