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Chapter Text

Kylo Ren’s hands itched. He curled his fingers in his gloves as if he could grasp the dark Force that roiled through the shadowy conference room. The leather gave a satisfying creak. If he had to endure even one more inane idea from his Supreme Council—

“Leader Ren,” Colonel Hamne was saying, “Pasaana has petitioned for five-hundred thousand credits to provide relief to Hosnian refugees who were out-system during the cataclysm and have sought sanctuary on their planet. In light of—”

“They want what?” Half a million credits? Who did they think they were? If he hadn’t destroyed his mask, Kylo could hide the fact that every facial muscle was contracting with rage.

“Funding,” the colonel repeated, “for refugee relief?”

“Is there no work?”

“The Aki-Aki are renowned for their hospitality, but their farms barely attain subsistence levels.”

“Then the refugees had better find a more accommodating planet or else find themselves starving.”

“But, sir, Pasaana had no part in the Hosnian incident—”

Indulging this type of weak sentimentality would cripple the First Order and the galaxy. Kylo telekinetically slammed the colonel’s face into the table. Once. Hard. Hamne slumped down in his tall-backed seat, unconscious. Blood trickled from his nose.

“Does Pasaana contribute anything to the First Order that would justify this demand?” Kylo glared at the colonel’s superior, though she maintained rigid control of her dark features, less so the horror and irritation writhing in her emotions.

“Silicite, sir,” General Parnadee said with a quick glance at her insensate aide, “which is a minor ingredient in transparisteel. Pasaana harvests a modest amount from their dust farms each year.”

“Double it,” Kylo said. “Payable on the standard new year.”

“Sir, that’s only weeks away and it’s—” General Parnadee surveyed the length of the gleaming black conference table where the First Order’s five other senior leaders and their aides sat is stone-faced silence. She was not normally one to contradict. Her voice dropped to a whisper, as well it should. “It’s Christmas.”

“Such antiquated and pointless observances are of no concern to the First Order.” Christmas was a holiday for children and naïve optimists. Christmas was a crutch and a waste of precious resources. It belonged in the past, destined for a dusty corner of galactic history best forgotten. Kylo cast a scathing glance around the room. “Any last comments before we adjourn?”

General Hux cleared his throat. “If I may, Supreme Leader?”

Kylo only nodded his permission. The little ginger-haired weasel. What was he up to now?

“I would like to remind the Supreme Council that their presence is required at the annual Stormtrooper Gala, which will be held in Hangar 8 at 1900 hours on—” He mumbled something unintelligible.

“What was that, Hux? Speak up.”

“The Stormtrooper Gala”—he lifted his chin as if his coat were buttoned too tight—“on Christmas day, sir.”

“I thought I heard you mention Christmas.” Kylo extended his hand and closed the Force on Hux’s throat. “Surely I was mistaken.” Oh, but it felt good how the dark energies curled through him and coiled around the general’s pasty neck.

“Such events are purported to be excellent for increasing morale,” Hux managed to choke out before his lips began turning purple.

Knowing Hux would chafe at serving as glorified event planner was precisely why Kylo had assigned him the task. But the only reason Hux would have planned the Gala for Christmas instead of the usual New Year’s Eve was to curry favor with the troops at Kylo’s expense. The conniving passive-aggressive little gutter snipe.

“Reschedule the Gala. There will be no Christmas. Not on the Steadfast. Not in the First Order.” He released Hux, who fell back into his chair gasping. Kylo glowered at his senior advisors. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” Hux rasped as the others murmured their concurrence.

“Dismissed.” Kylo spun on his heel. The doors barely hissed open before he swept through and barreled down the hall.  The command section was still staggering to attention when he halted before Lieutenant Mitaka’s desk.

“Lieutenant, what,” he pointed to a spiral of green wire, “is that?”

“A, um, that’s a—well—” Mitaka’s head shrank into his shoulders. “That, sir, is a type of, um, shall we say, holiday tree, which in some cultures—”

“I know what a Christmas tree is,” Kylo snapped, cutting him off. “But what is it doing on your desk?”

Mitaka looked around the command section, clearly in hopes a colleague would come to his rescue. Everyone was preoccupied with their terminals. He answered tentatively, “In keeping with the holiday spirit, sir?”

Holiday spirit? If the lieutenant wanted to see some spirit, Kylo would be glad to show him. He flicked on his lightsaber in the same smooth motion he drew it from his belt.

Mitaka leaped back and cowered.

“There”—hack—“will”—swipe—“be”—stab—“no”—slice—“Christmas!” Kylo stood throbbing with dark power and heaving over the melted rubble of Mitaka’s desk, the little tree a green blob of molten metal.

“Yes, sir,” Mitaka said with a shudder. “Right away, sir.”

***

The door to the Supreme Leader’s quarters swished closed behind him. Blessed privacy, at last. Kylo jogged down the stairs, intent on his bedroom. What an aggravating day. It was late and he was tired. A good sonic scrub, he’d try to sleep and face it all again next cycle. Not that a shower could wash away the frustration and anger shrouding his spirit in its murky miasma. Snoke had touted only the dark side’s power; he never warned how brutally exhausting it was. He would never have admitted such weakness. Neither would Kylo.

He was halfway across the antechamber that housed Darth Vader’s twisted mask when sound shifted as if air had been sucked into vacuum. Not Rey. Not now.

Kylo halted but didn’t turn around.

He could feel her there behind him, her signature in the Force unbearably bright and pulsing with warmth.

“Go away,” he said, still not turning around. “I’m in no mood for this.”

It sounded like she muttered, Are you ever? But it might have been entirely in his head.

What if he just walked away? What if he went to the ‘fresher and stripped for his shower? What would she do then? He had half a mind to try it.

“Ben?” Her voice was quiet, hesitant even.

The way her lips caressed his old name might as well have been a Force-command. He heaved a sigh and rotated to face her. He didn’t know where to look first: at the uncommon rosiness brightening her cheeks. Or the shiny filaments glimmering in her hair and trailing from her shoulders. Tinsel, maybe? Or the obnoxious loop of red and green lights blinking around her neck. Or the candy cane dangling from her lips like a cigarra.

“What,” he said, “are you doing?”

She popped the candy cane from her mouth and grinned. “Decorating for Christmas!”

Of course she was. Asking such a blatant question could only testify to the weariness of his mind.

She set the candy aside and it disappeared on her side of the connection. A few steps forward and she stood close enough to touch him, close enough for the dark side to withdraw its shadowed talons, as if it couldn’t abide her light. “It’s so wonderful, Ben! I had no idea. We never celebrated Christmas on Jakku.”

“Rey,” he spat, “I don’t do Christmas.”

Her cherry-stained lips turned down. “You don’t have to be such a scrooge about it.”

He’d have to ask Mitaka what a scrooge was. Kylo flicked a hand in dismissal. “You keep Christmas your way and I’ll keep it mine, which is to say I have more important things to do than indulge in an obsolete festival.” That shower, for starters.

Rey cast a furtive glance over her shoulder, stood on tiptoe, and addressed his ear in a conspiratorial whisper. “You should come. We’re having a party tomorrow. It would mean the world to your mother. It’d be the best Christmas present ever. Will you at least consider it?”

Was she serious? Did she have too much spiked eggnog or mulled wine? “You think General Organa of the Resistance will welcome a visit from the Supreme Leader of the First Order, hmm?”

“Well, no, not when you put it that way, but she’d love to see Ben Solo.” She settled back onto her feet and held his gaze with that soft smile and those rosy cheeks. “For that matter, so would I.”

Oh, the heat that unfurled below his waist at her implication—  Never mind that she insisted on calling him Ben. This girl would surely be his undoing. He harrumphed.

She glanced above his head. “I don’t know if I’ll have a chance to see you tomorrow, so—”

She stepped closer, so near the heat shimmering from her body breached his many layers. She flipped the ridiculous necklace over her head and around his neck. He would have ripped it off, but all his attention was on her hands—  Why were her hands still gripping his shoulders, clenched in the quilted fabric of his doublet?

She dimpled up at him, a smile more dazzling than any he had yet to behold.

He was mesmerized.

She glanced again above his head, levered him down and herself up, and pressed her lips to his. Quick as lightning and just as electrifying.

His heart stopped.

“Merry Christmas, Ben.” She dimpled at him again.

And the Force-connection closed. Naturally.

He stood dumbfounded. If he weren’t a kriffing nerfherder, he could have grabbed her waist or plundered that pretty mouth or said something. Anything. But he froze like a wide-eyed schoolboy on the receiving end of his first kiss.

He ran his tongue across his lips. She tasted like peppermint.

***

Kylo paused before the remains of Darth Vader’s helmet, where it rested on an obsidian pedestal. It seemed to melt and morph, glowing with green light as it reformed to its original appearance. Goosebumps prickled on his arms, and he took a long step backwards. He didn’t sense the dark side at work, but if he was seeing things, then clearly he was too tired to meditate. And clearly this was not the night to seek his grandfather’s voice.

He squinted at the mask, which had resumed its usual mangled form, and shook his head. Definitely seeing things. “I bet you never had to put up with this kind of inanity.”

“You’d be surprised,” a male voice said from behind him.

Kylo jumped but had his lightsaber ignited in hand before his boots settled back to the floor. He spun with ferocious swiftness and the blade struck true, slicing clean through the intruder.

“Nice saber,” the man said, “if a bit unstable. Though to be honest, I haven’t given up hope you’ll carry mine.”

Kylo blinked at the figure haloed in translucent blue light. A Force ghost. “Grandfather?”

The shorter man stood with arms folded across brown Jedi robes and quirked an eyebrow. He was younger than expected and didn’t look at all like Kylo imagined. He didn’t see any resemblance to himself, except perhaps in the length of his sandy brown hair and the prominent bob of his throat.

“At your service, Benny, my boy.” He cycled his forearm in a silly little bow.

Benny?

“‘Grandfather’ sounds a bit stuffy, don’t you think? Maybe ‘Granddad’ or ‘Grand-Ani’ or even just ‘Anakin.’ I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to acknowledge our relationship.”

A thousand thoughts and emotions collided in Kylo’s head and resolved into a single question: “Why?”

Why had Anakin abandoned the dark side? Why hadn’t he answered on all those occasions Kylo pleaded with him to speak? Why did he choose now? Why was he here?

“Right. You want to come straight to the point.” Anakin steepled his hands. “Prudent, really, given the time limitations. I’ve come to warn you that if you continue on your current path, you will face a lifetime of heartache and suffering. I know this because it’s what I endured. I would spare you that fate. As long as there’s breath in your lungs, it’s never too late, but do not wait until the end of your life like I did to return to the light.

“I have procured this opportunity for you, Ben. Consider it my Christmas gift. When the chrono marks 0100 hours tomorrow, you will be visited by the spirit of Christmas past. On the next night at the same hour, you will receive the spirit of Christmas present. And on the third night, at the last stroke of midnight, you will meet the spirit of Christmas yet to come. Be ready. Listen well and choose wisely.”

The words hardly registered there was so much Kylo wanted to ask and discuss. “But, Granddad—”

“I must admit some surprise that you’ve already gotten into the spirit.” Anakin flicked at Kylo’s chest and winked. “Astonishing, the things love will make you do.”

Kylo looked down at Rey’s red and green lights still blinking around his neck and flushed. He yanked the necklace over his head, located the tiny switch, and powered it off.

When he lifted his gaze, Anakin was gone.

Chapter Text

Kylo woke, heart thumping a ruthless tattoo. He thrust the black coverlet away. Cool air eddied across his damp sleep shirt, and his pulse slowed. Faint illumination came from his bedside chrono, which read 0100 hours. How was that possible? He hadn’t climbed into his sleeper until close to 0200 hours, determined to outwait the predicted visitor. Perhaps the earlier interlude with his grandfather was merely a bad dream attributable to his bad day or even bad food.

He pressed the heels of his palms against tired eyes until color flared behind his lids. When he opened them, a gentle light glimmered from the foot of his bed.

Keeping his eyes on the glow, Kylo reached for his lightsaber as he sat up.

An ugly green creature—no larger than a human child, haloed in blue, and sporting whiskered ears that made Kylo’s look dainty—squatted near his feet. The first Force ghost Anakin had mentioned?

“Where we are going”—rasped an aged voice on the verge of laughter—“need that you won’t.” One wave of its hand wrenched the hilt from Kylo’s grip and sent it scuttling into a shadowed corner.

“That’s my—you can’t—” He spluttered. “Who are you?”

“The spirit of Christmas past, I am,” it said, “but call me Master Yoda you may.”

“The Master Yoda?” Half-asleep as he was, Kylo didn’t know whether to be honored or intimidated—or offended that Yoda had snatched his saber. He settled for: “My uncle trained with you.”

“Know your history, do you, young Ben?” Yoda puckered his lips, grunted an mmpf, and waddled atop the duvet to prod Kylo with his short cane.

“Ouch.” Kylo winced. “What are you doing? Stop that!”

“Up you get,” Yoda said with another firm poke. “For go we will.”

Kylo crossed his arms to protect his ribs and scowled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Yoda cackled a laugh and held out a small appendage ending in three clawed digits. “Take my hand, you must.”

He refused. No one commanded Kylo Ren, not since he killed Snoke. Not even ancient Jedi Master Force ghosts.

Yoda scrunched his eyes, and the atlas of lines in his wrinkled face creased deeper as if he were straining—  Calling the Force, Kylo realized, which coalesced atop Yoda in a blaze of glory. He marveled for a moment, then rallied the dark side in counterpoint. He might as well have yelled into a gale for all the effect it had.

In the next instant, Kylo found himself traversing space at hyperspeed, his thick index finger wrapped in Yoda’s diminutive grasp as starlines whipped past his head. How was this possible without a ship? His stomach revolted.  

***

They alighted in the living room of Kylo’s family home on Chandrila. He bent over, braced his palms against his thighs and drew deep breaths to thwart the nausea. When he stood, he was facing a large bay window. Night made it too dark to see outside, but Kylo knew that view as if it were branded into his eyes. He knew how the Silver Sea stroked its endless waves along the pale breast of beach, how moonlight gleamed and beckoned from the ocean swells, how the sand squelched between his toes.

“You can do it, Ben.” His father said and Kylo spun.

His stomach clenched at the image of a younger Han calling encouragement from behind a holo-recorder.

Toddler Ben perched on Chewbacca’s wide Wookiee shoulders, a shining star sandwiched between his tiny hands. Uncle Chewie gripped his ankles as the little boy stretched farther and farther toward the uppermost branch.

“Almost there,” Han said. “Just a little bit more.”

Ben settled the star on top the Christmas tree. The evergreen wasn’t especially tall or beautiful, but each ornament held meaning. Listening to his parents retell the stories had been his favorite part of decorating as a boy.

Clapping erupted and Kylo spun again, this time to find his mother and Uncle Luke wreathed in smiles and celebrating little Ben’s success.

Had it really been like that? His family interacting with such warmth and affection? How many other joyous memories were buried in the past he’d striven so hard to eradicate?

Uncle Chewie hooted his approval and swung little Ben onto the old rag rug that covered the hardwood floor. Another wave of sentiment crashed over Kylo. He’d loved that old beach house, humble and lived-in and welcoming. And full of light. Just what a home should be.

Ben ran straight for his dad and attached himself to his thigh.

“You little rathtar, you!” Han laughed, set the holo-recorder aside, and peeled Ben from his leg.

He squealed as his dad tossed him into the air before catching him again.

“That’s my boy,” Han said, tickling him in the chest, “I’m so proud of you.”

Ben chortled and buried his mop of sable locks in his dad’s neck.

Kylo’s heart contracted with longing. What he wouldn’t give to hear his dad’s voice again. To hear him say he was proud. To undo their last horrific moments together. He swallowed the mountain of regret and blinked away the grief.

“Time to go, it is,” Yoda said and squeezed Kylo’s finger. For once, he agreed.

***

They flew from the Chandrila living room at dizzying speeds and landed in the Millennium Falcon’s lounge. This time Kylo was prepared and didn’t need to recover. A miniature Christmas tree twinkled from atop the dejarik board where Uncle Chewie sat. Han and Leia cuddled together on a bench, their attention focused on nine year old Ben, who had yet to grow into his rangy ears and nose like a moonhawk.

“Go on, sweetie,” Leia said with a heartening smile, “open it.”

Young Ben turned the wrapped package round and round before slitting each piece of tape with meticulous precision and removing the paper to avoid ripping as much as possible. He opened the box and the rapture that lit his countenance, that drove the encroaching dark to the edges— 

Kylo remembered well the joy of that moment, the first time he beheld the antique calligraphy set, his finger running over the nibs and ink pot hidden beneath the carved wooden lid. It would have been a generous gift for an adult; it was wholly unsuited to an active child, especially a boy given to fits of temper. But he treasured it. It was the same calligraphy set he took to the Jedi Academy. The one he still kept in his suite on the Steadfast.

Kylo breathed deep to relieve the pressure in his throat. He was not going to cry over this.

His parents gazed on his boyhood self, their expressions a matched pair of gentle smiles and adoring eyes. How they delighted in making him happy.

“Love you, they did.” Yoda tugged on his finger. “Love you, they still do.”

And they zipped away from the Falcon before Kylo could memorize the tenderness on their faces or the warmth in their feelings. It was happening too fast.

***

Next, they stopped in his mother’s senatorial apartment on Hosnian Prime. The table was too long for three, the dimmed lights of the chandelier overhead too formal. Candlelight flickered in an elaborate centerpiece arranged from spruce trimmings, ruby berries, and gilded ribbons. Han squirmed in his seat, his discomfort palpable. The elegant dining room was designed for entertaining politicians and galactic envoys, not celebrating a family Christmas.

Ben was a sullen youth, home on holiday from his uncle’s Jedi Academy.

Leia lit the rum-soaked pudding, and a blue flame illuminated the shadowed room.

Time was Ben would have oohed and ahhed over the spectacle, but Kylo could read the resentment sharpening his adolescent features and deepening the purple crescents under his eyes.

Leia served the pudding. She was trying so hard to hold their family together, to craft a happy moment from unhappy people. Pain knotted Kylo’s spirit.

Ben chewed a single bite before swallowing a long draught of water from the crystal goblet. A citrus aroma curled from the dessert wine, which Kylo knew he’d never touch. Ben settled the fork on his plate and leveled a morose glare at the fine china and silver utensils.

“Your mom made Christmas pudding because she knew it was your favorite,” Han said and lifted a forkful as if in toast. “The least you could do is eat it.”

“Han—” Leia chided, drawing out the single syllable.

“I’m done with pretending.” Ben shoved the pudding away. China struck crystal with a sharp ting. “It’s inedible.”

“Now, Ben, you apologize to your mom. She—”

Ben leaped to his feet. His chair fell backward and thick carpet muffled the crash. Crimson splotched his cheeks, and the Force rippled with darkness. “You should have left me at the Academy. You could have had your kriffing Senate party without your embarrassing Force-user of a son around to frighten your guests away, and you could have served your kriffing pudding to someone who’d feed you the lies you obviously want to hear. You didn’t want me here anyway. I don’t know why you bother pretending.” And he stormed into the hall that led to the bedrooms.

Kylo stared, stunned by the vitriol spewing from his younger mouth. That wasn’t at all how he remembered it. Hadn’t he been provoked?

His parents exchanged a meaningful look.

Leia hid her face behind the shield of her hands. Her voice was muffled. “Where did we go wrong? He was such a sweet boy and now—”

“He’s a teenager,” Han said and stretched an arm to give her back a brief rub. “They’re difficult. By definition. Give him time. He’ll come around.”

She lifted red-rimmed eyes and exhaled a slow breath. “Did we do the right thing, sending him to Luke?”

“I don’t know, but if anyone can help him now, it’s your brother.” Han scrubbed a palm down his grizzled cheeks, slapped it against the table, and shook his head. “Stars, I love that kid.”

“I know.” Leia reached to cover his hand. Her mouth pulled into a melancholy smile. “I do too.”

“That’s enough. I’ve seen enough,” Kylo said. Was it a betrayal of his youthful alter-ego to empathize with his parents? They may not have understood him or known how to speak to him, but how many times had they tried to reach him and he shoved them away? He didn’t even want to think about it.

He fixed his most imperious glare on Yoda. “Take me back.”

Master Yoda only tsked, shook his wizened head, and hobbled down the hallway toward Ben’s room. Kylo balked, but Yoda dragged him by one finger as if his towering frame held no more substance than his objections.

A painfully familiar sight greeted them. Destruction reigned, darkness slithering through it like a ground fog in the Force. Books strewn across the floor, their spines bent and broken. Pictures torn from the walls and pennants shredded. A model starship he’d labored long to construct, smashed.

Ben rocked back and forth where he sat amidst the wreckage, eyes pinched shut and palms clapped over his ears as if he could mute the voice Kylo knew so well. Snoke would be there whispering his filthy lies into Ben’s mind.

Kylo hunkered down before his younger self. “Don’t believe him, Ben. It’s a lie. All of it.”

“Hear you, he cannot,” Yoda said.

He ignored the Jedi Master and continued to address the youth. “Snoke’s using you. For your power. For your heritage. He’s twisting and perverting everything that’s good and bright, cutting you off from the people who love you most. And they do love you—you have to believe me.” Emotion welled like a geyser and Kylo made a useless grab for Ben’s shoulders, ordering him in a half-sob, “Don’t do it. Don’t let him ruin your life. Save us both.”

Ben rocked on, eyes and ears closed, unheeding.

***

Yoda tugged Kylo’s finger, the scene shifted with stomach-churning speed, and Kylo found Ben sitting in a similar position, except this time on a step outside the Jedi Academy’s communal hall. Kylo dashed a tear from his cheek and blinked the blurriness away, still reeling from their last stop and unprepared for more.

The door behind Ben slid open and emitted Luke Skywalker along with a waft of music, gaiety, and multi-colored light. The annual Christmas party.

Luke settled on the step beside him. Ben was a Jedi Knight and a young adult, as tall as he would ever be though a good deal narrower.

The Jedi Master held his silence and only sat with his nephew, their breath making twin puffs of steam in the cold night. Unseen clouds blackened the stars.

For a long while, Ben said nothing either and then: “What do you want, Master Luke? I’d prefer to be alone.”

Luke turned his face toward his nephew, pale eyes flashing even in the gloom. “Your friends miss you. They wish you would join them.”

Ben snorted. “I doubt it.”

“I miss you.”

“Well, I’m here, am I not?”

“Are you?”

“What kind of question is that?” Bitterness shadowed Ben’s eyes and the Force quivered around him.

Kylo remembered. How the dark increased in power and allure. How he wearied of fighting and resisting.

Jedi Ben’s shoulders hunched forward. He hung his head and mumbled. “Just leave me alone.”

The older man remained a few minutes longer, gathered his robes and pushed to his feet with a grunt. He squeezed his nephew’s shoulder, but Ben dislodged the touch with an angry shrug.

Luke sighed and moved toward the door. He stopped just before returning inside.

“You know I love you as if you were my own son. I hope you know you can tell me anything.” The raw emotion was so clear in Luke’s voice and on his face. How had Kylo never recognized it before?

If only he had told him. If only twenty-one year old Ben stood up in that very moment and confessed it all—the pull to the dark, the relentless voices, the conflict shredding his soul. What if he had asked his uncle for help, asked before that same darkness and fear deluded Luke and drove him to extremes, tempted him to kill his nephew in his sleep? But Snoke had been victorious even in that, in separating Ben from the one man who could have understood—the son of Vader himself. If he and Luke had defeated Snoke together, how different his life might have been.

Kylo pressed his eyes closed and let the truth sear through him.

Love had been there all along. The love of his parents, of Uncle Chewie and Master Luke, of his friends at the Academy. They were far from perfect. They made more than their share of mistakes, sure, but they never ceased loving. He had only to receive, to reciprocate, but instead he thrust it away. He chose loneliness. He embraced the dark and battled the light. In the end, he believed it was his only path. Because the lie was louder. Regret rolled through Kylo. How much he had forfeited, but there was no going back.

A tug on his finger prompted him to look down at his little green guide.

Yoda rumpled his lips and offered a sage nod of his pointy ears. “Never too late, it is.”

Kylo woke in his sleeper with hyperspace fading from his vision, Yoda’s scratchy words echoing in his head, and fledgling hope beginning to fracture the shell around his heart.

Chapter Text

The chrono read 0100 hours. Again. Was it already the next night? When no one appeared after fifteen minutes, Kylo thought perhaps he was spared. If Christmas Present was anything like Christmas Past, he’d rather take a pass. Surely he’d done enough tunneling in the catacombs of his soul.

Silent fireworks burst in his antechamber. Kylo clambered off his sleeper and crept to the doorway. He goggled. Garlands strung with lights cast rainbow-hued circles on the white walls. Cinnamon hung heavy in the air. A yule log crackled and sparked from a large fireplace set in a bulkhead, and two matching stockings dangled from the mantel, one marked “BS” and the other “RS.”

He was seeing things again. Kylo squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Nope, still there.

“Merry Christmas, Ben Solo!” A Force ghost greeted him with a broad accent and jovial exclamation. His eyes twinkled when he smiled.

“And who might you be?” Kylo eyed him up and down. He was even younger than Anakin had been, dressed in similar neutral Jedi tones, and sporting a padawan braid.

“The spirit of Christmas present as far as you’re concerned, my lad.” He crossed the glossy white floor toward Kylo. “The name’s Obi-Wan Kenobi, but Luke knew me as ‘Uncle Ben.’”

“I was named after you.” A trace of awe trickled into his voice despite himself. What a strange reality to come face to face with the hero who inspired his parents.

“Much good it did you, Kylo Ren.” Obi-Wan poked a finger into his chest. “Your parents once thought I was the last hope of the Rebellion, and they dreamed you would be the next.”

Kylo didn’t back down from the offending appendage. He was Supreme Leader of the First Order, wasn’t he? Not leader of some dwindling Resistance. Weren’t the planets kneeling to his rule?

“My parents’ dreams were too small,” Kylo said. “I am the hope of the galaxy.”

“Seems I’ve heard that somewhere before.” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “You certainly come by it honestly—a triple dose of all that Skywalker-Organa-Solo pride. Which could serve you well if it weren’t misdirected. But come, I have only a day and the parties won’t wait.”

“Parties?”

“It’s Christmas day, Ben. Your most favorite holiday.” Obi-Wan chuckled at his own dry wit. “Now take hold of my robe.”

Kylo knew how this worked. There was no point in resisting since Obi-Wan, like Yoda, would drag him by his ears despite his protests. He grasped Obi-Wan’s sash—and the scene before them transformed, no longer his festive chambers, but a vaulted ceiling soaring above a sea of lights. As if the stars had bowed in worship. A dizzying array of species crowded into rows upon rows of seats, each holding a candle aloft. Kylo marveled at the beauty.

Then the scene morphed. Kylo squinted into the brilliance of a snowy landscape and grinned at children laughing and playing, sledding and skating, slinging snowballs and building snowbots.

The shifting scenes increased pace: Graceful dancers twirling among stylized snowflakes. Carolers clomping door to door. Neighbors helping one another. Baking cookies. Decorating wreaths. Wassail steaming and nuts roasting. A little Torgruta child hugging a plush porg in delight. Gifts stacked under trees of every variety.

Feasts and families and frivolity.

Giving and generosity and glee.

Joy poured into him. His heart was too small to contain it all. The cracks that had formed when he ventured through his past widened until bits of shell began to chip away and light streamed through. Warmth bubbled up. Kylo couldn’t help it. He smiled.

***

“Let’s try something closer to home, shall we?” Obi-Wan said. “There’s still time to attend the Stormtrooper Gala.”

“That’s impossible. I cancelled it.”

“The Force serves no master but itself.” The younger man spread his hands—except he wasn’t young anymore, a beard having replaced his padawan braid.

The scene before them transformed to Hangar 8. Booming bass assaulted Kylo’s senses. The floodlamps were powered down and in place of their sterile light, pools of warm white dotted the vast space. A Christmas tree towered many meters into the air, trimmed with clear lights and First Order insignia. In its shadow, a dance floor rippled with movement. Red, green, and black bunting swagged the walls with lit wreaths at each gather point. A buffet stretched the hangar’s width and featured a masterful rendering of the Steadfast in ice.

Stormtroopers crowded around in their black under armor, not a buckethead or white breastplate in sight. Personnel from career fields all over the ship ate and danced, played games and made merry. Was this Hux’s doing? Kylo would be lying to say he wasn’t impressed.

In one corner, teams raced to solve riddles.

A trooper read out, “The smog-less bewitching hour has arrived.”

“That’s too easy.” Kylo shouted in unison with a teammate:  “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.”

“I spied my maternal parent osculating a red-coated, unshaven teamster,” the trooper called next.

His compatriots exchanged confused looks.

“Osculate. Who comes up with these?” Kylo shook his head. “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”

He glanced at Obi-Wan, who stood with folded arms and faint amusement crinkling his mouth and eyes.

In another corner, a small group conversed with drinks in hand. A young blonde hollered to be heard over the music:  “I’ve got one. When does the Supreme Leader show his holiday spirit?”

Several cast anxious glances over their shoulders.

One leaned closer to her. “I don’t know if you should—”

“Oh, come on,” she said and waved her off hand, “it’s not like he’s going to hear me. Anyone?”

They shook their heads.

“Whenever he’s around General Hux.” She howled and slapped her thigh. “Get it? Because he’s green with envy and red with rage!”

The group snickered and then shushed her.

Kylo waited for the familiar rise of rage and offense at being the brunt of their joke, but he only huffed a little. He absolutely did not envy that conniving weasel in any way, but it was maybe just the slightest bit funny.

Much as he disliked agreeing with Hux about anything, the merriment was infectious and would certainly boost morale. He swept his arm to encompass the hangar as he turned to Obi-Wan. “All right, I understand. Lesson learned.”

“Not quite.” Obi-Wan waggled his eyebrows and winked. “I did happen to overhear a lovely young Jedi—well, almost Jedi—invite you to her Christmas party.”

His shoulders tensed. “Leave Rey out of this.”

“Not up to me.” Obi-Wan spread his palms and shrugged. “She’s on every path you choose.”

What was Kylo supposed to make of that?

***

And there she was, laughing and smiling brighter than the obnoxious necklace she’d bestowed on him. Rey elbowed the man seated next to her—the traitor FN-2187. He pretended to flinch before joining her humor, his smile spreading wide in his dark face.

Jealousy rose quick and hot, and Kylo gritted his teeth. She’d smiled at him like that a grand total of once. He had no right to covet her smiles, but he did. He tore his eyes from the happy couple.

Camouflage netting shaded a haphazard collection of tables in an outdoor mess. Even dressed only in his nightclothes, perspiration slicked his brow from the humidity. A jungle tree was strung with lights and festooned with—Kylo looked closer—an odd assortment of small parts, washers and wires and brackets, as if someone had disassembled a machine in lieu of ornaments. What he had guessed was tinsel turned out to be a shredded emergency blanket. No doubt a scavenger’s Christmas. He chuckled at Rey’s ingenuity—and his heart twanged. If this was all she knew of Christmas, she deserved better. He’d give it to her if he could.

“Be right back.” The traitor scrambled from his seat beside Rey and pressed her shoulder as he stood. Then he hollered across the mess. “Hold on, Rose. Let me help you.”

Kylo tracked him as he crossed to a young woman—Rose—who beamed up at him with shapely brown eyes set in a round face.

The mess erupted in unison. “Kiss, kiss, kiss!”

The pair glanced at the mistletoe sprig above their heads. The traitor grinned and leaned down to press a chaste kiss to Rose’s cheek.

That must’ve been why Rey kissed him. The Force had projected him under the mistletoe. But Kylo couldn’t be disappointed—not when his lips still tingled with the memory of hers.

The mess groaned.

“Aw, come on,” Kylo agreed under his breath, “you can do better than that.” Because if the traitor was kissing Rose, then that meant he wouldn’t be kissing Rey.

As if he’d heard, the traitor pressed his lips to Rose’s and a sweet blush bloomed on her cheeks. She shoved her burden into his stomach to break the kiss, and they moved together among the tables, him carrying boxes and her distributing ration bars.

Kylo frowned at Obi-Wan. Creases had deepened in his forehead and white patched his beard.

“Where’s their Christmas feast?” Kylo asked. “I mean, I wouldn’t expect them to serve roast goose or a plum pudding, but—”

“This is their feast. The Resistance doesn’t have enough to eat every day, let alone every meal.”

The reason went unspoken. Because the First Order—Snoke and Hux and Kylo—had reduced them to this. His stomach soured. Rey was going hungry because of him, yet still her light blazed undimmed. Somehow she mustered the resilience to laugh and smile despite her circumstances.

“Now you see why the galaxy needs more Christmas, not less.” Obi-Wan nodded as if he could read Kylo’s thoughts. “Hope is joy in the midst of suffering, light in the darkness, a reason to celebrate when all seems lost.”

Kylo trailed Rey through the party, helpless to escape her gravity. He laughed at the faces she pulled during charades and her fruitless attempts at answering Christmas trivia of which she had no knowledge. Force forgive him if he tried to whisper the answers in her ear. 

He stood behind her among her circle of friends as gifts were torn open and stolen, some silly, some not. He reveled in her sparkling laughter. The battle over a tiny bottle of Correllian whiskey, nabbed on a mission to Canto Bight apparently, nearly came to blows. Rey seemed happy to end up with an odd little green doll that, Kylo realized with a start, looked very much like a younger Yoda.

Rey was as bright and warm as the life-giving sun. He wondered if someday his orbit would decay and he would immolate himself in a stellar collision. Not a bad way to go.

***

Darkness descended on the thick forest, and the lights twinkled brighter. Then a hush swept across the chatter, Rey’s smile gentled, and Kylo turned to see what caught everyone’s attention.

Poe Dameron—the pilot Kylo interrogated once—escorted an older woman, who leaned on his arm while she balanced herself with a cane. Despite her frailty, she wore jungle fatigues, greying hair rolled atop her head, and clearly held the Resistance’s respect.

“Goes to show how desperate they are,” Kylo murmured an aside to Obi-Wan, “if this is who they’ve resorted to recruiting.”

Obi-Wan only pursed his lips.

“Speaking of which, where is everyone?” Kylo had been so engrossed with watching Rey that he didn’t stop to wonder why there weren’t more than forty or fifty people. He scanned the empty tables. “Are most off-planet for the holidays?”

“This is everyone.” Obi-Wan slanted him a reproachful look. “This is all that’s left of the Resistance.”

This was the Resistance? These ragtag humans and motley assortment of other species? Mon Calamari, Urodel, Abednedo, among others, and there in the deepest shade trying to keep cool in the tropical heat—Kylo’s breath hitched—Chewbacca, of course. If this was everyone, the First Order had nothing to fear from the Resistance. If this was everyone, then— Kylo searched the benches again but didn’t find the one face he sought.

A niggle of anxiety clawed up his spine. He would have felt it. He would have known if she were gone. “Where’s my—where’s General Organa?”

Obi-Wan didn’t respond.

Poe took his seat, and the older woman he’d escorted began speaking.

“Merry Christmas, my dear friends,” she said and the throaty warmth of her voice undid him.

Moisture gathered in Kylo’s eyes. This was his mother? This feeble woman who was only a shadow of the princess, the general, the senator that he remembered, whose fiery spirit had always exceeded her stature?

“No matter our circumstances, nothing can rob us of our joy.” Leia took her time in meeting each gaze, and Kylo didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed that she couldn’t see him. “Today we celebrate.”

“Wh—what—” Kylo managed to choke out. “What happened to her?”

“She’s dying, Ben.” Obi-Wan’s jaw flexed, all levity faded from his weathered face. “The Force enabled her to survive EV and the Resistance did what they could, but they don’t have adequate medical resources for cellular regeneration. Her body is breaking down at the molecular level. I’m not sure how much longer she has, but this is certainly her last Christmas.”

His mom was dying. Kylo swallowed hard. The treatment she needed was available in the Steadfast’s medbay. If only he could whisk her away. If only they weren’t on opposites sides of a war. No wonder Rey invited him with such earnestness. She knew.

“May the Force be with you,” Leia was saying, her short speech concluded. Beatific light suffused her features as she raised her hands in benediction. “And Maker bless us, every one.”

A deep tone reverberated through Kylo’s frame.

“And that,” Obi-Wan said, “is our cue to exit.”

“No, wait—let me stay.” Kylo clutched at his arm. He didn’t want leave. Not yet. Surely there must be something he could do—for Rey—for his mom—

The note boomed again, low and resonant.

“I was given but one day and my time is up.” Obi-Wan peered from beneath his crown of snowy hair. “Our task, my lad, is to make the most of the time we are given.”

***

The deep tone continued to resound, and a new scene flashed through Kylo’s vision with each strike:  A young couple sheltered in a hovel and tucked their newborn into a feed trough. Nerfherders stared awestruck into a night sky ablaze with giant warriors armored in light.

Gong.

Each weighty pause prickled with warning. A family strung puffed grain and signalberries to decorate a scraggly green branch.

Gong.

Refugees in a tent camp lifted their voices in haunting songs of peace. Kylo shivered.

Gong.

A horde of street urchins divided a single gingerbread-droid among their grimy hands.

Gong.

Pirates dressed in red suits and white beards attacked a freighter.

Gong.

A scantily clad Twi’lek shimmied, her chains and lekku woven with red and white ribbons.

Kylo looked away, then forced his attention back. He would not hide.

Gong.

Richly dressed and elaborately coiffed party-goers skirted a form huddled on the sidewalk and strung out on spice.

Gong.

“Is there nothing that can be done?” Kylo blurted. It shouldn’t be like this. Children shouldn’t go hungry. Slavery and drug-running and pirates shouldn’t ruin lives and destroy livelihoods. How could the joy of Christmas turn a blind eye to poverty and misery?

Gong.

“Is there no work?” Obi-Wan countered as his form began to dissolve with a blue shimmer. “Perhaps they should find a more accommodating planet or else find themselves starving.”

Conviction stabbed Kylo. He’d said that, but he hadn’t meant—

Gong.

“What do they contribute that would justify such a demand?” Obi-Wan was nearly translucent now, but Kylo could still make out his eyebrow arched high in censure.

Gong.

The bell ceased ringing and Obi-Wan disappeared into the Force.

A tall specter glided toward Kylo, cloaked and masked in black. And heralded by ominous breathing.

Chapter Text

Darth Vader.

How long had Kylo dreamt of this moment? Yet now that it had arrived, dread roiled in his gut. He’d already met Anakin—redeemed and luminous, at one with the Force. But Darth Vader was no Force ghost radiant with a blue glow. Whatever he was, his dark robes consumed light like a black hole. This was whom Kylo had striven so long to emulate? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember why.

Vader’s presence overwhelmed. Thick darkness pressed down on Kylo, evil suffocating and threatening to crush him to his knees. But he marshaled his courage—the light flared in his soul—and he lurched forward. He would meet this wraith head on.

“Grandfather? Are you the spirit of Christmas yet to come?”

The masked visage didn’t answer, only strained to breathe.

“Tell me. What is your lesson?” Kylo asked, his tone more demanding than he intended. The sooner they concluded this course of visions, the sooner he’d finish with this apparition. “Teach me what I need to know. I’m ready.”

***

Vader turned, somehow pulling Kylo with him, and extended a black glove toward the scene before him.

The secret underground room was dank with decay. A few lights flickered overhead and cast writhing shadows from the mass of beings milling below.

An auctioneer trilled and bidders raised their numbers to offer for black market items.

A mask much like the one Kylo used to wear, and had since shattered, rested on the auction block, except this one was whole and webbed with scarlet veins.

“Whose mask is this?” Kylo asked. He felt as though he ought to know, and the hairs at his nape stood to attention. “Why is it being auctioned?”

***

The scene changed and Vader pointed to a large family packed shoulder to shoulder around a holiday meal. An enormous ham, scored and dotted with cloves, steamed from the sideboard.

An older man at the table’s head lifted his glass. Light spilled through the window behind and turned the wine to burgundy fire.

“To Tannis.” The father paused a moment to control some strong emotion. “Welcome home, son. May you never be parted from us again.”

“To Tannis!” The table echoed in unison, clinked their glasses, and sipped.

The toast’s object, a young man with black hair clipped military short, shifted in discomfort and fiddled with his serviette as if he wished to hide behind its folds.

An even younger girl—perhaps a little sister—leaned toward him, setting her mass of tight braids swinging around her face, and whispered, “What was it like—being a Stormtrooper?”

His response was drowned out by their mother’s volubility.

“I oughtn’t be glad about it, not on a happy day like today, not on Christmas.” She sniffled and pressed a hand to her ample bosom. “But I am. Praise the Maker that monster is dead.”

“To freedom!” Another boy—perhaps a brother a few years younger than Tannis—lifted his glass with such enthusiasm that wine sloshed onto the gold tablecloth and bloomed like a poinsettia. No one corrected him.

“To freedom!” His family shouted as one.

The son’s discharge from the Stormtrooper program was unusual, to be sure, though it wasn’t surprising his family should celebrate his homecoming, especially at Christmas.

“I don’t understand,” Kylo said to Vader. “What does this have to do with me? Whose death are they toasting?”

Darth Vader didn’t deign to reply.

***

The scene shifted again and Vader pointed to a monument. In the early morning murk, Kylo could just make out two shadowed figures scrubbing at an inscribed panel.

“Ugh.” One figure dropped her rag into the bucket on the ground between them. “Look at that water. It’s nearly black with the grime.”

“What’d you expect?” The other dropped his rag as well and dried his hands on grubby coveralls. “It’s been years since we’ve been able to do more than sneak a tribute into place.”

“And risk our lives in the process.”

The man fingered the inscription. “Too bad. This is going to need restoration.”

“It’s heaps better than it was, anyway.” The woman arranged a Christmas wreath before the monument and stepped away to examine their handiwork. “At least we can restore it, now that the Emperor’s gone.”

“Who is it?” Kylo asked and strode forward. Dawn cut through the gloom and a sunbeam illuminated the faded and vandalized inscription: 

In Loving Memory of Leia Organa-Solo

Princess – Senator – General

Your Light Shone Brightest in the Dark

Kylo stumbled back. When had his mother died? Obi-Wan had said she would, but he didn't want to believe it. And who was this Emperor that prohibited honoring her? How dare he! Darkness swirled through Kylo. It took several deep breaths to rein in his cold rage, to recall this was only a vision of what would be and not what was.

***

The scene transformed to a gathering of sentient beings from every planet conceivable seated in a giant grassy bowl. Kylo rubbed his naked forearms in the cool air, despite the twin suns beaming down from the brilliant turquoise sky and bathing the scene in their rosy glow. A temporary platform had been erected at the foot of the hill. Vader directed Kylo’s attention to the official party arrayed across its breadth.

He didn’t recognize the tall woman in flowing robes as she spread her arms in a magnanimous gesture.

“Members of the Interim Galactic Republic,” she said. The natural amphitheater projected her lilting voice. “While our work is just beginning and we don’t even have a proper meeting place—”

A ripple of humor passed over her audience.

“—we would be remiss if we did not first acknowledge the heroes to whom we owe our newfound liberty.”

She waved a row of figures forward to the edge of the dais.

“It is fitting that on this first Christmas we are able to celebrate in freedom—”

Raucous cheers interrupted her and she waited, smiling her indulgence, until a semblance of quiet settled back over the crowd.

“It is fitting that we present the Galactic Star, our highest honor, to General Poe Dameron, General Finn Tico, Commander Kaydel Connix, Chief Engineer Rose Tico and Jedi Master Rey Skywalker, who is unfortunately not able to join us today—”

Skywalker? Kylo frowned. Why in the worlds would Rey take Skywalker as her family name? Unless they were married—he warmed at the thought—and the name was hers by right, though he was more likely to bestow any of his other names before encumbering her with Skywalker.

“—for their heroic perseverance, bravery, and sacrifice in leading the Resistance, eliminating the Emperor, and liberating the galaxy from the oppression of the Final Empire.”

The hillside erupted in a cacophony of approval—clapping and stomping, shouts and whistles, clicks and burbles and roars—each according to its kind.

“What is this?” Kylo’s head spun. The Galactic Republic? The Final Empire? He couldn’t make sense of it. What was his place in all this? But one question surmounted every other:  “Where’s Rey?”

***

Vader strode down a long, dimly lit corridor, cloak billowing behind him, and pointed through a doorway. Kylo followed and peered past his shoulder. A robed woman hunched in a rocking chair, head bowed toward the floor, a blanket tucked around her knees, and pushed herself back and forth.

Kylo stepped into the barren apartment. There was a cot with several thin blankets, a small table, and a footlocker. No windows. No light. No decoration. It had the aseptic and institutional quality of a military bunker.

A silver hilt with black fins rested on the table. Hadn’t he and Rey wrenched the weapon in pieces on the Supremacy? When was it reconstructed and by whom? He darted forward and glanced back at his grandfather. “What’s your lightsaber doing here?”

But Vader only breathed, rhythmic and disturbing.

And then it hit him. Was this—? No. She couldn’t be. Kylo crashed to his knees before the rocking form and stared up. Rey. Her beloved face was lined and wan, her cheeks hollow, her eyes vacant. Terror clamped like a vise around his soul.

“No!” He groped for Rey’s hands, but she couldn’t feel him.

She rocked on, unblinking. Back and forth, back and forth.

Kylo turned in panic to Vader. “What’s wrong with her? What happened to her?”

“Any change?” A male voice sounded from the hallway.

“None,” a female voice answered.

Two more people crowded into the small space—the traitor turned General and the woman he’d kissed that Christmas under the mistletoe. Except the traitor was older now and wore a lightsaber holstered at his belt. A Force-sensitive at least, if not a Jedi. The couple studied Rey with compassion.

Rose stepped forward and crouched beside Kylo. Her hair was still black and pulled back in a low ponytail. She took one of Rey’s limp hands and pressed it between her own. “Rey, dear. I brought Finn to visit. I thought you’d like that. Can I get you anything?”

“He’s gone.” Rey lifted dull eyes to her friend. “He’s gone.”

“Who’s gone?” Kylo bellowed, though the others couldn’t hear him and Vader wouldn’t answer. His heart was breaking to see Rey like this, unkempt and worn, her glorious light all but extinguished.

Rose tucked a scraggly lock of hair behind Rey’s ear, stood and turned to her companion. “That’s all she’ll say. Over and over. It’s so unfair. His life made hers a misery. His death should have freed her just like it did the rest of the galaxy”—she gestured at Rey—“not reduced her to this.”

Kylo hung on their words, desperate to understand.

Finn’s brow furrowed and his lips pinched into a thin line before he spoke. “You have to remember that even though they were enemies, they were still a dyad. Their souls were—they were joined, intertwined in the Force. When he died, part of her died too. It—it tore the very fabric of her being.”

“But surely she’ll recover?”

“There’s always hope.” Finn nodded and repeated in a quieter voice, as if trying to persuade himself. “With a wound like hers, all we have is hope.”

A dyad? Souls intertwined in the Force? Kylo’s heart pounded with the revelation. It couldn’t be anyone else. Only he shared such a bond with Rey. It was his soul united with hers, his death that undid her, that condemned her to this shadowed half-life. Which meant—

Kylo reeled as truth peeled away the last fragments of shell encasing his heart. He was the Emperor. He had ruled the Final Empire and been killed by the Resistance. Perhaps even by Rey’s hand—who else could wield enough power to defeat him? Everything in him revolted at the thought of harming her. It must have taken something catastrophic to make her stand against him at such costly personal sacrifice. A monster, Rey called him once, just as the Stormtrooper’s mother had done at her family meal. What had Kylo become that the galaxy rejoiced over his death?

Kylo’s gaze darted between Vader and the room’s occupants. He grasped for Rey’s hands again without success. He leaned closer to peer up into her empty face. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, his mind whispered over and over in a vain attempt to bridge their lifeless bond. Tears ran like scars down his cheeks.

“Rey.” His voice cracked. “Rey, my love, I’m here.”

She made no acknowledgment.

“I’m here.” He hiccoughed and gulped air. “Don’t give up. I’ll come for you. I will. I vow it.”

She only rocked on. Back and forth. Just like his younger self among the wreckage of his bedroom on Hosnian Prime.

Kylo couldn’t reach teenage Ben, locked forever in his broken past. He couldn’t undo what was already done. But the future—the future could be altered. He leaped to his feet and stalked to Vader where he still loomed in the doorway.

“Undo it.” Kylo’s fists shook at his sides. “You can change this. You have to undo it.”

Vader pointed, this time his accusing finger aimed straight at his grandson. And Kylo staggered under the weight of his regrets. Over Christmases past, over the love he had forfeited. Over the joys and the burdens that belonged to the present, over all that could and should be done for the good. And over his utter desolation at the future before him. This was what awaited him on his current path. This was what his grandfather wished to spare him. His regrets were meaningless unless he changed course.

Listen well and choose wisely, Anakin had said. The choice might not be easy, but it was clear as the stars on a moonless night.

“Whatever I need to do, I’ll do it.” Kylo collapsed, trembling, at Vader’s feet and seized the hem of his black cloak. “I’ll return to the light. I’ll keep Christmas with all my heart. I’ll live by the lessons I’ve learned tonight, but this cannot be the future. Please, I beg you.”

Darth Vader spoke not a word and breathed his last. The phantom shrunk until he vanished and Ben woke with a gasp, shaking in his sleeper, his fists clutched in the black of his bed linens.

Chapter Text

Ben flew from his sleeper and turned circles in his bedroom, befuddled. Why hadn’t the Force woken him promptly at 0500 hours like it normally did? The chrono read 0730 hours. He’d overslept, thanks to the crazy dreams.

Had he really been visited by three Force ghosts? Ben cast his mind back over the course of the night, turned his gaze inward and—oh, the light! He’d forgotten what it was to feel warmth and life and light blazing through him. Or maybe he’d never known. Maybe his light had always been a shadowed, limping, flickering thing, compared to this. But now? Now he was on fire. He spread his palms and flexed his fingers, half-amazed that light didn’t shoot from his fingertips or shine straight through his skin. He was a new man and this was a new day.

But which day? Anakin said the spirits would visit him over the course of three nights. Was he too late?

He dashed through the antechamber. Last night’s decorations had vanished; he’d have to amend that. He sprinted up the stairs and out the door in his sweat-stained sleep shirt, lounge pants and stockinged feet. He didn’t have a moment to waste.

He raced through the empty halls with their gleaming black tiles and hollered at a squad of Stormtroopers. “You there—”

They halted as one and executed an about face. The squad leader spoke. “How may we assist you, sir?”

“What day is it?” Ben panted, his heart galloping.

“Zhellday, sir.”

“Kriff,” Ben muttered. What day did Christmas fall on this year? He hadn’t paid attention. “Is Christmas over yet?”

The troopers froze.

The leader glanced up and down the hallway before answering in a muted voice. “No, sir, it’s only Christmas morning, but perhaps you were not aware the Supreme Leader has expressly forbidden all observances.” They didn’t recognize him, not that it mattered.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Ben restrained an urge to pump the trooper’s hand—but only just. “Carry on,” he said in dismissal and rushed away before the glow effervescing within his soul made him sing a song or dance a jig or turn a cartwheel. If he couldn’t control himself, the Force might erupt from him with unanticipated effect.

As he neared the lifts, Ben spun around, jogged backwards a few steps, and shouted at their retreating backs. “Be sure to attend the Stormtrooper Gala tonight. Consider it an order! And Merry Christmas!”

***

The slow elevator ride to the command deck was maddening. When Ben exited the lift, Hux strode toward him from the corridor’s opposite end.

“Armitage!” He called as he jogged forward and slid to a stop. Oh, that was fun. These floors were made for sliding. “Do you mind if I call you Armie?”

Hux’s mouth puckered as if he’d bitten into something sour. “If you wish, Lord Ren.”

He should really take that as a ‘no,’ but joy burned in his bones. The jig couldn’t wait. Ben grabbed Hux’s arm, linked elbows and swung him around in an animated do-si-do.

Hux shook free of his grasp, stepped out of reach, and straightened his jacket. “Are you—are you sure you’re quite well, Supreme Leader? You haven’t—you haven’t been drinking, have you?”

“Drinking? Never touch the stuff.” Ben laughed. When was the last time he laughed? Certainly not on the Steadfast nor in front of Hux. Maybe never in the last decade. “I’m better than well! I’m marvelous! I’m perfect! It’s Christmas, Armie!”

The muscles in Hux’s jaw worked. Resentment and scorn, with an undertone of fear, emanated from him. “Sir, if I may—”

“Where’s Mitaka?” Ben wasn’t going to accomplish much with Hux. He whirled around, as if his exec would materialize before him. “I need Mitaka.”

“Sir, may I just hint that your appearance falls somewhat short of the, er, distinguished air you normally project?” Hux leaned forward and spoke in a hush. “You may have forgotten a few items of apparel.”

Ben scraped a hand down the stubble on his chin and assessed his pale forearms and baggy sleep pants. “You’re right. I’ll rectify that shortly.” He wriggled his toes in his socks. Bootless as he was, the general matched his height and Ben looked him in the eye. “Hux, listen. I’ve changed my mind. The Stormtrooper Gala is back on for tonight. I want you to make it the biggest and best yet. With mistletoe, candy canes, and games. Lots of games. And sock races.”

“Sock races?” Hux’s ginger eyebrows escalated in his pallid forehead.

“All these gleaming polished floors?” Ben grinned again. Would he ever stop grinning? “Has it never occurred to you that they’d be perfect for sock races?”

“No, sir. I’ve not had that pleasure.” Hux began to inch backwards. “But the Gala. It was slated to begin in less than twelve hours.” He withdrew a full step. As if Ben’s joy might be contagious. He hoped it was. He hoped Hux would catch the spirit and become the man he was meant to be. If Kylo Ren could be redeemed, then anyone could. And if Ben had anything to do with it, Hux wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Postpone if you must.” Ben offered a lopsided shrug, and then he recalled the magnificent celebration he’d attended with Obi-Wan. “Although if anyone can pull it off, I’m absolutely certain you can. You were right, you know”—he paused as Hux’s brow furrowed at the unprecedented admission—“about the Gala building morale. I imagine the troops will sing your praises for convincing me.”

Hux stiffened and squared his shoulders. “Of course, Supreme Leader.”

That unctuous title would have to change too. Eventually. But he could only overturn so much in one day. Priorities.

“Oh, and one more thing”—Ben gifted his one-time nemesis with his widest, most genuine smile—“Merry Christmas, Armie!”

***

“Lieutenant!” Ben called as he approached his exec’s new desk. No evidence remained of Kylo Ren’s tantrum from yesterday. That would also stop. No more rampaging with his lightsaber. Never again.

“S-Sir?” Mitaka stood and his gaze stuttered up Ben’s form, ogling his state of undress—after which the lieutenant made a valiant effort to keep his eyes at face level.

Ben smiled—he could really grow accustomed to smiling. “May I wish you a Merry Christmas?”

“And to—to you, sir?” Fear quavered in the Force just as it did in Mitaka’s voice—poor man. Kylo Ren had reduced him to this. How could he have relished power at the expense of others? Remorse tempered Ben’s joy, now that he was reconnected to his humanity. Like so much else, his relationships would take time to mend.

“I have some taskers.” Ben surveyed the desk’s immaculate surface. “You may want to write them down.”

Mitaka slid a datapad and stylus from a hidden receptacle. “Shall we step into a conference room, sir?”

Ben shook his head. He closed his eyes for a moment to review his mental checklist, then opened them and refocused on his subordinate. “First, Christmas is reinstated. All proclamations from yesterday are officially revoked.”

“Yes, sir,” Mitaka said as he jotted notes. Astonishment radiated from him in the Force, though he managed to maintain his composure.

“Second, I want you to call an emergency session of the Supreme Council.”

“Today?” Mitaka’s dark eyebrows shot up. So much for his professional image.

“Should I not?”

Mitaka shifted from foot to foot and wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Spit it out, Lieutenant,” Ben said and instantly regretted his impatience. “I mean, I truly wish to understand your reticence.”

“If you intend to reinstate Christmas, sir, most personnel won’t expect to work on a holiday.”

“Ah, I see.” Ben tapped his chin. “Tell them I’ll keep it short and give them compensatory time off.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Report to the council room at 1100 hours. Uniform for the day is ‘holiday casual.’”

“Holiday casual, sir?” Mitaka tilted his head.

Ben nodded. “Better yet, let’s make it an ugly sweater contest. Come up with a prize for the best ugly holiday sweater.”

“Ugly sweater. Prize,” Mitaka murmured as his stylus moved across the screen. “Anything else, sir?”

“Cookies,” Ben said. “We should have platters of Christmas cookies. And spiced cider. And hot cocoa with plenty of those little—you know—those little spongy—”

“Mini-sweetmallows?” Mitaka offered, his voice rising to a squeak.

“Yes, those. Exactly.”

“Anything else?” Mitaka ventured.

“That should do for the Supreme Council.” Ben raised his fingers to enumerate. “Third, I want you to oversee decorating.”

“Decorating, sir?” The savor of Mitaka’s fear and astonishment had faded into something like bewilderment. He was always a nervous type but sharp enough. This morning he seemed rather slow in his perceptions.

“For Christmas. I want the ship to—to  show some holiday spirit. Including my quarters.”

Mitaka’s mouth opened and closed without sound, perhaps picturing the fate of his little melted Christmas tree. Ben should see what he could do to replace it. A small enough offering, but a goodwill gesture nonetheless.

“‘Deck the halls with boughs of holly’ and all that, though not actual holly—it’s terribly prickly,” Ben said and smiled again, hoping to put him at ease. “Anyone who wants to decorate their workspace should feel free. You might even host a competition. There are twelve days of Christmas, you know. Let’s make the most of them.”

“Twelve days, sir?” But Mitaka didn’t write it down and only stared at Ben with wide eyes.

“Last, I’ve tasked General Hux with reinstating the Stormtrooper Gala for tonight.”

“Sir?”

“He may need help.”

Mitaka’s already sallow features paled further.

“It’s a lot to ask, but I know you can do it.” Ben refrained from patting him on the shoulder and instead whirled toward the command section. Swift movement in his peripheral vision and concentrated energy in the Force betrayed their eavesdropping. “You there.” He beckoned to the two personnel closest, young professionals who epitomized the First Order.

They both raised their eyebrows, and one touched his chest.

“Yes, both of you.” Ben waved them over. “What are your names?”

“Petty Officer Tane, sir.” The man hardly knew where to look. Ben could forgive him; it wasn’t every day one came face to face with the Supreme Leader in his pajamas.

The woman focused past his shoulder. “Warrant Officer Rimarch, sir.”

“For today and indeed the duration for which he requires, you are hereby ordered to report to Lieutenant Mitaka and complete whatever tasks he assigns.”

“Yes, sir.” They nodded in unison and swung their attention to Mitaka, who stood blinking in disbelief.

Good. He’d managed to surprise more people. He rather liked it.

***

Three hours. Ben had three hours before meeting the Supreme Council and unveiling his plans for a new order. But first he had to draft those plans. No problem, right? He wasn’t the son of a princess and senator for nothing. If only his mother could see him now. He shook his head.

Ben sat at the workstation in his quarters for a solid ninety minutes, ideas flowing faster than he could write. He shook out his fingers whenever they tired from his feverish pace. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a start and that would have to suffice.

Next was a shave and a dash through the ‘fresher, then the difficult choice in clothing selection. He chuckled as he shuffled through his wardrobe. Black, black, and more black. Guess he’d settle for black, then. He should find a new tailor.

He buckled his boots and tugged on a soft sweater but forwent any further layers. It wouldn’t win the ugly sweater contest, but at least it wasn’t nearly as constricting as Kylo Ren’s getup. His hand hovered above Rey’s necklace before he grinned and pulled it over his head. Why not?

He checked the chrono. Just over an hour remained for the most difficult task yet.

Ben moved to the small room reserved for meditation and settled into the Force. It came more effortlessly than it had in years. No battling to quiet his mind or still his spirit, no striving to squelch the tenacious light or wrestle the unruly dark. To his surprise, the dark side was still present. He'd been only temporarily blinded by the sudden burst of radiance. But even the dark felt different—the relentless, driving hunger satiated as if it’d found what it sought. The Force felt…composed. Balanced.

The dark grounded him, a solid thrum of bass notes in his veins, and the light joined in treble, a melody that lilted through him with its cleansing, healing, life-giving energy. He longed to revel in the inherent beauty. And he would, with an entire lifetime ahead to savor it. Joy burbled up again, bright and irrepressible. He laughed aloud, the sound still foreign to his own ears. Life was good. So very good. But right now he needed to focus. His meditation had a purpose.

Rey, he called across their connection—across their dyad, according to his future vision. He’d need to research the term. Rey. Rey?

She was a bright spark in the galaxy, the star among stars. He followed the cord that connected them, pulling hand over hand along the luminous ribbon that wound through the darkness of space. He could almost pinpoint her coordinates in a map of the constellations. Almost, though not quite.

He reached the end and her mental shields took shape before him. An old Imperial star destroyer? Abandoned and half-buried in sand. He nodded in appreciation. The desert scavenger resorted to what she knew, barricading her mind inside a maze of shadows and tilted floors. Clearly, she’d been training and growing more adept in the Force.

He could tear through the destroyer’s bulkheads or crush them—he was strong enough that he might succeed—but that was what Kylo Ren would try. No, this required something different. He wouldn’t even set one foot in the ruins without invitation.

Ben pictured his head and hands pressed to the hull. Light poured out of him, and the durasteel warmed until it glowed orange, pulsing beneath his touch. How could she miss it? He felt as if he could melt away all that divided them with the heat of his love.  

Love? He startled and pulled back. Yes, love. He’d loved her for a long time, almost from the beginning, but the purity of his devotion had been marred by Kylo Ren’s greed, his desire to possess, his determination to have her on his terms.

Stars, she was strong. He couldn’t help admiring her resolve, that she could refuse him even when she experienced the same irrefutable pull toward him. He knew she did. He’d sensed it.

That same resolve blocked his overture now. He waited and called her name, tried again and waited more. Rey neither responded nor reached out, and the Force declined to initiate their connection.

Ben opened his eyes and disappointment dragged at his spirit. Surely Rey could sense his transformation. Why didn’t she come barreling into his conscious and charging into his arms? Isn’t this what she wanted? She shouldn’t be able to stay away. Or at least the Force should insist on connecting them. But no, when he finally wanted it, when he wanted her, neither were to be had.

Well, there was more than one way. Obi-Wan had taken him to a jungle planet in a hot season and he had a vague notion of where she was. How hard could it be?

Thirty minutes later he sat back from his terminal and rubbed his eyes. How could he have forgotten there were so many jungle planets, even in one quadrant of the galaxy? The Resistance—and Rey with them—could be anywhere in a region that spanned lightyears. Kriff.

Ben paced around his quarters, scratched his scalp, tapped his lightsaber hilt against his thigh. He was missing something.

There was another approach. If he was strong enough. Courageous enough. If he dared. Goosebumps stippled his forearms and something fluttered in his stomach.

Before he could change his mind, Ben dropped to the floor and sank into meditation right where he was. Even after all this time, it was so easy to locate her signature in the Force, as familiar as his own heartbeat, so easy to whisper that single word and send it sailing on the waves of light that flowed through him. Mom.

They weren’t able to communicate like he did with Rey, but neither did he detect any barriers erected against him. As a child, they’d always been able to reach each other, to send a gentle pulse and pingback—like Force sonar. A single-word exchange that meant I love you. His heart seized. What had he done? What would she think?

The minutes stretched. His insides shook with anticipation. Would she reply? He’d witnessed how weak and frail she was. And decades separated them. He’d stopped responding to her Force pings shortly after he arrived at the Jedi Academy, when he was still a boy, and then she ceased altogether. Master Luke persuaded him that attachment to his mother would only hinder his ability and growth as a Jedi. He was wrong. They both were.

The Force remained quiet. He was a fool to try. His mother couldn’t love him still, not after all he’d done, not after—

Then it came, an unmistakable pulse of light and warmth. And relief. Ben.

He exhaled, long and slow, and the tension drained from his shoulders. He swiped a palm across his eye. Whatever else happened, this at least could be made right.

Chapter Text

Ben strode into the conference room where his Supreme Council waited at attention. These were the senior leaders he’d selected after Snoke’s death, advisors hand-picked for their breadth of knowledge and experience—but also for their competitive natures, to keep them at each other’s throats instead of his. He frowned. Kylo Ren’s scheming would only make today’s task more difficult. Alas. Nothing for it but to try.  

The mugs of beverages steaming before each seat and trays of colorful Christmas cookies looked incongruous on the gleaming onyx table. Mitaka had outdone himself. Ben would need to reward him.

Apart from Allegiant General Pryde, who wore his standard uniform, the remaining council members stood before their chairs in an ensemble of the ugliest sweaters he’d ever seen—the more so when juxtaposed with the stark walls and sharp angles. Ben swallowed down a snort of laughter.

“As you were.” He took his seat at the head. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve recalled you for an emergency session.”

They resumed their high-backed chairs as one, rigid and unreadable, though their emotions were a veritable storm in the Force—which was of course opposite to his intentions. As for the happabore in their midst—

Ben slid his gaze to Hux’s flinty countenance. “I sense unease about my appearance, General Hux.”

“About your, er, neckwear? No, sir.” Hux donned an impassive expression. “Well done. Quite jolly.”

“I like it,” General Parnadee added from beside him.

The toadies. Did they think he could be deceived? But Ben allowed his lips to curve up and tapped Rey’s lights aglow against his chest—switched on to steady state since blinking would have been too much. “Thank you. I likewise appreciate your short-notice display of holiday spirit. Now eat, eat.” He indicated the refreshments. “The cookies are for you. I will keep this as brief as possible.”

A few reached toward the trays and placed their sweets on festive napkins, where they remained, uneaten. If he waited for the council to soften, Ben would be here all day. Best to jump right in.

“For too long the First Order has operated on unchallenged principles inherited from the Empire. That ends today.” Ben pounded his fist to the table in emphasis.

Everyone startled.

He’d have to moderate his enthusiasm. “We cannot hope to protect or serve the galaxy if they view us as the enemy and if threats are allowed to proliferate because it benefits us to turn a blind eye. Going forward, the best interests of the galaxy are the best interests of the First Order. Going forward, we operate by a new standard.” He grinned. “You might call it the standard of Christmas.”

Several shifted uneasily, but none dared speak. Yet.

“In the interest of brevity, we will discuss the particulars at follow-on meetings, but I could not in good conscience delay introducing the initiatives that will enable us to achieve this mission.

“To that end: General Hux, I am appointing you as special envoy to the peoples of the Hosnian system.” It was only fitting, considering the general’s role in their decimation. He held Hux’s icy gaze and pinched his lips against another smile. He was enjoying this far too much. “You are to cancel the demand for doubled silicite from Pasaana, determine appropriate reparations, and map a way forward. In addition, you are to propose a system by which any planet may petition for aid and that the First Order may award where it is most needed. Major Trach will assist you.”

Pryde’s mouth thinned at having his aide reassigned to Hux, but he preserved his silence.

“Sir!” Hux leaped to his feet, cheeks splotched the same shade as the Santa-suited kittens cavorting on his sweater. “Such an approach would quickly overwhelm the First Order and drive us to insolvency. We’re not a philanthropic organization.”

Ben glanced at Colonel Hamne, who’d proposed refugee relief and ought to feel vindicated, but he stared straight ahead, his expression neutral. Ben would need to apologize for his behavior the day prior—though at least Hamne showed no ill-effects, no doubt thanks to their medbay.

He returned his attention to Hux. “Your goal is to navigate that balance without going bankrupt. We may not be philanthropists, but we are a galactic power committed to doing good.”

“Doing good?” Hux sneered.

“That’s correct.” Ben nodded and smiled. “Will that be a problem?”

Hux remained on his feet, visible tension in his shoulders. For once it was Ben who kept his cool. The general surveyed his colleagues, who were quietly assessing the stand-off, and lowered into his seat with a grimace.

“I serve at your pleasure. Please, carry on, Supreme Leader.” Hux’s sarcasm was thick enough to frost cookies. “I am all anticipation to hear what other delightful plans await us.”

“Oh, stuff it, Hux.” Ben chuckled, telekinetically slung a cookie across the table and shoved it in his mouth. “You take yourself far too seriously.”

Hux’s face crimsoned further as he spat crumbs and the others stifled their sniggers. Ben shouldn’t have done that, but at least it was better than Force-choking.

Better move on. “General Parnadee and Colonel Hamne.”

The pair stiffened in unison and swung their attention from the spluttering Hux.

“You are to oversee initiatives for improving hyperlane safety, increasing parity in trade, and curbing illegal practices. For too long the First Order has tacitly condoned slavery, spice running, pirating, and similar evils driven by gangs and cartels. We will no longer partner with them or with those who do.”

“But, sir,” General Parnadee’s brown eyes flashed in unison with the tinsel garland circling her sweater. “The cartels are powerful and have long proven useful. We do not want them for enemies.”

“Which is the kind of short-sighted thinking we will no longer entertain.” Ben sat back and folded his hands. “I don’t expect change overnight, but I’m sure you can develop a workable solution.”

The general’s nostrils flared wide as she inclined her head.

“Very well.” Ben made a show of consulting his list in order to regroup. He wasn’t naïve enough to expect the Supreme Council would embrace his ideas—or to believe they acquiesced to anything other than fear of the Supreme Leader. But he had forsaken more than Kylo Ren’s regalia and it made him feel exposed at a level beyond clothing. He took a deep breath, steeled his spirit, and raised his eyes. “General Engell and Colonel Berik, you have worked hard on expanding the Stormtrooper program.”

Engell fairly preened without touching her short blonde hair, though the rows of hearts and snowflakes marching across her sweater somewhat lessened the effect.

“Because of your success, I have every confidence you will succeed in this new direction. You are to propose a plan that will transition to an all-volunteer ground force.” Ben pictured the family from his vision of Christmas Future, welcoming and toasting their son. “The Stormtrooper program as it currently operates will be decommissioned, and the First Order will cease to forcibly remove children from their homes.”

“Supreme Leader!” Engell exclaimed, looked chagrined at her outburst, and regulated her voice. “We can’t build an army from volunteers. They must be trained from childhood, inculcated with—”

Ben cut her off with an upraised palm. “You have valid concerns and we will address them, but now is neither the time nor place.”

“Understood, sir,” she said and subsided.

“Admiral Griss and Captain Jinzle.” Ben turned to the senior fleet officer and his second, whose sweater was designed like a wrapped gift with a large, unfortunately placed bow across her chest. “I want an honest assessment of current naval status and projected end strength to support our new mission. The First Order’s ultimate function will remain galactic peacekeeping—but without threatening planetary autonomy. From now on we will encourage planets to take more responsibility for their own defense.”

“Sir, the First Order is not postured for joint ops with planetary navies. Besides, we run the risk of equipping future enemies.”

“And these are legitimate issues that you must take into account while recommending changes.” Ben gave an appreciative nod. “It sounds like you have your vector.”

The admiral’s jaw clenched and he held Ben’s gaze for a long moment. “Yes, sir.”

Ben sensed a grudging respect, which was surprising from one of Pryde’s cronies. Griss tipped his head toward his aide and Jinzle began tapping the datascreen before her.

Now for the most difficult task. Ben leaned forward and lowered his voice to enunciate each word. “As of today, the Resistance will no longer be considered our enemy.”

True to form, Hux flushed red. Parnadee’s brow creased and Quinn paled. Engell tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. Murmurs circuited the table. Their reactions were predictable, considering the Resistance—and the Rebellion before it—had been the focal point of aggression for as long as the eldest among them had served.

Ben recalled the motley group at Rey’s Christmas party. “We have reduced the Resistance to a small, poorly resourced company and effectively negated their threat.”

“Then it will be easy to wipe them out,” Hux spat.

“It would be,” Ben agreed. “But it would also be imprudent. We will find their partnership invaluable in accomplishing our revised mission and, perhaps more importantly, in countering emerging threats that we have ignored to our peril. General Quinn and General Venau—”

Ben turned to the two older Imperials. White-haired Venau was known for her moderation and levelheaded leadership, a good balance to the traditionalist Quinn and hopefully the right choice to treat with his mother. “You will work with me in drafting the Christmas Accords, negotiating peaceful terms with General Organa, and initiating plans to transition toward a galactic system of governance that avoids the excesses and inefficiencies of its predecessors. Make no mistake: that is our end goal”—he made eye contact with each Supreme Council member—“to peacefully transition and hand over power to galactic oversight. The First Order will continue to defend the galaxy, but we will not—I will not—rule over it.”

“But, sir!” Quinn bristled in glaring disparity to the red-nosed reindeer grinning from his chest. “You propose to overturn the accomplishment of generations.”

“I prefer to view it as learning from their mistakes.” Ben inhaled the light and refused the temptation to manipulate the Force. He consciously released the pressure in his neck and shoulders. “I have selected you and General Venau for this task because of your long experience.” He glanced at Quinn’s deputy commander in her gingerbread costume. “Don’t prove my faith ill-founded.”

Veneau leaned over to whisper something in Quinn’s ear. His eyes cut to Ben’s and he gave a curt nod. Ben made a mental note to thank her later.

Ben reviewed the last items on his list and raised his eyes. “Any questions so far?”

A throat cleared from his right. Pryde, usually quick to support Kylo Ren, had been abnormally quiet. “Supreme Leader, is there any particular task to which I should turn my attention?”

“Allegiant General Pryde,” Ben said with a clipped tone. He’d never trusted Pryde. Keeping him close had been a matter of expedience, but now his fanaticism would undermine Ben’s plans. He gave the pre-arranged signal to Mitaka, who stood by the door. A moment later, a squad of Stormtroopers entered the council room. “You are hereby detained on charges of treason.”

He leveled an aristocratic glare at Ben, eyes glittering like polished metal. “On what basis, may I ask?”

Ben didn’t have incontrovertible proof, not yet, but he was certain enough to hazard the allegation. “For conspiring to overthrow the First Order.”

“Not overthrow.” Pryde cast a quelling glance to the troopers at his elbows. “The Final Order is the fulfillment of all that the First Order represents. It is the acme of everything for which we have striven these many years.”

“The Final Order. I see.” Ben nodded slowly, echoes of the Final Empire pealing alarm bells in his head. “I will look forward to discussing that with you more fully. In the brig. And not on Christmas day.”

Ben signaled and the troopers marched Pryde from the room. When the door closed, he looked back at his remaining council members. “Anyone else?”

General Quinn broke the quiet. “Supreme Leader, if I may?”

Ben inclined his head.

“I know I speak for more than myself when I express concern at the magnitude of the changes you are proposing. To undertake such a course is to turn the First Order on its head and assume immense risk. What is our assurance”—he glanced at Colonel Hamne—“that you will not change your mind tomorrow?” Or send us to the brig like Pryde went unvoiced, but Ben heard it anyway.

It was a reasonable question. “I realize I haven’t given you cause to trust me, but I ask you to do so now and let time prove your trust is not misplaced. I assure you that your concerns will be heard. But I also caution you against mistaking goodness for weakness. If anything, this new approach will require even greater strength and discipline than we have yet to exercise. I understand change will come slowly and there will be impediments and setbacks along the way. However, if we work together as a team, and with your leadership and experience, we will be the change the galaxy needs.”

Quinn’s mouth firmed, but he nodded acceptance. A meaningful look traversed the council as they came to unspoken agreement and the tension swirling in the Force began to abate. It was a start—and far better than Ben hoped, if he were honest.

“I have kept you long enough. This meeting is adjourned,” Ben said. “I wish you a heartfelt Merry Christmas. Please take today and tomorrow to enjoy the holiday before tasking your subordinates and beginning work on your assignments—and take some cookies.” He gestured at the still-laden table and smiled. “Unless, of course, you want me to Force-feed you.”

The entire room froze.

Ben shook his head and huffed a laugh. “I’m teasing.”

Hux scowled, but tentative smiles broke across his senior leaders’ stoic faces and the cookies began to disappear. Ben watched as the people he’d served with for years and led for months unwound and started arguing about his new proposals. So much for taking a couple days off. He should have known. And he would have, but it occurred to him that he didn’t know them, not really. He didn’t know their histories or their families, their dreams or their struggles. And that too would change.

***

Mitaka appeared at Ben’s side and slipped a datapad into his hand. He skimmed the contents and chuckled.

Ben cleared his throat and the council hushed. “While I appreciate everyone’s show of holiday spirit, I’m pleased to announce Admiral Griss as the winner of our ugly sweater contest.”

All eyes fixed on his navy blue sweater. Stars spangled the sleeves and Santa Claus flew across his stomach astride a star destroyer, one fist wielding ion bolts like a trident and the other a sack of toys. It was vaguely disturbing.

Perplexity clouded Griss’ dark features as he questioned his counterparts. “What sweater contest?”

Ben raised his eyebrows at Mitaka and mouthed, “Awkward…”

His exec breezed by with a murmured, “I’ll take care of it, sir.”

Ben consulted the datapad again to mask his humor. “While I have your attention, it’s also my great pleasure to name our elf for the night and—although your presence is encouraged but not required—I’m sure they would be deeply appreciative if you cheered them on in person at the Stormtrooper Gala. Congratulations go to”—he rapped his fingers on the table’s edge in approximation of a drumroll—“our very own Armitage Hux!”

Muted laughter filled the room.

“That’s impossible!” The general’s pale eyes blazed. “I bought more than enough votes to—”

“To?” Ben prompted, attempting to appear innocent.

Heads snapped back and forth between them.

“To ensure you were named elf, Ren.”

Ben raised his mug as if in toast. “No one wants to see me in green tights—but you could buy out.” He swallowed the last sip of his cold caf. “If you have enough credits left, that is.”

Hux groaned and slouched in his seat.

“Leader Ren?”

Ben swiveled toward General Venau of the gingerbread jumper. “Yes?”

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve heard these kinds of ideals. As you said, it will take patience and hard work. It won’t be easy, but then, the right thing rarely is.” She included her colleagues in her speech and bestowed a smile on Ben, sincerity illumining her lined face. “May I just say, sir? It’s an honor to serve with you.”

Chapter Text

Ben strolled through the Steadfast’s passageways, the giddiness with which he’d initially run through the halls having settled into quiet joy. Deep contentment and peace flowed like fluid light in his veins.

Troopers and staff rushed by, everyone bustling to pull off the Gala. He tried to offer his assistance, but even dressed in casual clothes as he was, his position proved too intimidating and his presence too frightening. It would take time to recast Kylo Ren’s image with Ben Solo’s persona. He wished everyone he encountered a Merry Christmas and received their disbelief and warm wishes in turn.

He dined in the officers’ mess for the first time, another step toward improving his acquaintance with his leaders. He hoped the Force would connect him to Rey, but it didn’t. He hoped his mother would contact him, but she didn’t. Still it was a good day, he’d done good work, and it was only just past the lunch hour.

Ben stood in the bright white antechamber and assessed his empty quarters as if seeing them anew. Decorations would liven the space, but their lack wasn’t the issue. He’d always enjoyed solitude and craved privacy, a shield and shelter for the conflict in his soul, but no more. Now he only felt…lonely.

He packed Darth Vader’s mask into a box. He’d hand-carry it to the incinerator. It was time for that specter to cease its haunting and rest in peace.

“Thank you, Granddad,” he said, uncertain if Anakin could hear him, “for giving me this opportunity and showing me a better path. I hope I’ll make you proud.” He meant it with all his heart.

Ben settled at his desk and pulled out the calligraphy set his parents had given him that Christmas on the Falcon. How long had it been since he lettered anything? He had time before dressing for the Gala to create a few personal Christmas cards. For Rey and his mom, whenever he reached them. For dependable Mitaka and the Supreme Council.

He lost himself to composing the words and the soothing arrangement of strokes on paper.

***

“Surprise!” A female voice shattered Ben’s concentration and a blob of ink spoiled the page.

How had he missed the Force opening the connection between them? Not that it mattered now she was here. He slotted the pen into a holder and spun. “Rey!”

She bounced on her toes several paces behind his desk. “You were terribly intent on your work.”

Ben bounded from his chair and rushed to a stop before her. “I’m so glad to see you—I—” What should he say? How could he explain everything when they might only have minutes?

“I like your lights,” she said and swept shy fingers along her necklace still slung around his neck.

“Thanks to you,” he said.

She raised her gaze and scanned between his eyes. A slow smile spread across her face, and her joy welled bright and warm in the Force. “So it’s true then.”

“Is what true?”

“That you turned. Your mom said—”

“Yes. Yes!” He unleashed a smile and grabbed for her hand. A spark of recognition shot through him at the contact, as if her hand belonged in his. “Can you look into my mind?” It might not be possible across the lightyears separating them. That had always seemed to inhibit their Force abilities in the past. “I want you to see. I—I need you to understand.” It didn’t matter if she saw all that she meant to him. He’d deal with the fallout later.

“All right,” she said, though he could sense a certain hesitance across their bond.

“It’s easiest if you use your hand to direct the Force.” His gloved fingers had hovered near her head when he breached her mind on Takodana, though he’d refrained from touching her then. But now—  He raised her arm and pressed her hand to his temple, skin to skin. Shock surged between them and tingled up his spine.

She gasped.

There was an unexpected intimacy in the way her hand trembled beneath his and her calloused palm warmed his cheek. It was—  She might as well have stroked his soul.

Ben unlocked his mental vault and extended his conscious. He’d never been this transparent with anyone—not even Snoke, who had lured him to the dark as a trusting, if conflicted, child. Rey’s mind brushed against his, the tendrils of her thoughts twining through his with a delicious pleasure that made his knees weak. Was it the same for her? Before, they’d always been at odds, fighting or blocking one another, but this—this was like coming home, their spirits humming in unison. The longing to join, to wrap himself in her and her in him, to merge was nearly unbearable. Focus, Ben. Steady on.

He pulled her into the night prior, through each of his encounters with the Force ghosts. She paused at the image of her future self, reduced to a shadow following his death, and at his devastation—how this loss had been the final push that tipped his decision. Then he towed her through the outcome, his meeting with the Supreme Council and the initiatives he’d introduced.

He opened his heart to her, no longer encased in its hard shell, and laid bare all the change within. And with it, laid bare her name carved in flowing script upon his very soul, his love the pen and his blood the ink. She traced the letters with awe; he shuddered at her touch to his inmost parts.

They lingered there on the timeless cusp of something momentous. Something beyond thought, beyond reason, dizzying in its implications. Then they stepped back from the edge with mutual consent. Whatever awaited was too much, too soon.

When they returned to the present and disentangled their minds, Ben lifted his hand away from where he covered hers, but Rey didn’t remove her palm from his cheek. Her thumb brushed slow strokes across the delicate skin beneath his eye, her own shimmering with tears. Stars, she was magnificent.

“Ben,” she said with a breathless little sigh. “I’m—I’m so happy. I never dreamed. This is—this is beyond what I ever hoped. I—” She didn’t need to say more because he could feel it all, her amazement and admiration and joy effervescing and mingling with the same in him.

She slipped her hand down to his shoulder, wrapped her other around his neck, and pulled him into an embrace.

He stooped within the circle of her arms, his own hanging at his sides for a long moment, before he dared to close them around her back and clutch her tight. Her lithe body molded to his as if they were made for this. And they simply held each other. Rey in his arms was more than he could have imagined. This—  This was the best Christmas present. Ever.

“I’m not sure about that,” she murmured into his shoulder and then pulled away to dimple up at him. “I brought you a surprise.”

“Oh?” He nudged at her mind.

“No peaking.” She giggled. “But first—” She bent around and produced a wrapped gift from somewhere behind her. “For you. Merry Christmas.”

“Rey—” He accepted the package and shifted to set it on his desk. “Thank you. You didn’t have to—”

“No,” she rubbed her hands together and bobbed on the balls of her feet, “you have to open it now.”

He shook his head at her eagerness and removed the paper with care despite her impatience burning across the bond. When he lifted the lid to the long, slender box, the Skywalker lightsaber was nestled in a bed of red tissue paper. His traced a welded seam in the mended hilt and could almost sense his grandfather’s shrewd smirk: I haven’t given up hope you’ll carry mine.

“You rebuilt it,” Ben said, raising his eyes to hers. Until his vision of the future last night, he hadn’t even known repairing it was possible. “Thank you, Rey. This is such a thoughtful gift and a perfect surprise.”

“I did the best I could, though I’m sure you can make it better. But that’s not the surprise.” She seized his hand and hauled him toward the exit.

“Wait. Rey,” he said and pulled her to a stop, “can you see my quarters?”

“Of course I can.” She tilted her head and tugged his hand again. “Now, come on.”

Ben clipped the lightsaber at his waist as she dragged him up the stairs and out the door. How could she know the layout to his ship, let alone see it? Had she mapped it from his mind while he replayed his memories? Maybe their Force connection had changed or broadened when he returned to the light.

She drew him onto a lift and they began descending.

If they were both lightsiders—for lack of a better term to describe his newfound balance of light and dark—did it mean they could be fully present in each other’s realities whenever the Force connected them? If that were the case, the possibilities—

“You’re really overthinking this, Ben,” Rey said. Her laugh tinkled in the small space. Then she rose to her toes and whispered in his ear. “Because I’m really here. On the Steadfast.”

“You’re what?” He mashed the stop button on the lift, his heart thrashing like a wild creature caged within his chest.

“Here.” She beamed, winsome and knowing. “With you.”

“Rey.” He searched her eyes, hazel bright with truth. He traced a fingertip along her eyebrow and down her cheek. Ran a knuckle across the sensitive skin of her lips, which parted a fraction. That he was admitted to the privilege of touching her— The real her. Not some façade in the Force that could disappear at any moment. She was here. With him. What greater marvel could this day hold?

She reached behind him and released the lift. “Now stop delaying.”

His entire world shrunk to the space she occupied. He stared at her. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to kiss her. He never wanted to look away. He was drunk on her presence. He didn’t care if she could sense it all through the bond.

That knowing smile twitched on her lips and sparkled in her eyes. She wove her fingers through his as the door hissed open.

He followed the tug of her hand in a blind daze.

It wasn’t until they came to a halt that he realized he was in the medbay, surrounded by aseptic surfaces and standing before a clinic bed. Rey released him.

He blinked at the patient gowned in white and reclined before him. How was this possible? “Mom?”

Leia reached and enfolded his large hand between her much smaller ones. Her skin was dry and cold. “Ben.”

“Mom,” he repeated, this time with a half-sob. It didn’t matter that he was Supreme Leader of the First Order and wielded more power than any other being in the galaxy. Right here, right now he was his mother’s son. He dropped to his knees and buried his forehead in the mattress. His mom might be weak and ill, but she was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. Because she was here. For him. Rey’s footsteps retreated and a curtained partition slid closed at his back.

“My dear boy.” Leia gripped his fingers and stroked her other hand through his hair before its weight came to rest on his crown like a blessing. “I am so very proud of you.”

“You came,” he said, still lost to the wonder of her presence. As if Rey’s hadn’t been enough.

“You called.” She gave a wry chuckle and massaged her thumb across his knuckles. “It did help that your General Venau was exceedingly eager to open negotiations. She insisted I receive medical treatment before she would even begin a dialogue. And Chewie wouldn’t hear of me traveling without him. You’ll make things right with him, won’t you?”

Ben lifted his head to allay the uncertainty mirrored in the bronze of her irises. “Yes. Yes, of course I will.”

She nodded and then arched a patrician eyebrow. “And we have your Rey to thank for pushing the Falcon to its max. Even Han would have been impressed at the speed she coaxed out of his old ship.” Something about the tilt to his mother’s lips lessened Ben’s hurt at hearing his father’s name. “That girl was in agonies to reach you. She refused to explain why, but I’ve been around long enough to know a heartsick look when I see one. And now that I’ve glimpsed you together, I was right to suspect some dodgy goings-on, though I have no idea how either of you managed it. And right under my nose too.”

Ben ducked his head, feeling much like he had as a boy busted with a stolen dessert. He mumbled, “She’s not ‘my Rey.’”

“Oh no you don’t.” His mother’s fingers under his chin forced his head up with more strength than he thought possible. “Don’t you go messing up the best thing that could ever have happened to you, Ben Solo.”

“I won’t.” A smile cracked across his face without permission and heat flamed from his ears. Trust his mom to tease him—a man grown—about a girl when she hadn’t spoken to him in a decade.

And then her hand was caressing his cheek, while the other still clung to his. Her tenderness reached down, down into the very depths of his soul and drew forth blinding emotion, ragged and raw.

“You came,” Ben repeated, his voice breaking.

“Don’t you understand? You’re my son.” Her lips quivered, she squeezed his fingers, and tears glistened like jewels on her pale cheeks. “I love you. I would always have come if you called.”

***

Ben grinned down into Rey’s incredulous face, her nose scrunched and forehead furrowed in consternation.

“You want me to do what again?” She asked.

“Be my date.” He kneaded both her hands, which he had captured between them. “To the Stormtrooper Gala tonight.”

She rolled her eyes. “That will go over well, if the Supreme Leader brings the last Jedi as his date to a First Order Christmas party.”

“It will,” he insisted. “It’s the perfect symbol of our organizations’ new detente and besides, it’s true.” He lifted one arm and kissed the back of her hand. Color bloomed on her cheeks.

“But your mom—”

“—is receiving the best care and the rest she needs. You can’t use her as an excuse. She’d be the first to tell you that it’s your diplomatic duty.”

Rey pursed her lips. “How can I enjoy a party when my friends back at the Resistance are—”

“You can’t say ‘hungry’ because Chewbacca is taking them an entire Christmas feast and more supplies than they’ll know what to do with.” That reconciliation had gone better than anticipated. After fleeting fear the Wookiee would tear his limbs from his torso and a fierce hug that left Ben wheezing for air, he’d received a harangue that would have done his father proud. He’d been thoroughly chewed out and lectured in no uncertain terms about what precisely Chewie expected from his nephew and how he was to treat young Rey.

“And I’m grateful for that,” Rey said, “really, I am, but—”

“I’ll send a transport to fetch your friends and they can all attend the party too, if that’d make you more comfortable.” He raised her other arm and pressed a kiss to the back of that hand too, slow and tender.

“Do you have a solution for everything?” Her blush deepened and she shuffled her feet, but he didn’t release her.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He lowered her hand.

She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I—I don’t have anything to wear.”

“You could wear my clothes and I’d still think you the loveliest woman at the party.”

She cast him a helpless glance and made a plaintive mew.

“But if it truly bothers you, I’m sure Mitaka can find something to your taste.” It might be asking a bit much of his poor exec, but the lieutenant had more than proven his worth.

She probed his eyes and then her conscious did that delicious dance with his, less words than an exchange of images and intent and emotion:

Did he really want her company? Honestly?

Yes, he did. Truly, madly, deeply. At the Gala and at his side. In his life and on his ship and in his bed. She wasn’t supposed to see that part about the bed.

She was nervous. About her appearance, about the crowds, about being among the First Order when they’d always been the enemy.

He’d never leave her side, not if she didn’t want him to.

She was nervous about being with him. Together. Like this. In front of everyone.

If she really didn’t want to go, he wouldn’t push her, but he thought it’d be…fun.

“Fun.” She released a light laugh. “Okay, fine, you’ve persuaded me.”

***

When Ben saw her later in the cranberry-colored sheath that skimmed her every curve, with the slit that made her long legs look even longer and the sheer shrug that set off her toned shoulders and strong back, his heart turned liquid and puddled on the floor. He wasn’t sure if he should thank Mitaka or be jealous of his role in achieving this. Rey was exquisite. How was it possible that he should be so blessed? Ben drew a deep breath and his chest swelled.

Though he would not have thought it possible, Rey grew still more attractive when she praised him for his holiday message to his troops. When she clapped her hands in delight as he showered the hangar in an illusion of Force-fireworks to the crowd’s collective oohs and ahs. (Oh, how Master Luke would have chided him for that gratuitous display!)

When she endeared herself to his officers and even made Hux turn pink in his elf costume. When she relaxed enough to lose herself in laughter and games among the unmasked Stormtroopers and let Ben whisper answers to the riddles in her ear. When she danced with him in the shadow of the enormous Christmas tree, her mind entwined with his to learn the steps and her body lissome beneath his hands.

When she challenged him to a sock race and they slid laughing into each other’s arms. Happiness blossomed in his spirit as broad and vibrant as a poinsettia.

She studied him with shining eyes and her gaze shifted above his head.

He glanced up, caught her face between his hands, and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. She smiled against his mouth—and they remembered, together, another kiss beneath the mistletoe.

The Force glimmered, so many fairy lights twinkling in the darkness around and within them.

Ben pulled back to beam into her radiant face and caress that beautiful dimpled smile. “Merry Christmas, my darling Rey.”

Then he shifted one arm to support her back, the other to cradle her nape, and he kissed her again. The way he’d wanted to kiss her the first time. Long and deep and with the utmost gentleness. She tasted like peppermint, like a promise and his future, like everything he’d ever hoped and dreamed.

***

Kylo Ren—known ever after as Ben Solo—was better than his word. He did everything he promised and infinitely more. To his mother, who did not die, he was the best son. To his wife, who shared his soul and loved him with unrivaled devotion, he was the best husband. And to his children, who were born in due time, he was the best father.

He became as good a friend, as good a leader, and as good a man as the United Galactic Republic knew, or any good old planet in the good old galaxy far, far away.

Some beings laughed to see the alteration in him, but Ben mostly ignored them. He was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened for good in this galaxy, at which some did not have their fill of laughter in the outset. Since they would persist in their blindness anyway, it was just as well that they should pass judgment with humor than in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed and that was quite enough for him.

He had but rare interaction with Force ghosts and cherished those moments when they occurred.

For decades to come, wherever Christmas was celebrated—and even where it wasn’t—glasses were lifted in toast to Ben Solo and the Christmas Accords. And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any being alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us—all of us. And so, as Leia observed, may the Force be with us and Maker bless us, every one!