The light was bright, blindingly so. Everything was strange, and everything hurt.

Kylo Ren squinted against the harshness of the light, the sterile whiteness of the hospital room resolving itself.

No, not Kylo Ren. That was yet another skin he'd shed, sloughed off to moulder with his misbegotten apprenticeship. The names he'd left behind had been assigned to him by those who'd tried to shape him in their image, but he was his own man now.

Kylo Amidala was the name he chose for himself.

His master had deserved death for many reasons, but Kylo had killed him for only one. He'd seized an empire for Rey, courted her with gardens and silks and almost more honesty than his soul could bear, and she was gone.

He was alone, the thing he'd always feared most.

The machines monitoring him began to ping, registering the change in his vitals. Of course they can tell when your heart has died. Immediately he lacerated himself for the thought. Pathetic: He'd known it would probably come to this—him alone, and her seeking her future out among the stars. He'd given everything he could, held nothing back. He'd been as open as he knew how to be. He thought he'd have more time.

That's what it had always been, a struggle against time. To hope she would begin to feel for him before she was able to raise the shuttle. It had probably been hopeless: How could she ever love a monster? She was a refutation of everything he'd ever been. In another lifetime, with different choices, maybe he would have been someone she could love.

But he could only live in this one. He'd been dealt a hard hand, and had made it worse with every decision of his life. How could he hope that something that began with a kidnapping would end with an embrace?

And yet he couldn't regret it. All his life he'd only known the mathematics of subtraction. He could never regret reaching for the chance at more.

"Your Majesty! I regret not being in the room when you regained consciousness. My apologies!"

It took Kylo a moment to place the man: A high-ranking member of his staff from the capital. Gerval? Garvus? No—

"Garvon. How long have I been here?"

"Three days, Sire."

Maker, how badly had he been injured? "How did I get here?"

"A group of hunters brought you in. They must have heard the attack and intervened."

A group of hunters had defeated the Knights of Ren? Either his former men had been badly outnumbered or the hunters had caught them by surprise. He remembered taking burns on his arm and shoulder in the course of seizing one of the men's weapons, then engaging several of them simultaneously, knowing he was going to lose but refusing to give in. He was stubborn, he knew. It wasn't much of a virtue, but it was all he could claim. If he wasn't stubborn, he would have believed Rey long ago when she told him she hated him.

Stubbornness had bought him survival, but not much else. He would not torture himself with the memory of how she felt in his arms or the warmth of her light shining upon him. He would shut them away in a chest with the rest of his family's lost hopes.

"Find the hunters. They've earned a reward, and my gratitude." It felt strange to say something so stiff and formal, but it was his duty. And he owed those people a debt. It was time to leave his delusional hopes behind and turn to the future of obligation and ceremony that stretched before him.

"Yes, Sire."

"And get me a ship."

Varykino had always been a fantasy. It had seduced his grandparents; they had married, he knew, on the terrace overlooking the lake. Only a few years later, his grandmother was dead and the twins were separated and spirited away. Everything Anakin had hoped for was lost. He'd become more powerful than he'd ever imagined, and it was all for nothing.

Years before, with Snoke's blessing, Kylo had made a pilgrimage to places sacred to Vader. He'd explored the ruins of his grandfather's castle on Mustafar and walked the edges of the flowing lava that had burned away the last traces of Anakin Skywalker. He'd gone to the tree-choked moon of Endor and searched until he found the overgrown remnants of a funeral pyre, and taken Vader's helmet as his idol and talisman.

Snoke hadn't known that he'd also searched for who his grandfather was before he became Vader. That he'd gone to Tatooine and visited the slave quarters in Mos Espa, where his grandfather had once lived, and the vast Jedi temple on Coruscant where his grandfather had trained.

His final stop had been here, to Varykino. The energy he'd felt here had been nothing like the unstable undulations of the other places; here all was calm and beautiful. Before he left he'd made arrangements to buy the estate. It was rare for him to feel at peace, and he couldn't bear to risk never having that feeling again.

Of course he'd brought Rey here. There had never even been a second choice. In this exquisite place, he'd hoped that he could nurture the fascination between them until the divine madness that gripped him at the thought of her became a folie à deux.

Kylo was tempted to think that the place was cursed, but he knew better. He was defective. Anakin had been defective. The only thing they were good for was destruction. They didn't deserve love. In the end, Anakin had destroyed Padme, and Kylo should give thanks that Rey had gotten away from him before he'd done the same to her. He'd been fooling himself that it could go any other way.

Surely it was only right that the villa lay in ruins.

Much of the wall bordering the lawn had collapsed. The statuary that had marked the entrance to the vineyard was in pieces, and a row of tall, narrow trees that had bordered the lawn had been flattened.

What the hell had happened here?

His ministers had sent workers out, apparently: Rubble had been collected into large piles, and fabric, shifting in the light breeze, was hung over a huge hole at the back of the villa to protect it from the elements.

The little gate that led to the garden dangled, broken, from one hinge. He passed the gate and followed the path Rey had taken that day on her desperate run to the shuttle. The path, green and lush, was marked by trampled plants and crumbled statuary. A massive tree had taken a blaster bolt to its trunk and lay across the fountain, its starlike white flowers drifting across the water. The statue at the fountain's center seemed undamaged, but its water no longer flowed.

He couldn't stop himself from bending down to touch the blossoms as they floated by. The memory of standing there with her, scattering flowers at her feet and listening to her throaty laugh, stabbed at him.

Was she safe? He'd seen her scramble into the shuttle, raise it from the shore, before he'd finally turned back to the former members of his order as they'd converged on him.

No, not his order. That order had belonged to the merciless enforcer Snoke had attempted to turn him into. A flawless weapon of impeccable lineage and unmatched power, with no ties, no tenderness. No yearning for what he'd lost and for what he now accepted he could never have.

Surely she'd gotten away. Surely. He would feel it if she hadn't. The empty place where his heart had been would cave in, and he'd disappear from this life like the misbegotten creature he was.

Would she go back to the Resistance? She hadn't been happy there, but she knew so little of the galaxy. She might have chosen to return to it simply for the comfort of familiarity.

Please, please don't let her be on Jakku. The thought of her giving up and going back to that hellhole made his chest tighten. If he'd done that to her, he couldn't recover. He would have destroyed the only good thing he'd ever touched. The thing he'd tried with every memory of tenderness to protect.

Should he look for her? Not to contact her, of course. She'd never know he even looked. He just wanted to reassure himself, to relieve himself of that guilt.

No. He'd told her that when she left on the shuttle she would be rid of him. He wouldn't go back on that, not even for the sweet misery of torturing himself with knowledge of her. He didn't deserve reassurance. He would never give himself that again. He hadn't earned that comfort.

He followed the path down to the clearing where he'd lowered the shuttle for Rey. It had taken everything he'd had to bring it down gently while still holding off the knights. For a long moment he stared at the spot where the shuttle had once rested underwater. Fish darted in and out of swaying aquatic plants; it was as if the shuttle had never nested there.

He'd hoped she'd never raise it, and she never had.

Maybe it was better this way. If losing her now hurt so deeply, he couldn't imagine what it would have done to him if he'd had the time to learn all of her moods. To memorize her face, the way she scowled when she concentrated and her brows shot up when she was surprised. The way she clutched his hands as she gave herself up to the Force, and the way her body softened as they moved against each other.

Maybe he'd been deceiving himself. It was what he was best at, after all.

He walked along the shore, down to the little beach where he'd been teaching her how to swim. She was still tense in the water, but at least she knew the basics now. She'd had that experience. Maybe it would protect her when he couldn't.

He thought about how he'd planned to introduce her to the indoor pool at the palace in Theed, and moved on. More garden, the wide lawn and its sheltering trees, and, finally, the terrace beside the water. He turned to return to the house—he should probably check the damage, although he'd probably just end up in Rey's room, hating himself—when he saw it, a boat in the little stone jetty.

He wasn't alone on the island.

The boat was too small to be the craft used by the Knights of Ren; he doubted more than three of them could have fit in the skiff, not with all their ridiculous gear.

Automatically Kylo reached for his saber. It wasn't there, of course. It hadn't been at the hospital when he'd dressed, and he hadn't had it when the Knights of Ren had attacked. If it had, he wouldn't be mourning the only future he'd ever wanted. He'd have seared his way through those miserable traitors and his gardens would be scattered with their bodies instead of fallen statuary.

And Rey would have been here with him now instead of away from him forever.

The lack of a weapon didn't matter. If the boat belonged to workers sent by some functionary, he didn't need it; if it was an assassin, he welcomed it. He'd fight, and maybe he'd win, and if he didn't, he'd find the only peace he'd ever know without Rey.

He wasn't sure which he preferred.

Then the door to the kitchen opened, and Rey stepped onto the terrace.

For a moment—for eternity—he stared at her, unable to move. Unable to breath. His mind was too slow to comprehend, and he thought, distantly, that he was still unconscious.

Rey froze, her arms tightening around the stack of broken furniture she carried. The reaction of someone who had little to call her own, and protected it by any means necessary. It was a tendency he shared.

Then, to his shock, a wavering sob escaped her, and she dropped the pile with a clatter. He took a step towards her—he didn't mean to, he wouldn't pester her—and she leapt forward, throwing her arms around him. His arms closed around her convulsively and he crushed her to him, unable to breath, to understand what was happening. He was dreaming, he knew: The galaxy did not grant him such things. He was still in the hospital, and when he awoke this would all slip away.

Rey pulled back, and reality asserted itself. This was happening: She would tell him the embrace meant nothing. She was just surprised, or worse, grateful to him for raising the shuttle. He didn't want her gratitude.

"They wouldn't tell me anything," she told him tremulously. Seeing Rey so vulnerable made his stomach clench. She'd always been fearless, even that first day on Takodana—a warrior who'd fired at him defiantly, even as he'd brushed the blaster bolts away. Like him, she kept her softness hidden. And now tears, the most beautiful, terrible tears, streaked down her face.

For him. She was crying for him.

"They wouldn't even tell me if you were going to live. I told them I was the one who brought you in, and they didn't care. But I—I had to believe you'd survive. There was so much blood, but you're an emperor! I knew they could save you. I had to believe that. I told myself that, again and again."

Kylo's heart was beating so fast, so hard, he felt sure it would stop. It was a long moment before he trusted himself to speak, and when he finally did, the words that fell from his mouth were as stupid and simple as he was. "You're back."

She swiped the tears from her cheeks, laughing a little. "I never left."

"Why?" He should have been ashamed at asking the question. At seeking the words. But with her he was craven. He needed everything.

"My training isn't complete, is it?"

His hopes cratered. It had been foolishness, holding her here. His love for her had driven him mad, and in his need he'd imagined a longing she didn't possess.

He forced himself to release her. To move back. "You don't have to do this."

Rey stepped closer. Close enough to touch, but neither of them did. "I don't have to do anything. I'm a free woman. No one owns me."

"I want to."

She blinked, startled by his bluntness, his crudity; he couldn't blame her. But she had to know. "I want to own you. I want you to own me. I want to give you everything you want and bask in your attention. I want to never be far from you, and I want you to want me the same way."

"Kylo—"

"I'll never leave you. I'll be yours forever, without end, if you let me. The galaxy and everything it holds will be yours." His voice cracked. "Just let me worship you."

Rey frowned, shaking her head. "I'm not a goddess. I'm just a woman."

"Then let me love you."

She cupped his cheek and he couldn't stop himself from covering her hand with his own. He shut his eyes, sparing himself the pain of seeing her refusal. Or worse, her pity. Once he would have despised himself for that cowardice, but he was defeated. He would allow himself this comfort he didn't deserve and be grateful for it.

He started babbling. He didn't want to, but he couldn't hold the words in. "All my life I got things I never wanted. I didn't care about being powerful in the Force; I wanted to be a pilot. I didn't want to study at Luke's temple; I wanted my parents. I didn't want to turn to the dark side; the light side thrust me away. And I let those things happen, like they were inevitable. Like I didn't have a choice. My whole life, you're the only thing I ever wanted enough to fight for. And it wasn't my right. But I can't regret it. Even after everything, I can't regret it." He opened his eyes, locking them on hers. Willing her to see his devotion. "Do you want me to give it up? I will. The empire is nothing. Not if it costs me you."

Her forehead rumpled. "Don't."

He wasn't surprised by her answer; how could he be? He'd been insane to allow himself that delusion. To suggest it was his final insult to her. "I'm sorry—"

"If I didn't want you the way you are, I wouldn't have stayed."

He froze. His hand, covering hers, tightened for a moment before releasing it with studied control. Her hand fell away, and without her touch he grew cold. But he couldn't live on kindness. "I don't want you to pity me."

Her brows knit. "How could I pity you? You grew up rich. You had a family. You never had to work until you passed out or rig traps around your home to protect you while you slept. But I do. I pity you. Your life was an illusion. And I pity me. We're both broken, and our families did that to us. But somehow you—you were able—you can still—you love, and you make me feel love, and I never felt it before, and I didn't know what it was." Rey reached out, her hands knotting in his shirt. "But all I could think as I ran towards the shuttle is that I would give anything not to lose you."

He went over words again and again, trying to find the thorn. Tears began to glisten in her eyes, and her voice thickened. "Our parents gave up on us, but we found each other. You're the only thing I want, Kylo. My whole life, you're the only thing that's ever been home to me. I'll never give you up."

His heart split wide open. He crushed her to him, burying his face in her hair and rocking slowly on his feet. He couldn't seem to loosen his arms. She held on just as tightly, and when hot tears soaked through his shirt, he wasn't sure who had shed them.

It was a long time before they moved. Finally Kylo could no longer ignore his most intense impulse and pulled Rey into the house, straight into the kitchen. And now he piled more dishes on the table, more food upon her plate. The need to fuss over her was impossible to ignore. He felt like someone's old granny, one he'd never had himself. That she allowed him to hover filled him with an almost embarrassing gratitude.

"How did you escape?"

She squeezed his hand. Because it was real: She was here. She wanted to be here. She wanted to be with him.

He didn't know if he would ever become accustomed to it.

"I told you, I didn't leave! But they had blasters and fire whips and a really big scythe, and we didn't even have a stick. We needed a weapon." Her expression turned sheepish. "A big one."

Suddenly the extent of the villa's damage made sense. "The shuttle?"

"I hadn't planned to smash into the house, but they were running inside, and I had to stop them," she explained defensively. She had no need to apologize; her resourcefulness awed him. "If they holed up in there, I had no way to get them out."

"What about the hunters?"

She frowned. "What about them?"

"Did they hear the attack and come to help?"

Rey looked puzzled. "I had to get you to a doctor, and the shuttle was too damaged to fly. I saw their ship and flagged them down."

"Flagged them down? How?"

She pinkened a little. "…The fire whip?"

He tried, he really did, but laughter escaped anyway. "So you threatened them."

"You were bleeding! I had to do something!"

"You were amazing. Perfect."

She put down her fork, frowning. "Are you well now? Completely recovered?"

"Well—"

Her eyes flared. "You're not healed?"

"I'm healing." The injection he'd gotten before leaving the hospital had taken care of the pain, at least. By the time it wore off, he'd be good. "It's just the last bits of flesh and bone knitting together. In a day or two I'll be as good as new."

"Really?"

"Really." He shoveled more food on her plate, regretting that he hadn't had time to make her something more impressive. Although she didn't seem to mind, especially the toasted bread covered with soft cheese. "What about you? Have you been to a doctor?"

"There's nothing wrong with me."

"Nothing? Not even a blaster burn?"

"I knocked my knee against a bench. The bruise is fading."

"What about food? Have you had enough to eat?"

"I had cheese from the conservator, and fruit and bread. The drone came by every morning."

So much for the efficiency of his government. As far as they knew, there was no one on the island.

"I tried to cook eggs once—" his alarm must have shown, because she broke off, looking vexed—"but I realized I didn't know how and didn't want to burn down the rest of the house, so I ate them raw."

He'd had worse many times. "That's probably for the best. You didn't eat the shells, right?"

She poked his arm, and he gasped a little; the casualness of the gesture awed him. Her face softened, and she patted him sweetly, worry on her face.

"I'll be fine. You can't hurt me." His eyes searched her beloved face. "Not physically."

Rey's expression eased. "I'm sorry I smashed your house," she whispered. "I know your grandparents lived here. I didn't want to destroy it, but I didn't have anything else."

"I don't care about the villa. It can be rebuilt."

"How long will it take?"

Kylo shrugged. "Not long."

"Because you're the emperor."

"Yes. We could stay here while it's being repaired, though that would be noisy and inconvenient … or we could go to Theed. That's where my palace is."

She raised her eyebrows. "You have a palace?"

His eyes were very soft on her. "I can show it to you."

Rey shrugged, trying not to appear intrigued.

"It has everything you can imagine. Rooms with statues, with books, with treasure. A conservatory with plants and flowers from around the galaxy. Strange furniture. Funny old gowns and wigs. Whole rooms full of broken droids of all shapes and sizes. An indoor pool, and a bath that takes up an entire room. And in the reception hall there's a portrait of my grandmother that's twice as large as life."

"You put a picture of your grandmother in the palace?"

He laughed. "It was already there; she was queen of Naboo. Later she served as its senator. There were so many flowers at her funeral that some had to be imported from off-world. To Naboo, the garden planet. That's how beloved she was."

"Is that how you want to be? Beloved?"

He raised her hand to his face and nuzzled it. "By you."

"You already are." He shivered a little; it was still so new. He wasn't used to being loved. "What about your people?" Rey added. "Don't you want them to love you?"

Kylo was silent for a long moment. "I never thought about it," he admitted. Snoke hadn't been beloved. His mother and every politician he'd ever known had been the subject of smear campaigns and sometimes unhinged hatred.

But his grandmother had been admired. Adored, even. He'd chosen his name to honor her—the one person in his family who hadn't misled him, deliberately or otherwise. Who hadn't been used to manipulate him. She was the only member of his family whose spector didn't mock him. What would she have wanted—for the empire, for Naboo? For her grandson?

How could he do honor to her memory?

"We'll do it together. I'll teach you to harness the Force, and you'll teach me to be a good emperor. Does that sound fair?"

She smiled lazily. She looked so relaxed. He'd never seen her look completely at ease before, he realized.

Rey gave his hand a squeeze before releasing it and standing up. He felt stung at the withdrawal, but clamped down on his disappointment before anything stupid escaped his lips. Eventually he might bite his tongue clear through, but he'd be damned if he let his impulsive mouth ruin this.

"It's getting late. I'm going up now," she told him.

Kylo nodded and began gathering up the dishes. "Sleep well." He felt a pang of regret at not having thought to put out a nightgown for her. He'd done it every night they'd spent at Varykino, imagined her flower-like in the color-washed silks and chiffons, cradled in beauty. He'd wanted to wrap her in the luxury she'd been denied her whole life. He'd wanted her to know that he loved every part of her, the fierce warrior who slashed his face and the wistful girl who preserved the rare blooms she'd found on her desert world. There was nothing about her that didn't enthrall him. From the moment they met on Takodana, he'd been fascinated. From the moment she'd pushed into his head on Starkiller, he'd been hers.

Her faint laugh interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see her holding out her hand. "Are you coming?"

For a long moment he stared at her, caught between fantasy and reality, between his hopes and his past. Then he felt his blood roar in his ears, his heart pound in his chest. He was alive, a real person, not a monster's pawn. The future stretched out before him, throbbing with possibility. She was the only one who could do this. Before her, he'd been frozen, his heart lanced by shards of ice. It took her warmth to bring him to life.

He took her hand, and left his past behind him.

Note: Two chapters left. Remember the care and feeding of your author!