Rey had left the conversation badly. Asking him felt harsh, but she had to know. She hadn't been able to organize her scattered thoughts, and it seemed like a better idea to walk away instead of saying something she hadn't had time to consider. The idea she kept circling back to to frame Ben's confessions remained the same. But he was a victim, too. It punctuated every accusation she tried to lay on him. No one had won in the creation of Kylo Ren. Her grandfather had gambled, and he had hurt millions, even Ben.

Rey dropped onto her stiff cot, sure her mind was too frantic to sleep. What would she have done if she had been in Ben's place? Would she have succumbed to her grandfather's vile whispers? She honestly couldn't say.

Rey blinked. Dim moonlight filtered in through the cracks around the wooden shutters. She had dozed off, but a boot scraping on the rocky ground had roused her. A dark figure stood in the doorway of her little hut. The Mandalorian? It must be. Light glinted off of a metal helmet.

She sat up, and mumbled, "Mando?"

He entered, and the door swung shut behind him. Not the Mandalorian. It was Ben. But not Ben. It was Ben wearing Kylo Ren's helmet and dark garb. She sucked in a breath and scrambled to her feet.

"Rey. Come here." He extended a hand to her.

She shivered. "What happened?" Her voice trembled. Had he restored himself using some kind of dark side power?

He took a step toward her, and she instinctively stepped back. This was wrong. One of the biggest difference between Ben and Kylo Ren was this aggressiveness. He tensed as she refused to come toward him.

"Now."

Her lightsaber was missing. She must have lent it to Little Yoda earlier, and he hadn't returned it. Kylo didn't have a weapon out yet, but this would come to blows. It always did with him. She took another step back, frantically searching the little hut for a weapon. Throwing books at him wouldn't gain her any appreciable time. And even if she could shift around him, she couldn't get past him. He was too fast.

He reached up and released his helmet, and dropped it on the short stool where Big Yoda sat during her lessons. That face! It was Ben's face, but...not. It was too still. Void of the warmth and vulnerability she had become familiar with over their past few meetings.

"What have you done?" she whispered. She stepped back again, and bumped into the wall.

He wouldn't hurt her. He had never really tried to hurt her. He took another long stride, and placed himself within a few hand spans. She tensed, and he lifted his arms and pressed his palms into the wall on either side of her head.

"Why are you running from me?"

She was trapped. Her breathing was rapid and overly loud in her ears.

"Are you afraid?" he crooned.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because," she started. But she couldn't find the reason.

He leaned into her, his cheek touching hers, and whispered, "I don't think fear is the only thing you're feeling right now."

Her breath hitched, and she bit down hard on her lip. No, no, no. Heat swelled at her center. He was right. That infuriating draw she had always felt toward him was still there. The back of his gloved hand brushed against her other cheek, and his fingers slid in a lazy path down her neck, across her collar bone, down her arm to her wrist. She had fallen asleep in a sleeveless top, and she felt exposed.

He stepped back, pulled her wrist up, and kissed the inside of it. Her skin was instantly covered in goose bumps. He placed her palm on his chest, bit the tip of his glove, and tugged it off with his teeth. He pressed a kiss to her neck, and damn every shred of good sense she had left, she tipped her chin up to give him better access. He chuckled.

"Do you want me to leave?"

His fingers slid beneath her top and splayed open across her bare midriff, just brushing a breast. No. Her mind screamed at her from some faraway corner, muffled by layers of desire. Stop this. Stop it! This isn't right. But she fisted his shirt and held him in place. That was answer enough. And permission.

He pressed against her and kissed her. She wanted more. She tugged his other glove off, and began fumbling with the closure on his coat, never breaking the kiss. He ripped at the thin top, breaking the straps. It slid down and settled around her waist. He trailed kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

She gripped his face in both hands, intending to bring his mouth back up to hers. Her fingers slid over the cool, silky path of a scar tissue down his cheek, and she froze. The remnants of one of their first meetings. She had always felt a little bad about it.

That's not right. The scar is gone. She pushed him back and inspected his face further.

"What's wrong?" he said.

"Your face. This scar shouldn't be here."

He cocked his head to the side. "It's been there since you gave it to me."

She shook her head. "Ben, it was healed. After you died."

She shook her head again, trying to dislodged the muddled confusion.

Rey gasped and sat up on her cot, her skin slicked with sweat and her body trembling from cold. No Ben. Her lightsaber was on the floor beside her, secured to her belt. Her top was where it should be.

She sat for a long time, considering the dream. She didn't much like her conclusion. Some of that old persona of Kylo Ren had been darkly appealing in ways she couldn't quite grasp, but had to acknowledge. His singular focus on her, and the rawness of desire it exposed in herself, were truths.

He had said it was still him. He wasn't Kylo Ren anymore. But he was still him, in some ways.

She burrowed under her blanket and tried to put the dream out of her mind. Was that singular desire for her still lingering beneath the calm face Ben presented to her?

What did it matter? She could only touch him in dreams.