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WHO: Kylo Ren, OTA
WHERE: various places
WHEN: July 30th, following Padmé porting out
WHAT: Kylo processes loss badly, beats up a bench, glares at paintings, the usual
WARNINGS: Extreme melodrama

When news reaches Kylo that Padmé has been taken- that she has been returned to her inevitable death- it isn't a surprise, exactly. He's been expecting this for some time. Even here, where the dead return and it is possible to peer back into the past or forward into the future, he doesn't expect to find comfort, peace or purpose. Not for long.
But Padmé had been an unexpected and undeserved reprieve, and the letter she had arranged to find its way to him in the event of her disappearance is so very much like her that as soon as he realises what the envelope contains, he stops still- as if momentarily robbed of the ability to do anything but hold it in his hands, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. It's some time before the raw scream of loss that lives in his core quietens enough to allow him to read the contents, his fingertips tracing over the last words she wrote as he swallows, hard.

He doesn't know what to do, now. He's never known, he's never learned, and it's not as if there's anyone for him to fight
Not here, anyway.

Tightly folded up again, Padmé's message creaks ominously in Kylo's white-knuckled grip- but he slams it away in his dresser before he can tear it in two in a lapse of control, snatches his comm device up with an angry flick of his fingers and stalks out.

i.
A small park in De Chima

He's furious. Radiating menace, he stalks through the outskirts of the city- hardly realising where he's going until he arrives at a small, fairly overgrown and untended park in a quiet residential area and finds himself staring at a familiar bench by the entrance, fury boiling up under his skin.
Everything gets taken away. Everything. And suddenly, the hilt of his lightsaber is hard and solid in his grip. Spitting, crackling fire arcs through the air again and again as he brings the blade down, losing himself in the wild frenzy.

ii.
An art museum in Heropa

He feels ridiculous. It had seemed like a good idea only moments ago, but now that he's here he can't remember why. What could this possibly accomplish?
But after a few minutes of pacing the street in front like a caged animal, he stalks inside the art museum Padmé had taken him to during the week that wasn't, the day the Porter had made them live over and over until finally stitching it shut. Not everyone remembers that static, repeating time, but Kylo does.
He remembers his fumbling attempt to be something more like a grandson Padmé could be proud of, even it belongs to a past that never happened. He remembers how she never once made him feel like she expected him to disappoint her.

He scowls, sour-faced and irritable as he glares at every single painting on the walls. He hates them. Somehow, they all look different than how he remembers.

iii.
Pour Decisions in De Chima

Well, this is what everyone else on this planet seems to do when they've had a miserable day, isn't it? Get drunk. So that's what Kylo intends to do. He'd say he absolutely does not want company, but if that were really true he wouldn't be choosing this particular bar, one he frequents enough to almost be considered a regular by now. He marches in like a particularly miserable thunderstorm, orders a kind of Irish whiskey he was introduced to the first time he decided to attempt socialising here-- and immediately knocks it back. He'll need another.

iv.
Padme and Anakin's Residence, De Chima (For

prophesiedone )

He's known since he found out about Padmé's disappearance himself that he would have to come here, but it doesn't make it any easier. His loss sits in his chest in a bizarre contradiction- both impossibly heavy and hollow at the same time- but Anakin? Kylo's almost afraid to fathom the depth of his grandfather's grief, uncertain of what he might find in it.
There's a chance, too, that Luke might be here- and the surge of jealous hate that swells through him in response to that thought is ultimately what gives him the strength to walk up to the door and knock.

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At first he wasn't concerned when Ren didn't return to the house as he usually did. He knew Ren could take care of himself and so he only glanced at the tracker to check where Ren was before going back to work. But when Ren didn't return the next day, Hux had a feeling that he should track him down. Something was wrong.

It didn't take long for him to find Ren but he was surprised when the tracker led him to an art museum. Of all the places he thought he would find Ren, this was not one of them. Something was definitely very wrong. He wrinkled his nose as he stepped inside, looking around. Art was not something he knew anything about, he considered it rather pointless.

He didn't speak at first as he approached Ren, looking at the painting Ren was glaring at. He wasn't interested in the painting so much as trying to figure out what he could say. But nothing came despite his best attempts so he decided that he would let Ren speak first.

It didn't occur to him to wonder how Hux had found him- it never did, really- and he was reasonably confident he knew why he was here, too. He didn't waste much thought on things he knew to be true. Hux always seemed to find him, and somehow, since arriving on this backwater planet, Hux had begun to seek him out in his weakness- not to exploit it, but in an attempt to alleviate it. When this change had occurred, he wasn't sure, and he couldn't even begin to grasp why- but it hardly mattered. It was, and he preferred it that way.

He didn't break the silence immediately, eyes still locked on the painting he was glaring at.

"It's a ship," he said, tightly. "In a storm. That's what I see. The sea is rough, the wind high and dangerous. Deadly."

Hux squinted as he leaned forward but he couldn't really see a ship in the whirl of color. The storm part was clear enough, though.

"It looks like one of the paintings in my office," he commented thoughtfully. An associate had 'gifted' him some paintings that he had found he had rather liked, to his surprise. Art wasn't exactly practical or something that existed in the First Order. He looked at Ren thoughtfully before looking at the painting again.

There was something more going on than just a painting of a ship in a storm. "You didn't come here to glare at a painting, Ren."

Kylo's lips pressed together as he kept his focus steadily on the ship in the whirling chaos of the storm, his chest horrendously tight.

"Padmé brought me here," he said after a long, tense moment. "We spent hours here, looking at all of these. Talking about them. Do you know what she saw, when she looked at this one?"

He paused, but it clearly wasn't a question that expected an answer. "I saw the storm, the ship being tossed about. And she saw something else. This painting- the view isn't from the shore. It's another ship. There's another ship in that storm. She said-- perhaps, help is coming."

There it was.

He didn't answer the question, he wouldn't even try. He had seen Padme as a part of a corrupt, crumbling regime but despite that, he had to give her credit for what she did for Ren. He assumed that she had vanished recently since he wasn't sure what else would bring Ren here.

"Ah. She was that..for you..." he ventured after a moment as the pieces fell into place. "She didn't hesitate to come over when I asked her to."

He didn't need to respond to that. Of course she hadn't hesitated. She would have done anything, given anything, if she had believed it would help. His fingers curled slightly at his sides- but aside from that, he was entirely, unnaturally motionless, locked in place.

He'd seen the painting the way Padmé had, when they had stood here together. It had been a moment of revelation, something beautiful and good. She'd made the shift of perspective feel so easy, and he had fooled himself into believing it was evidence of something within him that was still capable of hope, that hope was something worth holding onto.
But looking at it now, all he saw was the sick, lurching tilt of the slanted horizon. The other ship that Padmé had shown him how to see was just as doomed as the first.

He wanted to put his fist through it.

"She's gone," he said bluntly, turning from the painting to face Hux. "If she is going to come back, it will be soon."

Hux didn't move either, watching Ren from the corner of his eye. He could so easily use this to crush Ren, exploit his weakness oh so easily. It was strange to feel that here, he didn't really want to. In fact, he was tempted to reach for his hand even in this public place. But he didn't, keeping his hands firmly clasped behind his back.

Instead, he turned to look at Ren, his expression still controlled as usual. "I had a feeling that was the case," he said eventually. He wasn't good at this, he rarely felt awkward but this was one of those moments.

"Perhaps we should return to the house," he suggested.

"You're concerned you don't have the resources to pay for this, if I decide to tear it in two," he said, flatly- the trace of humour that should have been there noticeably absent.

He glanced back at the painting- but he could feel Hux watching him, a tight coil of... anxiousness? Concern, certainly, but something more inward facing that Kylo couldn't identify.

"You're probably right. Let's go."

"Is that what you ne-want?" A quick correction- he felt a bit adrift but was trying to keep his emotions tightly controlled.

He could do that. He knew he wasn't good at the emotional side of things but something concrete like tearing things apart was something he could better understand.

He looked at Ren carefully, trying to read his expression. He wouldn't deny that he had been a bit anxious that Ren would pull out his lightsaber to destroy the painting- it would wipe out his savings and then some.

"Come on, I have an idea," he said as he turned towards the exit.

As a probably more dramatic demonstration of his state of mind than he had intended, Kylo had no snappy rejoinder to throw at Hux's back for once. He followed mutely- a dark, hulking mass of menace and fury, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

Hux didn't say anything until the reached the forest. If Ren wanted to talk, then he would listen but he had assumed that Ren preferred to be left to his own thoughts. He wasn't sure what he could offer either so he let Ren have that silence.

He nearly reached for Ren's hand when they got to the treeline but decided against it, leading him in deeper. Trees were inexpensive to destroy and there were a lot of them- seemed ideal. "I know it's not an art museum but..." he trailed off, not sure what to say when they reached a clearing.

Wanda knows a thing or five million about loss -- back home and here (she'd destroyed her apartment over a year ago when a particularly painful port out hit her). So when she sees a man going after a bench with a weapon, she approaches carefully but with purpose. Surprisingly -- perhaps -- not to judge him.

"So what'd the bench do to offend you?" Said with all the tone in the world to convey that she's sure it wasn't something the inanimate object did. "Want some help with it?" Scarlet wisps and balls of energy dance around her hands as she quirks an eyebrow.

Kylo's so distracted in the moment that he doesn't realise he's no longer alone until Wanda speaks- at which point he stops short, shoulders heaving with the heavy breathing of exertion. The fiery blade of his lightsaber flickers and dies- leaving a gaunt, uncomfortable quiet- the park bench sliced through with deep, smouldering scars.

But it isn't truly quiet. Kylo turns, curiosity drawing him out of his rage- her power fascinates him.

"I doubt it will do it again," he says flatly, eyes scanning over her face. Does he know her? He doesn't think they've met.

He had become his worst nightmare, trapped in a suit, emotionless until he encountered family again. Then he had died, still stuck in that damn suit, with a heart heavy with regret. Vader is part of him now; he isn't sure where he ends and that Sith monstrosity begins. But he had thought "I can bear it. I have Padmé, Luke, Leia and Kylo." until he had discovered, much to his horror, Padmé was...gone.

Returned. She will meet her death because of him and he might never see her again. Tears are not good enough and he purposefully cuts himself off from the rest of the world so that no one will feel sorry for him. He doesn't deserve that.

When he looks in the mirror, his eyes are as yellow as ever. He nearly smashes the glass until he remembers that she had used the mirror too. This mirror had held her reflection.

He swallows a cry and pushes himself out of the bathroom just in time to hear the knock. The idea of company turns his stomach and he steels himself to send them away. Stalking to the door, he opens it roughly and opens his mouth to reprimand them, eyes blazing; the yellow and red of his gaze looks like fire and lava.

"Kylo?" he falters upon recognizing the face, his anger crumbling like hot ash, "What are you doing here?"

Kylo isn't quite certain how to respond, partially because they both know exactly why he's here. Of anyone, Kylo is perhaps the one who can identify most strongly with that poisonous weight of an evil that cannot be undone, a loss that cannot be recovered. He understands what it does.
He knows how sometimes, the only protection from grief is rage.

But looking at his grandfather's face, he sees the difference between them, too. He swallows. The pause is just a little too long to be natural. He feels the quiet tug in his gut that tells him that if their positions were reversed, Anakin would be pulling him into an embrace- but while his fingers stir slightly at his sides it's a little beyond him to initiate.

"I wanted to see you," he says eventually- and then, because it's easier once he's begun, "We're family. You and I."

That word. Family. It breaks through the heavy dark that has descended upon him. Anakin sucks in a sharp breath and grips onto the doorframe. He must be broadcasting a whole slew of awful emotions. But he can't make it stop. Everything has become too cold; too foreign. His main spark of light and warmth is gone.

Somehow he manages to push himself backwards, giving Kylo a faint, shaky nod.

"She's..." the words won't form and he clenches his jaw, "Come in. I'm...not sure. About anything."

This isn't just about Padmé. That would be horrible enough on its own. For Anakin, these are pieces building into a great and terrible whole.

He lets Anakin retreat back, the wild maelstrom of untethered emotion rolling around him and through him, unpredictable as a storm. But Kylo knows the storm. It holds no terror for him.

"I know," he says, following him over the threshold into the space Anakin and Padmé had shared- the place they had made a home together. He looks it over, noting the still, preserved perfection of it, and slowly returns his focus to the figure of his grandfather, shrouded in misery.

Grief is to be expected. But something else is coiling around Anakin's heart. "I feel it too."

Storms are easier to overcome when one isn't alone. Anakin can't look away from his grandson, amazed and horrified to find that Kylo knows. As he says. What has he done to stop this agony? Why has it been passed down to a future generation?

"I don't want it." he hisses, tears rolling one, two, a thousand down his cheeks, "Power does nothing!" his voice breaks, sharp with razor edges, "How can we be done with it, Kylo?"

How can he stop this relentless journey to madness? Stumbling forward, he shakes, raising a hand to grasp Kylo's shoulder.

"I would give it all up for her. For them. For you."

I don't want it.
He remembers that cry bursting from his own chest with agonising clarity. How many nights had he wrestled with it before accepting the only answer that ever came- that it didn't matter what he wanted, that he was what he was? Years may have passed since the desperation to be free of the power he had never asked for transmuted into hopelessness, but hearing the echo in his grandfather's voice tears the old wound open.

But he can't allow himself to be distracted, now. In despair, his grandfather is vulnerable- as Ben Solo had been, easily pulled from one master promising answers to another- and who else can be trusted? Not Luke, certainly. Kylo knows what lies down that path.

"It's a part of us," he says, meeting Anakin's eyes as steadily as he knows how, a fierce intensity in his voice- but it isn't despair pouring out with every word. It's resolve. Solidarity. "All of it. It can't be crushed. It can't be ignored. We can't give it up. We are this. Grandfather, please. Listen to me."

"You can help them. Me. But not by denying what you are."

Soothing answers will never be theirs to have. Anakin likes lies as much as Vader does - which is to say, not at all. He is able to lie to himself for decades and that fact hurts. Yet right here, right now, in the presence of his grandson who shares his pain, he has to face the truth.

I have failed.

His eyes close tightly and his head bows, yet hiding his expression won't stop Kylo from hearing how he sobs. The sound is born of exhaustion and pain that never seems to end. His hand falters on his grandson's shoulder and he has to consciously grip tighter.

"If I give into it... If I accept it... I am him."

Vader.

Padmé will die. Luke and Leia will be strangers. Kylo will suffer, mistakenly following his image.

"Kylo, I need to overwhelm it. I need to control it. Fate... Destiny... Call it what you will, I don't care. But that is what I need to conquer." his gaze meets Kylo's, fierce, feral, "I will use the pain. I will use my anger."

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