I'm not sure where this came from.
I'm new to the fandom (and I have been welcomed to the trash heap thoroughly), and I have never written for these two before, so I do apologize if this is hugely OOC. Then again, it is somewhat of a canon-divergence AU, so I guess they have to be a little AU.
I'm rambling. I'll stop. You'd almost think this is my first fanfiction ever. I hope you enjoy! I might continue this if you guys like it. I'm not sure yet.
R&R, my lovelies!
Love, Annaelle
"The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned."
―Maya Angelou
Home has always been an elusive concept in Rey's mind.
She had long since learned to regard the downed AT-AT she slept in as home, but she finds that, though it is a safe haven in the harsh environment that is life on Jakku, it does not feel like home at all. And so, she clings to the idea of family—of a father and a mother that loved her dearly; that left her on Jakku for her own protection—that will one day return for her and take her home.
She is no fool; she realizes, somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of her mind, that the family that left her on Jakku never had any intention to return for her; but hope is something that feels almost as elusive as home, and she is loath to give it up.
So she clings to the remote and desperate possibility that, one day, someone will come for her.
It is that thought that guides her through long, monotonous days filled with waking, walking for miles, fighting others for the best parts of scrap metal, bartering for food and going to bed hungry, cold and alone. The days have been the same for years now, and she scarcely expects anything to change, despite her own wishes.
She supposes that is why she is absolutely and horrendously unprepared for what—who—awaits her after a particularly long day, where she had barely scavenged enough for a quarter portion, cut her hand on a jagged piece of metal and barely slept the night before.
It doesn't seem unreasonable at all to think he's a mirage until she is standing so close she can feel his body heat.
He stands, tall, dark and intimidating, before the downed AT-AT. His back is ramrod straight and the wind tugs on the dark, pristine black robes he dons—but it is, perhaps, his helmet that keeps her from straight-out attacking him for daring to wander onto her territory.
He exudes pure power, and she is not stupid enough to attack when she knows she cannot win.
"Who are you?"
She stands a little away from him, her staff raised slightly, as she regards him nervously. Something about him feels familiar in a way nothing else has before, and her curiosity is piqued.
"Rey. It is you."
His voice sounds distorted and mechanic through the helmet, but she can sense the relief in his voice as he speaks her name. She watches, breathless and confused, as he reaches up to press a couple of buttons on the side of his helmet—and she needs to consciously stop herself from snatching it from his hands to figure out how it works—before he pulls it off.
She is somewhat taken aback by his youth, before she thinks to actually look at him. He is handsome, in a non-typical way with a long, pale face, large ears and nose and full lips that turn up into a gorgeous, delighted smile when his eyes—twin pools of melted dark chocolate—meets hers.
"Wh—who are you?" She repeats shakily, lowering her staff a little as she stares at him.
She feels as though she should know him, but there is a blank in her memories where she would assume she would find him.
"I found you," he says, not quite replying to her query, "I cannot believe I found you."
Rey swallows thickly, unsure if she should fear this strange man more than she does, before approaching him cautiously. "You were looking for me?"
"Yes," he nods, stepping forward—she is startled by how tall he is; he positively dwarfs her—, "Yes, for years; but you were not where I had left you. I did not know you were here until I landed on this Force-forsaken planet."
His words spark something warm and foreign inside her chest, and it is a feeling so good she wants to hold onto it forever and treasure it as she does the few possessions she has left. "Do you know my family?" She asks, her throat clogged and thick with emotion—hope, hurt, love—as she drops her staff onto the scorching sand, "Did they send you to come for me?"
"No," he replies softly, reaching out to touch her arm gently, "I came because I am the one that sent you away—I had no idea that the family I entrusted with your care abandoned you on this junkyard mere weeks after I left you there."
Rey feels overwhelmed by the sudden influx of information, stumbling a little as a wave of dizziness hits her—and no, she's sure that has nothing to do with not having eaten anything solid in four days. The stranger grabs her arm to steady her, and the feel of his skin on her burns deliciously. Something brushes against the edges of her mind, and it's soft and warm and comforting, and she wants nothing than to let it in—but she doesn't know how.
"I feel—" she stutters incoherently, because there's suddenly so much, surrounding her—enveloping her—and she can barely breathe.
"Don't be afraid," he tells her calmly, his voice steady and strong—a rock in the sudden tempestuous hurricane that surrounds her—, "I feel it too." She's not certain if his words are meant to be comforting, but they are, in a sense, but they're also not, because none of this is making any sense, and that frightens her.
"What is happening?" She gasps, pressing her hand to her chest as she heaves in several deep breaths, leaning on the stranger as she attempts to regain her balance.
He smooths his hands over her hair gently, before sliding them down her back and resting them on her waist. His eyes are dark, hooded with an emotion she cannot name—it draws her in regardless, and she sways towards him, her intentions a mystery even to herself, when he stops her, a mere hair's breadth from his lips.
"No, Rey," he speaks quietly, "Not yet. We have barely reunited."
She feels a pang of disappointment—fears his meaning, despite his use of the word 'yet'—but schools her features into a blank look easily enough, before taking a step back. "Yes, of course," she nods, wrapping her arms around her torso as she chews on her lower lip, "You still have not told me who you are. How did I get dropped here if you never intended for it to happen?"
His expression darkens, and she almost regrets asking—but she needs answers.
"It is a long story," he finally says, after a long, tense silence, "One that can wait until we have returned to a safer place. That is," he looks pained, "if you would accompany me. I once promised I would return for you, and that I would bring you home—but only if you still wish me to."
She gasps when he offers her home, and she nods before she has even realized what she is doing, grasping at the front of his robes. "Yes," she whispers, "Take me home."
He smiles then, a smile of pure happiness and triumph, and she may not understand everything yet, she may not know everything, but she believes that she can depend on someone else for the first time in what feels like her entire life.
"Tell me your name," she demands when he follows her into the AT-AT to help her collect her meager collection of belongings, "before I follow you anywhere, I want to know your name, at least."
He chuckles, dragging his fingertips over the apple of her cheek before he responds. "You knew me as Ben, once." His voice is grave as he speaks, and she senses a deep sorrow in him as he tells her of that name, and she finds that all she wants is to wipe the look of pain in his eyes away, despite having only met him half an hour ago. "However," he continues, "I have not gone by that name in a long time."
"What do you go by now?"
His lips twitch into a small smile, almost as though he's amused by her insistence on knowing his name, and she tries not to twitch in annoyance when he leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead. She is not used to so much physical contact, and she doesn't quite know how to feel about him instigating it now, despite his claims to know her, to have come back for her.
"It is Kylo," he finally mutters, his breath hot and moist against her forehead, "My name now. It is Kylo."