The Redemption of Fate ~ A Reylo Story

26

Ben followed the strong pull in his chest that led him to the Millennium Falcon. He could sense that big freighter ship from meters away. His father's ship. The very destination where Ben had earned his pilot's license, but also where he had seen loss. Where his father had left him and his mother behind, when his gambling suddenly became more important than family. But no matter what, Ben would always find fondness in the Falcon.

He saw it then as he rounded the corner of a massive, outstretched leafy tree. Not one pair of eyes could miss that monstrous, elongated body of a ship. It stretched wider and farther, both at the posterior and anterior, then any of the other ships on that planet. Even outdated, somehow it still shone like a beacon of brilliance and awe. And the very second Ben stepped foot onto the unlatched ramp, he deeply missed his father. The kind of yearn for a soul that could never be compensated.  A deep pang of remorse momentarily choked Ben's throat. Kylo Ren still murdered Han, regardless of Ben's redemption, and history could never undo that, not any amount of the Force. Ben stepped inside. 

Nostalgia punched him in the gut. The remembrance sent chills up his spine and his attentive disposition was replaced with child-like gaiety. Ben was so wonderstruck, he hadn't even taken account that the lights were on, the doors open--let alone the ramp that had been unlatched. Ben's chest tightened with familiarity as he sensed a presence close in on him. The booming grunt of a Wookiee echoed through the gaping tunnels of the Falcon, and Ben perked up in acknowledgment. 
"Chew?" He called, approaching the fur-covered Wookiee, Chewbacca. He moaned a response in Shyriiwook. Ben nodded, understanding his old comrade. It had been tens of years since Ben deciphered that guttural language, but he could still comprehend it, though he had to think a little harder this time. 

"Chew, it's okay," Ben held his hands high in surrender. Chewie's eyes were wary and perplexed. He tilted his head to the side, taking Ben in. 
"It's me--it's Ben." He melted a little at the thought of his youth. In a flash of lucid memories, he recalled his former life--his first life as Ben Solo--and all the moments as a child when he nestled into Chewie's fur. Every time Ben stole Han's prized dice and Chewie accused him of taking it. Of course Han's punishment for Ben was a rampage of roughhouse tickle fights. Ben blinked those memories away for another time.  
"It's. . . Benny." Han coined that nickname. Another thing Ben deeply missed hearing--one he would never hear again. 

Chewie replied with a guttural mutter. 
"I know, it is a lot to get used to." Ben agreed. "Were you there at the gathering this morning?"
Ben never saw Chewie at Poe's mandatory meeting. And Chewie was at least an entire torso length taller than even the tallest men and women there. He would have noticed him, easily. But he didn't.
Chewie hesitantly nodded, explained how he hid away from sight, too shaken to face Ben. And Ben could never blame the Wookiee. The night Kylo Ren murdered Han was the same night Chewie lost his most treasured companion. That pain would never be dissolved. 

Chewie groaned a response again, this time his animal-like tone was softer, genuine.
Ben blinked, he felt something in his heart mend. Even if it was just a small fragment. "You forgive me?"
Chewie nodded, moisture glistened in his Wookiee eyes.
"I appreciate that, Chewie." And without constraint, Ben embraced Chewie, like he always had as a child. He felt small in Chewie's cushioned limbs, as if he had shrunk. A strand of Chewie's fur tickled Ben's cheek. He pulled away, patted Chewie on his shaggy arm. 
"I'm going to look around a bit longer."
Chewie roared and Ben cracked a small smile. "There are some memories I need to revisit."  

                                                                                              ***

Ben sat in the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon. He had toured nearly the entire ship at that point; he had walked all the tunnels, checked out the holo-chess that he and Han used to play around with. Visited the ginormous fuel tanks. Rummaged through the old bins of junk Han somehow found meaningful that no one dared to throw away.
The familiarity of the Falcon became a part of Ben. From the particular cushions of the seat, to the feel of the yoke, and the worn-out, overused grimy smell of the engine emissions. The panels in front of him--he recognized all of them; he knew all their functions through weeks of memorizing them when he was young. He also knew all of the trouble he could cause by flipping two completely different switches at the same time.

Or, worst of all, pulling the Hyperdrive initiation lever down too early, sending the ship into an alarming jolt. Han would lose his mind when Ben did that, and Ben did it occasionally. Particularly to get even with his father after Han had pranked him, or deserted him and Leia for too long with no explanation as to why. It may have been slightly passive aggressive of Ben. Only slightly.
Ben sighed. He ran his fingers along the overused throttle. It was undoubtedly worn and discolored; the paint completely eroded. Ben couldn't begin to count the times he had watched his father's hand grip onto it, pull it downwards and send the ship levitating off the ground. It would soar rapidly--sometimes way too rapidly--into the atmosphere, and Ben's stomach would become a whirlwind of butterflies. But was it fun.  Especially when Ben was behind that throttle. 

Through the wide dome-shaped expanse of the windscreens in front of Ben, he could see the sun begin to fall over the jagged, evergreen mountaintops. He reached out for Rey's presence in the Force--she was still steadfast in slumber. And suddenly, the aftermath of the uninhibited nostalgia, crashed down on Ben all at once. To his avail, the Falcon had unoccupied cabins, and he was far too exhausted to deny them.