The Art of Broken Pieces

Spoon, The Great and Powerful

For the two days that the Betrayal and the Falcon spent traveling into the distant reaches of the outer rim, Ben spent the nights in Rey's bunk, holding her quietly while she slept. They didn't talk much, and despite the desire to move towards something deeper Ben restrained himself, gently petting her hair, her back as she found sanctuary in his arms.

The soft pinging of the Betrayal's nav system woke him on the third morning, dragging him away from her side as he opened his eyes and stretched stiffly in the small pilot's chair. No matter how much it felt like he had been sleeping in a bunk, stretched out and comfortable with Rey's body tangled around his own, his muscles still brought him back to the harsh reality that he had been camping at the Betrayal's console instead.

Rubbing his eyes, he looked down at the small world, a blue-green orb hazed by drifting clouds in its atmosphere. Local population was limited at best, and Ben set his scanners to finding them some uninhabited location to land. Some place he would be comfortable leaving his ship as he once again joined Rey on the Falcon.

They swept slowly down through the atmosphere, and Ben eyed the small island that they had found, steep hills covered in low shrubs and rocky outcroppings. A wide plateau along the western edge made a good landing field, and Ben slid the Betrayal into place beside the Falcon on the thick grass. Some small four legged creatures scattered at their approach, disappearing into the rocks.

Rey depressed the hatch button, even as she worked on her post-flight sequence, knowing Ben would want to come aboard and settle his things. And, maybe, come into the cockpit and see her. Not that he hadn't seen her less two hours ago, or felt her at least. It had been dark in the bunk, but she was getting used to the way it felt to sleep with his arms around her, his big form warm against her. Or, at least, the way the Visitation made it feel. Her arm never went numb, as she suspected it would if his real weight was on it. Without those little discomforts to drive them apart, it had been an interesting few nights of nerves and comfort, and she was glad he hadn't tried to kiss her, or more.

She wouldn't have been capable of resisting, but part of her wanted to save it. The tension between them was growing sweeter, something both certain and not-yet ready. Despite knowing what she wanted from him and, to the degree that she knew his mind, what he wanted from her, there was no telling what pattern the pieces would make when they fell.

Lunch sat like a feathery blob in the copilot's seat, his black eyes swiveling to take in the sky and rocky outcropping. He emitted a vague rumble of curiosity.

"It doesn't have a name," Rey said, imagining the trill into a question. "It might locally, but not anything official in the star maps."

She rolled her shoulders. She'd trained a bit, with an old floating zapper droid she'd found in one of the lounge pods, first with her eyes open, and then with them closed, letting herself sense her surroundings. It had been a fun way to practice, but she wanted to be in the fresh air, feet on stone, the weight of her lightsaber or her staff in her hand.

Maybe Ben would spar with her. That would certainly be a challenge. He had more than a decade of training beyond hers. What she did with instinct and grit and scrappy scavenger fighting, he did with purpose and form and rage and muscle memory.

Packing up the few things that he still had stashed on the Betrayal, Ben powered her down and closed her up, engaging all her upgraded protections. If anything disturbed her, his com would ping him with an alert and send video feeds from the ship's exterior.

Stepping onto the Falcon brought back mixed feelings that Ben was becoming accustomed to fending off on a regular basis. As he stowed his things in the bunk he had claimed back on Aurelia, he paused, tired of shoving things he wanted to ignore into the boxes he had built for them in his mind. Instead he tried to force himself to face the things that he had been avoiding.