Chapter Four: Kilter

Rey's whole being trembled with nervous energy and vague nausea as she looked up at the lifeless mask covering Kylo Ren's face. Her instinct was to run, but as she tried to jump to her feet her exhausted legs failed her, sending her crashing down to her knees. She reached over her shoulder for her staff-but it wasn't there. Her chest rose and fell with quick shallow breaths that she could not quite control as she said, still halfway-disbelieving, "You're—actually—here."

Clear your mind of emotion. Fear will only cloud your judgement.

She focused on her lessons as she tried to get a grip on herself. She wasn't afraid of him—at least, not as much as she probably should be. After all, she had come away the victor from their last physical encounter. She tried to suppress the doubting voice in the back of her mind listing all of the reasons why that victory had surely been a fluke. Her eyes strayed toward the lightsaber hanging at his belt, confirmation that this time, he was armed and she was not.

He still hadn't moved. He stood before her, scrutinizing her as intently as she was studying him. The gray fog swirled around him, light in comparison to the black padded armor and robes he wore. Beyond him—for somehow, the galaxy had not been held captive by this impossible meeting-the expected rainstorm broke in a long roll of thunder. A scattering of early rain drops, fractured by the leafy canopy and lent strength by the gusting wind, pelted down heavily around them. The rain rose in crescendo, disturbing the endless stretch of fog engulfing them and shattering the silence stretching between them as it gained strength into a full deluge.

Rey's mind raced so quickly that her thoughts were dashed apart before they were fully formed, like the ocean waves crashing onto the rocky shore of the island where she had found Master Skywalker. She could think of only one intelligent thing to do: she reached up toward the comlink clipped at her collar, intending to summon help.

"Wait."

How could she have forgotten the awful timber his voice took on as it was filtered and enhanced through the mask? Despite that, Rey hesitated, intrigued by his imploring tone. It was probably a trick, and even more of a reason that she should call for the guard patrol… but something stirred within her mind. It took a moment for her to identify it: not a trick, but rather her perception of the Force, urging her toward patience. She tried to trust it, reluctantly letting her hand drop back into her lap without keying the comm.

"What am I supposed to wait for?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "Your reinforcements to arrive?"

He shifted his shoulders, the quick motion almost like a self-conscious twitch. "I came here alone."

Rey glanced behind him, trying to discern through the downpour some tell-tale sign of advancing First Order ground forces or air support. The woods were silent and still. So still, but for the rain. Tension grew in her chest at the inexplicable quiet as she waited for the attack to come… but it never did.

As she searched, Ren tilted his head to the side as though contemplating her anew. "You... you detest me."

Rey's composure cracked at the audacity of his statement, but he wasn't wrong. "You violated my mind. You murdered Han Solo!" She jabbed a finger back toward the compound. "My friend is half dead because of you."

"Your friend, the traitor?" He squatted down before her, resting his hands almost casually on his knees. "He was foolish to attack me. Especially with a lightsaber."

"He was trying to defend me."

"You need no one to do your fighting for you," he said, sounding disgusted. But apparently Finn rated no further attention, and Ren straightened. "Stand up."

If he wanted her to stand to face him, she would stubbornly stay sitting. The rain splattered mud onto her clothing and slicked the cloth to her skin, but she didn't care. "No."

"You'd rather demean yourself?" And then, as though her refusal actually offended him, he reached down, took her by her shoulders, and lifted her to her feet. His gloved hands firmly held her upper arms as though he expected her to fight his grip, but she forced herself to stay calm. If his tactic was to intimidate her with his size and strength, she didn't want to let him know that it was working. Her gaze slid along the disconcerting mask, following the silver curves over the brow, unsure where to settle.

"I can't demean myself as long as I remain true to who I am," she said, allowing her words to bite even as her legs nearly went out from under her again, and his hold on her was the only thing keeping her to her feet. "A foreign concept to you. So are you here to kill me, like you killed the other apprentices?"

He stared at her for a horrible moment—and then released her to turn away, the action as quick as it was disconcerting. At least she stayed standing on her own. When he turned back to face her, she half-expected that he'd have his lightsaber in hand. For the second time in as many heart-pounding moments, he surprised her with his restraint.

"That's not what I'm here for. Rey."

The sound of her own name slipped like a careless thought from that hated mask, as though he had never uttered it aloud before and was testing the way it sounded. It sounded… far too human.

Rey stumbled back as the Force shifted within her again, but she couldn't grasp what it was trying to tell her. She veered sharply into the tree trunk, bolstering her mental defenses in order to resist his internal prying. But instead of attacking with the Force, he advanced after her with two long strides, pressing the advantage.

"I need to find Skywalker." There was no menace in his voice, but rather an urgency that was somehow worse. She felt dwarfed compared to his towering size and uncomfortable proximity, though he didn't touch her. "You know where he is."

Rey tensed. "You'll never get into my mind again. And I refuse to talk to you with that horrible mask on."

Hardly aware of what she was doing, she reached under his cowl and managed to catch a finger against the rain slicked surface of his helmet before he jerked his head back, out of her reach. One moment she could move and the next—nothing. And he'd only lifted a hand.

Not for nothing had she survived alone on Jakku. She'd fought when needed, and won, and every instinct screamed at her to fight now. But she simply could not move. She could do nothing but glare at him, and try not to panic. She furrowed her brow as she concentrated, pushing back against the invisible vice gripping her body. Nothing.

"I didn't come here to fight you," he insisted. It was—maybe—his version of an apology for holding her with the Force, though he didn't release her. Compared to him, her rough control of the Force was as rudimentary as a single grain of sand set against a dune, but she had to try something to flip his own method against him. Gritting her teeth, she visualized the release mechanism of the mask, imagined the appropriate trigger being depressed…

There was a hiss as a seal disengaged, and the mask shifted slightly upwards as its servomotors loosened for removal.

She smiled in triumph.

"Clever." His voice was a strange mixture of approval and finality, hard emotions for Rey to reconcile. He reached with both hands to settle the mask back down, renewing the seal. "But you try my patience. Don't do that again." His tone was still conversational, but she knew it was the only warning she was going to get. "Where is the lightsaber?"

Obstinacy, stalling, was her strategy. They weren't inconspicuous; despite the heavy rainfall, he would be spotted eventually. She tried to distract him. "I'm supposed to believe that you didn't come here to fight me?"

"It's the truth."

"Isn't this a fight?" She pressed again at the mental hold he had on her, found it impenetrable. On the surface she remained calm, but she could feel panic kicking within. The adage about fear clouding judgement flew from her mind. "Let me loose, Ren."

"If you'll agree to speak to me."

"If you'll just take off that damned mask-!" She caught herself, but it was too late; it wasn't a bargain she'd meant to make, but she couldn't call the words back.

He clenched his fists, and for a moment Rey feared she had pressed him too far. She found herself moving gently but inexorably backwards until the cold trunk of the tree impeded any further movement. Once she was pinned there, he reached up to trigger the release of his mask.

Rey gaped, and hastily closed her eyes as though that would deny the gravity of what he'd done. She hadn't expected him to do it-not really--and did not want to see the true face of the man who prowled in the back of her consciousness. With the mask on, Kylo Ren was just an abstraction; without it, he was-

There was a thud at her feet. Startled, she opened her eyes to see that, without her realizing it, he'd approached her and dropped the helmet at the base of the tree. She looked slowly up from the discarded helmet, forcing herself to take in detail: how he leaned against the tree, bracing himself with his right hand planted firmly by her shoulder, his body language expectant; how he was standing so close to her, the tattered and frayed edge of his cape blew around him to brush against her arms; how the new scar lancing across his face from left temple to right jaw made his features seem even harder. And how her stomach clenched so tightly when she finally met the depths of his eyes.

In his eyes she saw impressions of all that had previously passed between them… and suggestions of the varied possibilities of what might still be to come. Her breath caught, ragged, as the Force arced between them, bridging them together with twisting light and fire that was there and gone in an instant. And then came an irresistible tugging, similar to what had happened to her on Takodana. But before she could fall into whatever vision was pulling at her, the tension surrounding her body disappeared, anchoring her firmly into the present.

She could move. She wanted to sag back against the tree, to hug herself, to stretch tensed muscles-but forced herself to stand tall. Despite their strange truce, she couldn't let him see how unsettled she was by whatever had just passed between them. But he still appeared perfectly calm, and Rey realized with a gut-wrenching pang that, whatever that arc was—he hadn't felt it. Or at least, he was giving no outward sign of it.

Instead, he used the Force to summon the helmet to his free hand, idly inspecting how the raindrops beaded on its slick surface. Then he thrust it into her hands, as though the mere sight of it angered him. "There. Proof. The mask has been removed."

She almost dropped it. Despite her revulsion of the helmet, she briefly turned it over in her hands, wiping away the excess moisture. She could see a distorted version of herself reflected there, a reflection that looked small, and miserably rain-sodden, and not intimidating in the slightest. When she realized her hands were shaking, she let the helmet slip from her fingers to fall at their feet.

He watched her for a moment before saying, "I generally don't negotiate." The words were soft, but forbidding, reminding her that he had upheld his end of the bargain and expected her to do the same. When he'd worn the mask, she'd felt somewhat shielded from the full force of his intensity; but faced with it now, she babbled:

"I can tell. Negotiation might suit you, if you practiced it more."

"Routine and order are much more efficient than negotiation," he said, annoyed. And then he let out a long breath, as though to refocus himself. "Where is the lightsaber?"

"I don't have it."

"That's not what I asked. If you had it, no doubt you would have used it on me already. Does he have it?"

"Who?"

"Don't play games with me. Neither of us will be happy if we have to renegotiate. Where is Luke Skywalker?"

He leaned closer to her. She tilted back her head to keep her eyes up, defiant. "I know you want to kill him. Do you honestly think that I'm going to answer that question?"

"So you do know where he is."

The victory in his voice made Rey pause. Had she said too much? She shivered as adrenaline shuddered through her. She hardly noticed the chill from the rain. Not knowing what to do or say to combat his single-minded fervor, she tried to counter his questioning. "Why do you have to do it, Ren? How does murdering someone serve the Force? Why can't you just-"

He started to interrupt her. "The Force—"

The crackling from the comlink clipped to the neckline of Rey's jumpsuit startled them both. Ren shifted, creating enough space between them so he could reach across to his right hip and slip the lightsaber from his belt. Rey looked warily down at the lightsaber as the voice of Poe Dameron rang out through the comlink:

"I see him. Right where Rogue One said he'd be. Intercepting."

The whine of engines roared overhead, violently shaking the trees so that their branches bowed low to the ground. Leaves and twigs mixed into the rain flooding down around them as the X-wing's searchlights centered on them. Rey winced away from the blinding light as the X-wing settled to a hover just above them. Ren stared at the X-wing dead on, the wash from its engines pushing back his cowl to blow through his dark hair before whipping his cape out behind him. With his free hand, he bent to snatch up his helmet and slip it on.

Her comlink crackled again. "He has Rey." The belly cannon of the X-wing lowered, training on them.

"Rogue One," Ren repeated, a cold confirmation in his voice.

The phrase meant nothing to Rey, but it certainly meant something to Ren: his lightsaber sprang to life in a defensive position low before his chest. He half-turned to the right so that his blade crossed between them and the X-wing, and then grabbed a fistful of the front of her jumpsuit. The touch was impersonal and firm, and kept her pinned to the tree as though it was very important that he knew exactly where she was. Rain sizzled off of the plasma blade; it cast a feverish red glow into the air.

"Luke Skywalker is here."

It wasn't quite a question, and though his voice was emotionless, Rey could feel his shock resonating through the Force.

"You didn't sense him?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral. It would not be wise to do anything to tip him over the edge of rationality. His hand tightened on the hilt of his lightsaber.

"Try anything. I dare you, you bastard." Poe probably wasn't aware that Rey's comlink was keyed open, that Kylo Ren could hear every word. The hatred in his voice was undeniable. Rey silently screamed at Poe to shut up, not to goad Ren on. Not like it mattered; Rey felt Ren tense, and wondered if he was on the verge of doing something deadly. Could he pull an unmoving X-wing out of the air with the Force?

"You can't block a laser cannon, even with a lightsaber," Rey said, trying to talk him down. She wasn't sure if it was true-perhaps he could-but she certainly didn't want him to try it with her standing next to him. She hoped Poe wouldn't shoot at her, at least not on purpose, but maybe taking out Kylo Ren would be worth the collateral damage.

Behind them, Rey could hear the cautious approach of Resistance fighters and the whine of two more X-wing snubfighters circling overhead. She wanted to point out to Ren that he was outnumbered, but didn't want him to take it as a challenge.

But he didn't seem to be paying attention to the approaching Resistance. He drew in a quick breath. "I can feel him. He is here." He turned his head away from the X-wing, focusing entirely on her. The pressure on her chest lessened as, for whatever reason, he seemed to decide that he no longer needed to hold her there. She wished she knew what he was thinking, wished he had left off the mask. After a moment, she could begin sensing another emotion mingling with his shock: a grudging respect.

And then, amazingly, the blade of his lightsaber disappeared. She was so surprised at his abrupt surrender that it took her a moment to realize that he'd let her go, and she was still just standing there.

Several of the Resistance forces darted forward. One grabbed Rey's arm, pulling her roughly back and away from Ren, as another knocked the lightsaber from Ren's hand. Rey stared, numb with disbelief and confusion, as he let them take him into custody. His cooperation somehow made him seem even more arrogant as they bound his hands behind his helmet. She felt that she should do something, should try to prevent him from lashing out with the Force… but realized she had no idea how to try to stifle or contain the external manifestations of his power.

Perhaps he had enough blasters trained on him that he wouldn't try something stupid.

They marched him away, a tall dark figure among a mass of beige and orange uniforms. Poe tossed her a salute from his cockpit as he turned his snubfighter, keeping the cannon trained on the prisoner. All but two of the other fighters walked back toward the compound. Though she knew that the two who'd stayed behind probably needed to debrief her, Rey waved them away from her. She sagged forward onto her knees, utterly exhausted.

Why had he come, alone, and how had he found them? She had no energy left to try to process what had just happened, let alone hypothesize why and how.

Trust the Force.

She blew out a shaking breath, thinning the fog immediately beneath her. Light glinted from a piece of metal that had been hidden by the fog and a puddle of mud. She stared for a moment before registering what she was seeing. And then she reached out a trembling hand toward Kylo Ren's lightsaber.

Kylo Ren felt control slipping away from him as though this was a very bizarre, very surreal, very unfortunate dream.

He tracked every turn they took in the twisting underground corridors leading to wherever they thought they could securely hold him, trying to identify, through the flickering overhead lighting, any distinguishing mark on the walls that might help him navigate the warren later. But his mind was not truly in it.

They left him alone in a room as barren as the corridors. The room was situated deep beneath the compound, and perhaps had been designed as some sort of security lockup: an energy shield shimmered outside the double-layered blast doors that were the only way in or out, if one could not destroy the room's thick durasteel walls. A low cot sat in the far corner, a rudimentary refresher unit opposite it; there was scarcely room to hold anything else. The room's design had excluded view ports, manipulable controls… seemingly everything but the inevitable hidden surveillance equipment.

He knew they were watching him. He expected at any moment that an armed troupe would arrive to search him for tracking devices and other dangers; he would submit to it. They would try to interrogate him; he would let them try. Whatever their methods, he would behave as anyone else who had surrendered would behave—for now.

It was irritating, but not nearly as irritating as not understanding… exactly… why he had let things unfold in such an unorthodox way. Why he had let control be wrested from his hands. Why the firm ground under his feet had seemed to shift, tilting him off balance.

Rey.

She clouded the mind. He could still feel her out there, and now that he was attuned to her she seemed to blaze like a homing beacon with the Force. She would have to learn to hide her presence—she was being hunted, just like he was hunting Skywalker.

He paced, not entirely realizing it.

Skywalker should know that, should train her to protect herself-but of course, how could Skywalker be aware of the danger that anyone but himself was in? He'd let everything fall to pieces, abandoned everything, and fled-for years. The universe had not been on pause during his absence, far from it. And now that he suddenly decided to return, he was going to ruin Rey's training the way he had ruined Ren's? It could not be permitted.

Ren could feel the old bitterness surge within him again. But bitterness would not serve him here. His Master's warnings against sentimentality and compassion and desire rose to mind—and instantly annoyed him. His Master had instructed him to banish those feelings with one breath, and in the next, encouraged him to embrace emotion. He hated the inconsistency of it.

Instinctively, he reached for his lightsaber, needing to vent his frustrations—but of course, it had been confiscated.

He stopped moving, breathing hard, realizing that he'd worked himself into a frenzy. He needed calm, focus.

He moved to the center of the room, and dropped to a knee facing the door. He closed his eyes to banish distractions as he reached outward with his senses. He perceived the surrounding complex as a vague danger, penetrated by more intimate ones. And now, as though there had been an unveiling, he could sense a focal point in the Force: Skywalker had been hiding himself, but no longer. He was the flood that nearly drowned out the kindling fire that was Rey. And far weaker was-

The old presence: no longer familiar, but not forgotten. Savage pain rose within him so unexpectedly that he struggled to tamp it down. He sank deeper into his Meditation out of sheer necessity, awaiting the inevitable meeting with Leia Organa.