AN: This is my second take on the Rey vs Tie Silencer scene in the TROS trailer. My previous fic was from the viewpoint of that scene is a training exercise. But there are so many ways that scene can be interpreted, I felt compelled to give it another shot with an entirely different scenario. This time around, I'm picking up the story from the aftermath of Rey's leap. They're not immediate allies - their feelings and tensions follow on from where they left off at the end of TLJ.
AIRSTRIKE IMPOSSIBLE
by Suchlostcreatures (aka Sorrow Reminisce)
On Jakku, the trail of destruction that cleaved a wretched path across the desert floor would have been a welcome mat for every junker within a week's trek.
Shattered solar panels speared the ground and glinted in the harsh desert sunlight. Buckled panels and twisted framework cut a trail a hundred feet across the sand. Two still-smouldering ion thrusters reduced the sparse surrounding vegetation to ash. A sleek black wing rested nearby like a discarded kite. Its slender design and advanced carbon armour cladding marking the vehicle as something elite. A prototype. A jackpot of high-grade military tech.
Still, all that unprecedented armouring did nothing to protect its precious vehicle from the direct strike of a lightsaber.
Rey sat atop of the rock that had torn out the Silencer's hull on impact and pondered the worth of the experimental hardware that surrounded her in scattered pieces.
The hyper-drive half-buried in the sand had clearly been retrofitted for this craft. On Jakku, that would've been a good three months worth of portions, right there. The computer system was probably still salvageable within the almost-intact cockpit. That would've keep her going another year or so. And as for the advanced First Order weaponry system? She could have owned Unkar Plutt with that. Had her Resistance comrades had not sabotaged it before the starfighter took its final flight...
But this planet was not Jakku. And Rey did not start a salvage.
She sat. On her rock.
She stared. At that almost-intact cockpit.
She waited. To see what would happen next.
The sun tracked a lazy path across the sky. Thirst was setting up a slow, insistent tickle at the back of Rey's throat. She touched a hand to the satchel at her side before changing her mind. It was nothing she couldn't ignore. For now.
Perhaps the inhabitant of the cockpit was dead, she wondered. He was certainly unconscious.
She told herself to get up. To crawl in through that torn opening and check for a pulse at least.
But she didn't get up. Didn't so much as flinch a muscle in the direction of a leg stretch.
She sat. On her rock.
She waited.
She was good at waiting.
Was that a groan? A human groan?
Or the groan of buckled wreckage settling on the desert floor?
Was it the groan of the wind as it danced across the twisted solar arrays?
No. No, it was most certainly a human groan. A groan that was mounting into a scream.
Oh, no. Not a scream. A prolonged keen of seething fury. An explosion of white-knuckled frustration. A desperate wail of claustrophobic terror.
And all of it was silent. All of it thrummed through the Force like a shock-wave of grief and rage.
Rey sprang to her feet. Her cramped body trembled against the impressions that seemed to buffer her very soul.
He wasn't dead. But he was in there. And he was hurt. And he was trapped. And he was going to run that red saber of his right through her at the very first opportunity.
Inwardly, Rey kicked herself for not thinking to crawl in there and confiscate it first.
He couldn't reach his saber. Couldn't call it to his trapped hands and ignite it without slicing off an important part of himself in the effort.
So he called to her instead.
Not a grovelling plead. Nor a demanding holler. His cry was a wordless whisper that brushed against her awareness. As silent as a ripple. A Force-fuelled distress beacon sent out with no real hope of receiving an answering call.
But she was there. Despite her better judgement. She had been waiting for this. This moment of decision that was now inexorably before her.
To save him, or let him die?
Even as she wriggled into that damaged cockpit, at last, unclipped his saber and ignited her own, she still wasn't sure if she was making the right choice.
Later, Rey would dream of the way he flinched when she held her saber - Luke's saber - above him. The wide-eyed shock in those deceptively gentle brown eyes would follow her into her sleep. The unnerving acceptance of her strike would be her undoing upon awakening.
But for now, the sun was sinking fast towards the horizon. And she had a cave to reach before the desert night set in and froze her to the bone.
There was no need to linger any longer at the TIE's wreckage. Instead, she clipped two lightsabers to her belt and made her way towards the ever-expanding horizon.
End note: Writing stories that people enjoy reading is as important to me as writing them for my own personal enjoyment. Fanfic is a hobby that I use to try and improve my writing skills, but I'm aware that I have issues with pacing, characterisation, punctuation, finishing things I"ve started... Oh, everything really. Did I finish high school? Hell no! I spent class time writing Cure lyrics in my exercise books! THIS is my class time now!
Anyway, feedback is a welcome part of my learning curve, even if it's to say "hey, that was a good start but you're really rambling now and I'm not sure what's going on. And what's with the swamp in a desert? Be Star Wars consistent and stick to one biome!" (Eh, that example is my own personal review of this fic - you'll likely agree if you make it further into this story than this first chapter. *looks shifty-eyed*)
So when I drop to my knees, grovel and cry, "please, please leave me feedback?" I'm not trying to have my ego stroked, I'm genuinely welcoming people to either point out my bullshit and say "dude, fix that crap" or, point out something they've enjoyed and encourage me to keep on with it. Because it's all learning for me. And at this point in my life, if my outdoor job eventually leaves me stricken with crippling joint and nerve pains, trying my hand at creative writing for a career may one day be all I have left to fall back upon. :p
I'm going to stop rambling now. :D