TROS - 18 - Damage

Ben’s fall had been caught on a jagged outcropping. His ankle was twisted, and he was pretty sure he’d broken at least two ribs. But he had to get back to the throne room.

Because he couldn’t sense Rey at all.

The climb up was agonizing. Each time he reached for a handhold, a hot knife of pain stabbed his left side. Dizziness threatened to send him tumbling back into the abyss, but he kept on, one hand over the other, until finally his fingers grasped the top.

He hauled himself over the side. Paused a moment to catch his breath. Dragged himself to his feet.

Ben made it only a few steps before he crumpled, forced himself to his feet yet again, limped forward.

He could see her now, collapsed on the floor, and the pain in his chest was suddenly so much worse than that of a couple of broken ribs.

She seemed at ease, almost as though she were sleeping, except her eyes were wide and staring, lifeless and dull.

He hardly knew what he was doing as he crouched beside her, wrapped his arms around her limp form, yanked her onto his lap. Rey’s skin was growing cold. Her barren eyes stared up at him, and he imagined them accusing him. You did this. This is your fault.