A/N: I would like to thank my first ever Beta reader erindarroch; a goddess of patience, wisdom, and master of fanfic. I hereby claim any mistakes as mine.

Sooo I've hesitated posting anything as of late even though it's been more or less finished? (confidence issues) Whaddya know...Aaaanyways, If you are still with me by the end of this. Sorry and thank you?

A/N: Legal Stuff: I don't own any of this. We're playing with Disney's action figures in their sandbox (snowdrift?). Just keep your two metre distance and wash your hands after. ;)

A missing moment fic inspired by TFA cut scene "Kylo Searches the Falcon". Plotless fluff and angst.

Timeline: Star Wars VII - the Force Awakens; within canon (including Bloodline and Aftermath: Life Debt) ...more or less.

Soul Searching

Chapter Nine - Skywalkers

Kylo stared mutely at the Falcon's dejarik table. There lingered decades-old odour of whiskey and tabac, along with the harsh bark of his father's friends' laughter, but the latter solely in Ben Solo's recollections. They overwhelmed with their rich pungency. He'd relished those occasions when the rogues gallery appeared. Veterans, generals, scoundrels, knights and senators would carry on wildly here, as though they were still caught in the whirlwinds of their chaotic youth.

Those long-ago evenings were fertile ground for crude jokes to impress Ben's friends at school with. And the stories... Oh, the stories too! Legends telling legends as truth. It meant treats and gifts from far flung places, without regard as to whether they were appropriate for Ben. It meant stolen sips of liquor. More junk food than even a Wookiee could eat. It was "responsible" adults turning a blind eye. And since most attendees truly were knaves at heart, especially Ben's father, as such, it often meant; few or no enforced rules, and few regrets beyond the card table.

(Except the one time Ben snuck Lando's tabac, and then desperately tried not to hack up a half lung in front of his father.)

For Ben, those evenings meant late bedtimes. It meant repeated rounds of teasing, hair ruffles and gruff hugs from all those who attended. He was considered good luck, a charm or mascot; the Little Rogue Prince. And when Ben was actually hauled off to bed, it meant a chorus of equally well-wishes and protests from that assemblage. And a fair amount of complaining, begging and whining about bedtime.

The Force around him surged with the residual memory. It's currents imbued with the Light of the love and warmth of that time. It unraveled the Darkness that enshrouded Ben. His breath came in gasps, and his knees threatened to fail. Yes, he, Kylo – Ben had been loved. Truly, unconditionally loved; by a family built of blood and camaraderie. Nurtured, adored, even spoiled to a degree. Why had Snoke always told him otherwise?

"Here's our Little Rebel Prince." Carlist Reeikan would bow, then ruffle Ben's hair.

"Hey, Little Starfighter." The Rogues, and Lando.

"Hey, Kid."

Kylo swept at his eyes. He could never have that again. His family was shattered and scattered, because of him. He'd thrown it all away for the whispered promises of the Dark side. And that child of the past, Ben, was a product of the Light.

Ben Solo had been the princeling poster-child of both the New Republic, and the future hope of the lost world of Alderaan. A child born of the wild and heady days of post-war optimism, rebuilding and celebration – like so very many of Ben's generation. With his first breath, he'd been blessed; the firstborn offspring of two of the greatest heroes of a long and terrible war.

And as Ben's mother Princess Leia worked endlessly to better the state of the galaxy, so it would be his father that primarily raised him. After Endor, Han Solo swiftly exited the military when it clashed with his values. And Ben had ten years of a loving home, until his mother had sent Ben to his uncle Luke to train as a Jedi. Until that incident, his life had never been lacking. Always having. Every need addressed. Yet always, always wanting more. Before he'd become a Padawan, it had never been enough for Ben Solo. And time had proven that nothing ever would be.

So what had gone wrong?

(It was always never enough.)

Unlike his father, young Ben Solo had never known a day of hunger, of homelessness, of a desperate struggle to survive. From toddlerhood, Han Solo had grown up alongside the vermin that roamed the darkened alleys of his homeworld. His family was utterly lost to him; their names, their warmth, their love – gone. He'd obviously been beaten down, starved and suffered out on the rough streets of Corellia. He may have even been enslaved. As such, he rarely spoke of it. Han's childhood was a family topic that was pretty much taboo. The smuggler-turned-general would brush it off gruffly, whenever he was queried about his early youth. Whatever the experience, it obviously hurt and shamed him. What little Ben knew, had been picked from snippets of overheard conversation, or a vulnerable slip by the elder Solo, if he had had one too many drinks.

"Been chased too many times by Corellian hounds. Don't like 'em."

"...to feed Proxima's children...Or the hounds. Hell, we were all just meat."

"Dog food ain't all that bad. When it's all you've got…"

And after a couple of times of having intruded a bit too deeply into his father's mind with the Force, Ben chose to avoid those distant dark corners. A glimpse at the age of eight, had given him nightmares and security anxiety for weeks.

And the truth was, Ben quickly learned never to ask. Only that Han Solo ensured that, "You ain't ever gonna have to go through that, Kid. Not on my watch. Not ever." And luckily, Ben never did.

(But for Ben, it was never enough.)

The childhood of Ben's mother Leia, was an altogether different story. In fact, it was incredibly well-documented. And oft discussed, with a bittersweetness, and honest, loving recollection. Princess Leia Organa's youth and upbringing was also a matter of public interest–both locally on her homeworld, and at a galactic level.

The daughter of Alderaan's Queen and her viceroy consort who represented Alderaan in the senate; that child's education and achievements were a matter of historical record. From her first bold steps as a toddler, to an early graduation at Coruscant's elite university, everything was recorded. Leia had been adopted as heir into an ancient Royal house. She would never lack for anything, except unstructured free-time and a normal sense of privacy.

Much like her son, Leia Organa had had access to the finest schools, tutors, clothes, homes – privileges all. But with that came celebrity, expectation, and a not insignificant amount of responsibility. It wasn't enough to simply be a well-nurtured child, and grow up as others did. Every action, word, article of clothing, raised eyebrow, smirk or frown was the subject of much conjecture and (often) public criticism. It was seen as an outright slap in the face of all that rigid upbringing, of all that attention; to have met and quietly married a nameless Corellian smuggler, and then to cap it all off, kept her biological lineage a secret for over twenty-odd years, after she had brought down the Empire.

And what a lineage that was; if Leia's adopted family wasn't famous enough, then her biological parents were infamous. Or they had been. Leia and Luke's natural mother was Padme Amidala, Queen and Senator for Naboo. The spiritual founder of the Rebellion, as the Empire was seemingly born of her death. And so the Empire would censor her legacy, attempting to purge her memory from the galaxy. But she would be remembered as the soul in the history of the Rebellion and its leadership, as its founder, and perhaps, its first martyr.

As for their father; decades on, and Leia and Luke had managed to quash evidence of their relation to one of the most terrifyingly powerful beings in the galaxy. But it was inevitable that someone would connect the points, despite the best efforts of all parties involved.

Ben remembered the first ripple of that rumour at the academy. Then the stunned faces of fellow students as they surreptitiously watched the news on the holonet during lessons. Ben had held back at first; gossip about his famous parents was merely part of the regular churn of the news cycle. A background noise, at best. But then, there were important, powerful people condemning Ben's mother. And the angry concern behind his father's eyes upon being ambushed by reporters at the end of a race, as he casually batted aside accusations and voiced his support for Leia, told of more than words ever could.

Then Ben's classmates began to sidle away. At first it was respectful. To provide Ben more personal space, while he dealt with this stuff. Except now, the usual awkwardness around him, was replaced by fear. And for some students, a visceral hatred that radiated out from them in ebon waves. And the worst.. the worst – were the slow side glances. Slow because they were deliberately cautious. Hesitant. Fearful. Prey's instinctual reaction to having stumbled unexpectedly upon a resting predator.

What else would the grandson of Darth Vader be?

(And the Dark voices had ululated to Ben that day. They were always there. Always had been. But that day they had their victory.)

"This is your destiny."

Yes. Ben's peers had thought him odd before. Now those classmates saw him not just as the privileged kid of a senator. Nor, no longer was he the shy but knowledgeable gearhead kid of the best pilot in the galaxy. No. Now, Ben Solo was now seen as the direct descendant of a monster.

"The perfect monster."

And the worst part was; not that it was true. No. It was most certainly true. It was that he'd never been told what Anakin Skywalker had become. Indeed, Ben and the rest of the galaxy thought, were taught, that Anakin had died during the extermination of the Jedi.

Not that Ben's grandfather had become Darth Vader. Not that he had turned, lived and terrorized the galaxy for nearly two and half decades.

It was that Ben Solo had never been told. Like, it wasn't even mentioned.

And that he'd been held ignorant right into his twenties. That had really galled him. As if adult Ben had been considered too immature to process such a thing. Too immature at twenty-three apparently. At nearly the exact age when his uncle and mother had discovered their relationship to Vader, and subsequently to each other.

Vader… It was the powerful blood provided by the Clone Wars Jedi General Anakin Skywalker, that gave the Skywalkers their connection with the Force. And through that blood, through Leia, it now flowed through Ben, no...Kylo. And though he had always known of his relation to that storied hero, it was the downfall and creation of a new Sith Lord that was kept hidden for so, so long.

Back during the days of the Republic, it was forbidden to the Jedi to form attachments. Anakin's hidden conflict with the Jedi over those familial and romantic bonds, would lead him into the secret counsel of one of the great Sith masters. And thereafter, down that Dark vortex of hate, anger and vengeance – there, Anakin would turn against his once-respected Jedi order, turn against his mentor, sometime lover and best friend Obi-Wan.

Attachment and sentiment had defined the first half of Anakin Skywalker's life. The sundering of those bonds upon the banks of a molten river of stone, had forged the young Republic Jedi into the true Chosen One; Darth Vader. Vader would bring the prophesied balance to the Force, by purging the ranks of the thousands of Jedi – bringing their numbers into line with the two sole Sith. And with that, Darth Vader and his master Darth Sidious would use their Empire to bring vast reaches of the galaxy to heel.

Order, they would bring. Peace, prosperity, a respite from the chaos of morality and freedom, these would come at the price of varying amounts of lives, leaders, and… yes, even entire worlds.

For just the briefest moment, a blink of an eye really, Kylo thought he saw, felt...

Black armor. A swirl of a heavy fabric cloak. The creak of leather upon plasteel.

It couldn't be. Could it?

Abruptly, Kylo turned, following the shade as it strode down the passage. He skittered along the tilted decking, slipping along after the shadowy figure. It stopped, masked helmet raised as if catching a scent upon a breeze.

An eerie echo of mechanical breathing lit faint upon the air.

Kylo practically felt his heart stop.

"Grandfather!" The word was out of Kylo's mouth, before he could stop himself. It sounded weedy, desperate.

The specter from the past did not acknowledge Kylo. Instead, it strode down the halls of the Falcon, mirroring the same path that Kylo had just completed. It looked in every bay, room, corner and corridor, sweeping its diaphanous form through the occasional solid bulkhead. It halted at nearly all the same places; running its hand along the arms or top of seats; touching, absorbing, sensing. But when it got back, close to where the smuggling compartments were, it spoke, quietly, to the air.

"Where are you, my son?"

Kylo held back, shocked by the gentleness in Vader's tone. It was almost needy.

"Luke…"

Vader touched one of the durasteel rings that made up the core of the Falcon's structure. The hiss of his artificial breath echoed through the stillness. Then the forehead of Vader's helm touched the bulkhead, as if pained.

"My son is alive." Vader's statement thundered through the Force, its reverberations making Kylo's hair stand on end.

Stepping back once more, Vader traced the contours of the durasteel arch.

"My son was here. He was…" Vader's hand fell from the wall as his shade slid into the Millennium Falcon's common area once more. The Dark Lord stood mute at the top of the step, observing the room, sensing its echoes through the Force. Translucent though he was, through Vader's shadow could be glimpsed an even more distant echo of the Falcon's occupants. Barely there, but Kylo could make out phantoms of his parents and uncles; eating, living, laughing and confiding in each other, in a time in what had to be before the fall of the Empire. They were not quite a family yet then. Fast friends, forged in battle. Yet, well on their way to forming the even more powerful bonds of kinship.

As if in answer, in the background, the wispy Force memories had the lanky form of Solo dangling a small sweets parcel, high out of reach of Luke and Leia. He was teasing the twins yet again, waggling his finger at each in turn and grinning like a madman. Doubly reinforced by the presence of the other twin, impossibly young, impatient and hot-headed, Luke and the princess barrelled into the taller Corellian mercenary, knocking him flat to the deck. There was some playful wrestling between the three humans, until the huge, hairy form of Chewbacca casually strolled in on the chaos. The Wookiee reached into the dogpile of laughing and cursing bodies, hauled out Solo by his collar, and plucked the pilfered item from his sputtering captain, scolding him for being such an ill-mannered cub. The wheezing and giggling Luke and Leia tore into the package, stuffing mouths full of chocolate treats, then crowed raucously with delight, arms draped over each other in exhausted victory.

"He was happy." The deep bass of Vader's voice dropped to a wondering whisper at the scene.

Like an answering chime, a distant echo of Luke's high pitched laughter rang brightly through the air. A full-bodied, joyous sound it was. It then twined with the throaty laugh of Ben's mother. Other voices echoed too, fainter, but laughing and carrying on also.

And then the contrast– Vader's awful, hollow, mechanical longing, still so poignant, though now decades in the past.

"So alive. Light, beautiful, confident – like her."

Vader's tone crumbled, exposing a withered and broken heart. Despite everything Kylo had been whispered to, everything that he'd been taught, this was a side of Vader that he did not fathom could exist.

The man was heartbroken.

(Were the Dark whispers in the Force he'd heard then, lies?)

Vader's shade of memory remained oblivious, caught in its own cycle of recollection. "Like my Padmé," this, now, was a choked whisper. A sound barely patched together by Vader's voice modulation. He quivered, his massive armoured shoulders hunched. And around the Dark Lord danced the barely-there, translucent wavering images of his two lost children and their companions.

"She was alive. I never…" Vader's pain garbled into stuttered breaths.

Vader's hand tightened on the ring's edge. the Dark Lord specter's knees seemed to give out for a second. There was the pained creaking of stressed black leather. His next breath was a terrible snarl of betrayal.

"The Emperor...LIED!".

Kylo wavered, then retreated from the vehemence of Vader's outburst. The ship creaked and groaned in protest. Though he did not know if whether that was the now or the then that Kylo saw before him. Vader's shade, from whenever era this was, seethed on in his private fury.

"Palpatine knew! And he lied! To me! About my child, and about what happened to HER!" A howl of rage.

Kylo flinched. The Dark whispers had told him of Vader's lack of sentiment. Of his cold brutality. Of the perfect tool of the Empire. One who did not even comprehend the idea of emotion. A ruthless leader who had no time or mercy for enemy nor ally.

Kylo wondered where those Dark voices currently were. For the first time, they had no answers for him.

In fact, those voices had now gone mute within the ship. As if they'd been banished.

And still, the past shade of Darth Vader grieved and raged. He paced like a gundark in a cage.

"Palpatine lied. Obi-Wan lied. They all – LIED!"

Vader was seething now, "Damn them! I will have him! My son will follow his friends to this accursed floating city."

He hissed, "They can no longer hide what is left of my family. Of my life. Of her." The rasp of Vader's artificial breath stuttered. "Of Her."

Kylo whirled away from the scene, unwilling to bear witness to Vader's turmoil. A guttural sound emitted from Vader's shadow.

"All LIES! I didn't kill Padmé. She did die in childbirth. Died, as I foresaw she would. Died, giving me my son. Our son."

"I could have saved her." Higher pitched, and a sob. And Kylo didn't dare look still. He didn't need to, because it became a keening growl. It was a long time before Vader's mechanical breathing apparatus adjusted for his vocal disturbance.

And when Kylo did muster the courage to look, Vader's Dark mask seemed to slip. The shade's appearance flickered between the skull-like black helmet, a charred and disfigured middle-aged human, and the pale, blonde, handsome features of General Anakin Skywalker. All diaphanous, wafting in and out of visible memory through the Force.

This was almost more than Kylo could bear. He'd spent the last few years worshipping the carefully crafted vision of his grandfather, and this was not it.

"Padmé, I will find our child." Vader spoke quietly to the air. "He will know who he really is. He will come to me, to save his foolish friends."

This, it felt like the truth. A Truth. Felt as true and solid as the Falcon's decking beneath their feet.

And then Vader's plotting snarl was like a demon's, from the very depths of Mustafar.

"I will hurt them. The boy is too attached. To the smuggler–yes, there is a bond there; battle-brothers, perhaps lovers. But, the Princess? Not a lover, no, but Force Sensitive! She resisted at first, but I will find a way to break her this time!" One hand slid behind Vader's back as the Dark Lord paced, looking around the room. Mentally stunned, Kylo was scarcely beginning to process what Vader had just said, about Ben's mother Leia?

Vader unknowingly tortured his own daughter?

...Twice?

Vader plotted on in a growl, "I see that now. That spoiled little brat. She is somehow deeply bound to my boy, despite her involvement with the smuggler. Her pain should lure the boy." The shadow of Vader whirled on its heel. It skewered Kylo with the vengeful menace behind those obsidian lenses. "My son will come. He will join me."

"And then, together, we will destroy the Emperor."

Kylo stumbled backwards on the Falcon's hallway step.

Vader's shade of the past, gained determination. "We will destroy Palpatine."

He advanced menacingly to Kylo. Kylo skirted back on his elbows and heels. Vader's booted feet stepped heavily on the Falcon's decking. Above Kylo, the old Dark Lord loomed huge, his breath echoing loudly.

"We will rule the Empire and bring order to this galaxy."

"The Jedi, Obi-Wan, Palpatine; they have all failed! They failed to destroy me. And now my son is alive. And with him at my side, we will rule the galaxy – together!"

Then, an astonished mechanical whisper, reverent, prayerful, "Padmé, my sweet beloved – our child, our son, our blessing – Luke... lives!"

Chest tight, Kylo fled the room.