The house had been empty for too long, the fading sunlight slanting across the dirty wood floors, etching itself into the smoothness of it. It was a fact that made Han's mouth set in a firm line and his brow furrow as he wandered back to the entryway of the goliath structure, thinking of what it would look like if it was being lived in like it was supposed to be as he slowly passed through, room by room.
Once upon a time, this house had been his greatest accomplishment, meant to house his magnum opus, an act of love that outdid any of the architect's other creations. He should know—he designed the glass walls to fill the rooms with sunshine, had set the foundation, had stayed up late to revise plans, to try to perfect everything.
Despite the vacancy, despite the years of un-use clear in how the furniture was covered in sheets, as if pretending to be ghosts, as if to draw attention away from the haunting presence of "what could have been" for the old man, Han couldn't help but be excited, an emotion he had not felt in quite some time. The man scratched at the stubble on his chin again, listening to his wife pacing somewhere in the house above him, probably making up a bed, sweeping the floor, a fine layer of dust having taken over the place, the white sheets that laid over the furniture now a dim gray. In his peripheral vision, he could see the outlines of kitchen appliances as he stepped through to the living room, following the hallway as he passed so many closed doors.
Study. Conservatory. Stairway to the lower level, with the personal gym and a few other rooms that were hazy in his memory now. A dining room that'd probably never be used. It had been at least fifteen years since he last looked at the plans for the grand house, but still, he could still tick off which room was what, even though the hall was dark and the doors seemed to stretch the passageway longer than his memory recalled.
In the end, it had been in vain, and the house had been vacant, save for the occasional use by his brother-in-law, Luke, when he was waiting to fly another batch of tourists back to the United States, their trip to Europe done, leaving the town along the water behind. But now, there would be some use, some life, some music, to fill the void that this building presented. He rounded a corner, finally finding his way back to the house's beginning, looking at the new occupant wearily but with a fond grimace.
The girl was still stuck in the doorway, her mouth sloping to hang open as her gaze tried to take in the wide expanse of the house in front of her, her eyes taking in the front sitting room, the window seat's cushions straining to still be blue despite the dust. She was gasping at how the Takodana sunset was visible in the glass of the sliding door, how it painted the terrace bright reds and oranges, how it settled across the lawn and touched the trees that formed the property line. It made his heart thrum in a way that was both pain and pride in one beat, a recognition that she had been without such lavish settings for so long but still could appreciate it, could see the beauty and admire it, her hands sweeping over the wallpaper's designs as she stepped out of the foyer, light jacket hanging loosely in her arms.
"What do you think, kid? Fancy enough for you?" The old man shuffled his feet, forced the awkwardness away as she glanced at him, a bit of her grandfather peeking through in her wide smile. "It's not quite like Kenobi estates, but I think it'll do just nicely."
"I think it's a dream. It's been a while since I've seen anything quite like it." The girl—Rey, he corrected himself—glanced at the floor, smiling still. "I especially like the floors. It'll be easy to practice whenever and wherever." As if to test her theory, she rose to her tiptoes, footsteps like pinpricks in their accuracy as she moved deftly, reminding Han of why she was here.
Her dancing ability shouldn't have surprised him—she was a Kenobi after. She came from a family of dancers, her grandparents having met at the ballet, her grandmother a ballerina, her grandfather a dancing instructor. His wife's family knew them because of that, but beyond that, and that Rey had come to Takodana as a runaway before winding up studying at the local dance academy, he didn't know much. He wasn't about to ask, either, watching the young woman lower herself back down, her gaze drifting past him, face brightening as she greeted Leia, moving past him.
There was potential in her to be great. If anyone asked him why he let her, a perfect stranger, live in this house that he, famous architect that he was, built for someone completely different, and for free, he'd tell them it was because of her potential, her drive, that this was part of a scholarship that his wife had put together for students studying dance. He wouldn't dare bring up how the local instructor, Maz Kanata, an old friend and an even older pain in his side, had begged him, tears in her eyes and obstinate pride in her voice, to let her live there. To allow her to keep studying, to keep learning, to go farther because of all the students the wizened old woman had taught, she had that unteachable spark, and even better, a dream.
And even if he did admit that, he wouldn't admit that he had planned on saying no, had actually turned his back on Maz to leave before she forced him to walk with her down the hall, to the practice space in her dance studio, where Rey practiced, unaware of how her fate hung in the balance. He remembered it still so clearly now—they hadn't gone in, just watched from the hall, seeing how her reflection in the wall mirrors danced.
"There's not even a recital coming up." There had been a tremor in the old woman's voice, a tremor that seemed out of place in a woman who barked orders of steel, who told anyone to straighten up, to point their toes, to stay in line. "There's not a recital for months, and yet, she's dancing better than any prima I've seen in my day."
"Maz, I can't…" There had been a slim finger lifted to stop him, to make him fall silent, to hear the next song cue up and echo through the vastness of the studio. The song wasn't some orchestral accompaniment. It was a rock song. Han had heard the chords before, had heard him writing this song, practicing it until his thin fingers bled. Before he had left. His son.
"It's her favorite song to dance to. Interesting coincidence, hmm?" If it had been in a different time, any other circumstance, Han would have cursed the old woman, would have turned on his heel and stomped out. But he watched this girl sway and pick up on her toes, her feet moving in time with every shift of the chords. He hadn't seen so much concentration since Ben had leaned over his guitar and plucked at the strings experimentally, recording the notes on paper and then tape, meticulous, careful, much like her movements. There was a control there, and when she leaped, he wasn't sure what accompanied the other better—her dance or his song.
"The last time you said no to someone and their dream, they left and found it without you." Maz's words were gingerly said, the puffs of air slipping out of age-cracked lips. She sounded breathless with excitement as she watched her student land almost too daintily, shifting into the next movement, up onto one foot, arms overhead as she began to spin at an almost dizzying pace. "Please, for my sake…say yes to her dream. For Ben's sake, say yes."
He had promised to think about it. It didn't take a lot of thought, and if it were in any other case, Han knew that Maz would have smirked, said something about him seeing the light. Instead, she sighed gratefully, pressed the words into the phone receiver as he stood at the almost decrepit pay phone a block away from the studio: "Thank you. I have a good feeling about this."
He did too. There was no hesitation in accepting that feeling, not even now, as he felt the weight of two sets of eyes on him, his wife and the girl patiently waiting for him to tune into their conversation, to rejoin them in the present.
"I think it's just about time for us to get going, dear. Rey has an early morning tomorrow. Isn't that right, honey?" Leia's eyes were still round and wide, despite her age, and she had them alighted on the girl, who flushed with the affection. Han merely grunted at his wife, digging his hand into his pocket to find the keys.
Relinquishing them was an odd sensation, cool metal transferring between his cold hand to Rey's warmer one. He couldn't help but pat her hand absentmindedly as her fingers closed around the keys. "Don't lose them." His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat as if it'd get rid of the burn. He wasn't a crier. He wasn't about to start now, especially as he saw Leia's eyebrows knit together, saw how she chewed her lip, worrying, probably thinking the same thing.
This is how it should have been, handing the keys over to Ben. This girl would never replace him, didn't even know that Han had a son, her face open and trusting, her eyes patient but nervous as if she expected him to yank the keys away. It was that look that had him patting her hand again, to reassure, to comfort, because he was trying to do something right for once.
"If you need to make another set, you can. Just tell the locksmith that it's for me, and he should do it for free. But do that as a last resort." Leia was by his side now, her hand heavy and comforting on his arm as he pushed on, coughing again. "Luke has a set, and we had another set, but…we lost them. A long time ago."
"Let's go, love." Han didn't resist his wife's gentle prodding, patting the girl's hand once more before he turned. It was darker now, the streetlights humming to life as they stepped from the house's threshold into the night, Rey's call of gratitude and goodnight still carrying in the spring's crisp air.
"I have a good feeling about this." Han's eyes drifted to his wife as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, rested her head on his shoulder. He kissed her hair, sighed and watched the breath fog before his eyes.
"Me too, Princess. Me too."