[Query – is Annoyance-Rey functional?]
I let out a broken laugh.
"I'm not. I'm really not." I never am after facing him. As Artie is well aware.
It still asks every time.
I struggle to get my breathing back under control. The trembles are a lost cause until I manage that.
It feels like an eternity passes before I succeed. When I do, I open my eyes.
We're still flying away from his last position. Not by my actions, I lost my grip on the controls the moment I was certain he's really gone and I entered the usual mental breakdown facing him inspires. As always, Artie took over.
We're no longer flying at the breakneck speed from before, cruising at a leisurely pace instead. Artie also doesn't make a move to leave the atmosphere. It knows the danger has passed.
I never lose it like this until after he's gone.
I close my eyes and try to stop trembling.
I fail.
I blindly reach for Artie and start patting its dome. For once, Artie isn't annoyed by it. It's just worried.
The rhythmic tapping helps me calm down a little, right until I realize that I'm tapping my prosthetic as well. I shiver and curl up in my chair, grab hold of something that for a split second I don't recognize, cloth covering metal where flesh should be, alien and intrusive.
I tighten my grip to ensure my prosthetic doesn't move again. Then I burst out crying, bury my head down my knees and sob my heart out and I shouldn't be reacting like this, I got away, I didn't lose, I shouldn't be feeling like this, shouldn't be drowning but I am. I can't stop it no matter how hard I try. I could've if this had happened on any other day, if he hadn't shown up on the heels of the destruction of an entire system and the calling of that damn lightsaber–
I'm still holding it.
I open my eyes and stare with horror at the lightsaber that fits my palm like it was made for it. The lightsaber that belonged to Anakin Skywalker, the lightsaber that belonged to Luke Skywalker.
The lightsaber that wants me to face Kylo Ren.
No, I'm not doing this, I am never doing this. I won't be the hero to his villain.
In response to my thoughts, the damn thing's calling actually grows stronger, and it makes me see red.
The Force can go screw itself. I refuse to be a slave to its whims.
I open my hand and lift the lightsaber into the air, before I grab hold of every single current that makes up the whole.
I start pulling. The lightsaber resists, but it can't win. It can't prevent me from ripping it apart.
When the components start to strain audibly, I feel vicious satisfaction rise. If the damn thing wants to belong to me, I can do whatever the hell I want with it.
I can destroy it.
I'm almost surprised enough to stop tearing it apart when there's an actual flare of pain, but I manage to stabilize my hold just in time. I genuinely don't care that the thing is apparently alive in some way. In fact, I'm glad it is.
I'm glad I'm hurting it.
I release my grip as if burned. The pain vanishes the instant I do, the lightsaber clattering to the floor. I shiver violently and resist the urge to pick it back up so I can keep hurting it. I'm not like him.
Yet.
I hug my knees close. I'm not like him yet.
One day I will be. I don't know how to stop it from happening. Don't know how much more I can take before Falling.
Why can't he leave me alone?
And then my anger is back. Anger, rage, pure and blinding fury.
Why the hell doesn't he leave me alone? Why does that sick fuck keep toying with me, why does he keep hurting me, why doesn't he do the entire galaxy a favor and die.
Why can't I kill him? Why am I never strong enough, why can't I hurt him the way he hurts me, why does he get to be happy while my life is a living hell because of him–
Gentle melodies twine through my presence, a lifeline from the downward spiral I can't pull myself out of. I clutch back too strongly, know that I'm hurting Maz but I can't help it. I need a shield against my emotions.
I'm so scared that I"m going to Fall. Irony of ironies, that fear might be what finally pulls me under one day.
It won't pull me under today.
With Maz's help, I manage to get myself back under a semblance of control. It's a stopgap measure, I still need to meditate. Soon, and a lot. But for now, the worst of the danger has passed.
I send her all the gratitude I posses. Maz mentally ruffles my hair, before untangling herself and pulling back.
She doesn't send anything concrete. I didn't pick up a single emotion the entire time she was here, either. That, more than anything else, shows just how hurt she is.
She isn't in danger. She wouldn't have left like that if she was.
With a sigh, I uncurl my body and lean back in my chair. I'm still hurt, but no longer quite as much. Mentally, at least. The physical pain is just as strong as before. Now that I'm no longer freaking out, I can handle it though.
I need to go back. Not just for Maz, but for Finn and BB-8 as well. And Han Solo and Chewbacca.
He is Han Solo's son. That's– something I'm going to keep ignoring until I've spend at least a week in meditation.
"Hi there."
I startle violently as the speakers activate. Artie doesn't.
"Commander Poe Dameron of the Resistance speaking."
Because dealing with the Resistance is just what I need right now.
Wait, Poe Dameron? As in, BB-8's friend?
"I'm calling on behalf of General Leia Organa, to extend a friendly invitation for a meeting."
Any other day, I wouldn't have been able to resist the opportunity to meet Leia Organa in person, even if it meant having to deal with the Resistance as well.
Right now my answer is hell no.
"Emphasis on friendly. There's really no need to keep those torpedoes locked onto me."
I glance at the short range scanners and pay more conscious attention to my surroundings. The scanners reveal that there's an X-wing following us a healthy distance away. Given that I have only the vaguest sense of where it is even with it deliberately following us, the pilot isn't hostile. Which his words had already implied, but people can lie. The Force can't.
Artie has the turrets locked onto the X-wing. That's a sensible precaution, even with the confirmation that the pilot is friendly.
Keeping the ion torpedoes armed isn't.
I raise a pointed brow at it. With the distance between us, Artie's behavior can only be called an overreaction. Not that Artie overreacting is unusual.
Artie, of course, ignores my silent message. I feel a burst of affection for this rude and hostile droid. Artie is one of a kind.
"He's one of the good guys," I point out verbally to show I won't let this go.
[Threat Level 8 is active,] Artie returns without missing a beat, its worry starting to disappear beneath its usual delight at flying.
The worry doesn't disappear completely.
"He's gone," I state the obvious, giving Artie a fond look. I know why it hasn't lowered its guard yet.
[This unit will deactivate the defensive protocols when Annoyance-Rey has regained functionality.]
As always, my heart clenches in the best of ways.
"I'm..." Not alright, not yet. But I will be.
I have to be.
"Functional," I settle on, because that really is the best description.
[Annoyance-Rey falls short of Status; Functional, by 42,79%.]
Well, if it needs proof.
I mentally take over the controls. As expected, Artie transforms into a storm of outrage masquerading as a droid. I catch the minute flicker of relief only because of how well I know it.
[Defensive protocols disengaged.]
Amazing how it can turn that into the most vicious of insults.
Feeling mischievous, I pat its dome, outraging Artie even further. If it hadn't been strapped in, it would've rolled out of my reach. As it is, it's sincerely debating whether to tase me or not.
I return the torpedoes to stand-by and hand the controls back. Artie returns to being a bundle of bliss, making a faint smile grow. Artie might not be one for offering conventional comfort, but it always cheers me up just by being itself.
"Thanks for that, I appreciate it," the Resistance pilot, Poe, says. "Ready to go back and meet the General?"
No way in hell. The General part, not the going back part.
"I need to check on Maz and the others," I tell Artie.
[Directive accepted.]
Artie turns us around in a wide curve, still flying at a leisurely pace. The X-wing follows without closing the distance between us. How polite of him.
"So that's a yes on the meeting?"
I activate the comm.
"No. I'm going back for some friends, but I have zero interest in meeting Leia Organa." Right now.
"She speaks! And why the lack of interest? Don't tell me you have anything against the General."
"Of course not." Who could ever have anything against Leia Organa? "I have something against her son."
I flinch as soon as the words escape my mouth. I didn't mean to say that.
"Yeah, he's kind of an asshole."
The gross understatement makes a mockery of a smile grow.
"He's a complete monster," I correct.
"Can't argue with that. Not her fault, though."
I close my eyes as I fight to keep ignoring the fact that Kylo Ren is Leia Organa's son. He grew up with her, grew up with Han Solo, he grew up with Luke Skywalker–
Still not thinking about this.
"She's amazing, and she had nothing to do with how he turned out. Can't believe he's actually related to her. I mean, how does someone like that get born to–"
I break the connection. This isn't helping me to ignore the fact that Kylo Ren is a Skywalker.
He's a Skywalker. He's the son of the heroes who destroyed the Empire, he's the nephew of Luke Skywalker and he became a Sith–
Nope, not doing this. Think of something else. Like the Resistance pilot. Poe.
BB-8 is going to be over the moon. I'm fairly certain that Finn will be as well. If they're still alive.
Please let them still be alive.
As we near the ruins of Maz's castle, I become aware of... it's not his presence, there's no mistaking that. But it's uncomfortably familiar.
Despite my best intentions, I can't help but wonder. Do all Skywalkers feel like fire?
I push the thought away as we arrive. I get off my chair when Artie starts touching down, but I hesitate right before leaving the cockpit.
The lightsaber is still calling me.
With a grimace, I go back for it. The Force most likely won't let me, but I have to at least try to get rid of it. Maz will refuse to take it back of course, but I can still ask.
If she refuses, I'm going chuck it in the lake.
I bend down and pick it up by hand. Having it respond to my mental call once is more than enough.
I do my best to ignore the way it fits my palm like it was made for it and clip the damn thing to my belt, before I walk towards the entrance. I lower the ramp.
It lowers to the sight of Han Solo staring at my ship with utter shock, jaw slack with disbelieving recognition. He's fairly intoxicated as well.
Besides him stands a short woman wearing practical clothing, her hair up in an elaborate braid. A blaster is prominently clipped to her belt. Even though I was prepared for her, I can't help but stare.
Leia Organa is much smaller than expected. Which is a stupid thing to be surprised by. She might be a figure larger than life, but physically speaking, she doesn't even reach five feet. As I've been aware of for ages.
Doesn't make it any less disorientating to see how short she is in real life. The fact that her presence is the size of a nearby star doesn't help.
It isn't fully trained. There's a wildness to the edges of the fire. Unlike him, the lack of control isn't deliberate. That's made more than clear by the way the core of her presence is tightly contained.
She isn't fully trained.
She isn't untrained either.
I have no idea why I'm surprised by this. It only makes sense that Luke Skywalker would've taught her about the Force, at least a little.
Judging from her control, he taught her more than a little.
Leia Organa watches me with an expression that is as kind as it is firm. Ruthless determination dominates a mixture of curiosity, compassion, and a fair amount of reluctance that she's doing her utmost to ignore. Beneath that, there's a pain and grief I absolutely cannot deal with right now.
I ignore them both and walk down the ramp. This includes ignoring the way that Leia Organa follows my movements with a calculation that's almost chilling in its intensity. The only reason it isn't is because her kindness remains equally strong.
The calculation is lost under shocked recognition when she sees the lightsaber, but I ignore that as well. Instead, I look at Maz. She's sitting on a piece of rubble that used to be part of the main hall, her eyes closed and her presence one with the Force. If she's meditating, she's hurt even worse than I thought she was. Though given how she left earlier, they aren't permanently damaging. That's something, at least.
Cook is sitting down the ground besides her. One tentacle is curled around Maz, while the rest are twitching with unease. Their eyestalk swivels around nervously.
Behind them are scattered groups of survivors, almost all of them wounded. I'm betting the ones who weren't have already left. The wounded are being cared for by people whose clothing denotes them as being from the Resistance, using medicine they must've brought along themselves. Emmie, HURID and Chewbacca are helping them.
Seeing Maz and the others alive and relatively unharmed eases a lot of my tension.
I look around for BB-8 and Finn. BB-8 is more of a formality, I'd already pinned down its location. It's radiating a joy so intense it makes me feel a little warm and fuzzy myself, but I'm quickly distracted by the golden droid standing besides it.
Is that C-3PO? What's wrong with his arm?
"How the hell did you get my ship?"
The hoarse question makes me look at Han Solo with confusion. It also causes Leia Organa's eyes to widen with shock, before they run over my ship with the same disbelief Han Solo is feeling. I'm more focused on Han Solo, though.
His ship?
Before I can ask, the bright bundle of joy that is BB-8 races towards me.
[Savior-Rey! Friend-Poe is alive! Friend-Poe is alive! Friend-Poe is alive!]
I smile at BB-8 as it halts in front of my ship. Quite a distance away, courtesy of the fact that it refuses to let the hull of my ship hinder its view of the X-wing flying overhead.
[Friend-Poe is alive!] it repeats while spinning in place with pure happiness, its photoreceptor following the X-wing's every move.
"That's great," I say, happy for the miracle that is its friend still being alive. "Where's–"
I fall silent when Han Solo's disbelief is drowned out by a joy so deep it takes my breath away. Happiness like Han Solo's and BB-8's is a great way to soothe my injured spirit.
Then Han Solo sprints forward and tries to enter my ship. I'm so surprised by this that I shield the entrance on instinct.
Han Solo bounces off my mental wall with a yelp more startled than pained. Leia Organa's chuckle is equally startled.
"Kid, if you don't let me in right now, I'm going to shoot you," Han Solo vows with a glare, and most shocking of all, he actually means it.
I summon his blaster to my hand to prevent that from happening. It's not something I would've done under normal circumstances, but it's not like I need to keep a low profile anymore. And while I'm pretty sure that I would dodge any shot fired at me without thought, I'm still rattled enough that I don't want to risk it.
My action inspires a flare of disgust in Han Solo, so strong it almost manages to mask the underlying pain.
The pain isn't underlying in Leia Organa.
I don't want to think about why they're feeling like this. Don't want to think of the fact that me using the Force reminds them of their son–
It's incredibly annoying that I keep failing to ignore this.
"Leia, shoot her."
I'm grateful for how Han Solo means those words. They provide an excellent distraction.
"I was planning to talk with her first," Leia Organa delivers in a voice dry as dust while giving Han Solo a warm look, love and affection overpowering the worst of her pain.
The pain doesn't disappear completely.
When she looks back at me, the love is replaced by ruthless determination.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Rey."
Any other day, I would've been over the moon by how she truly means that.
"I'm General Leia Organa, Chief Commander of the Resistance."
"I know who you are, and I'm not interested in talking to you," I say, more curtly than intended. Most of my attention is on Han Solo as he tries to enter my ship again. I grab hold of his clothes to keep him out. Him meeting Artie unsupervised can only end in disaster.
"Damn you, let go!"
"Then stop trying to enter my ship," I snap, his own anger making my temper rise.
My temper is lost under surprise when Han Solo is consumed by a whirlpool of emotions. The most dominant are rage, possessiveness, and a painful amount of longing. All inspired by a love so deep it has no end.
I have no idea why he's acting like this. Judging from Leia Organa's compassion, she does.
"That is my ship."
What?
"No it isn't." Where in the world did he get that idea from? Is he so drunk that he thinks this is the Millennium Falcon just because it's the same model? "I told you I fly a YT-1300 light freighter as well," I remind him.
"You think I can't recognize my own ship?" Han Solo snaps, still convinced he's in the right. "That isn't just the same model, that's the Millennium Falcon and she is mine."
He might not be lying, but that doesn't mean that what he's saying is true.
"This isn't the Millennium Falcon," I say, because it really isn't. "I've had it for years, so it can't be the Millennium Falcon." If it is, that would mean Han Solo lost the Millennium Falcon at least seven years ago, and that goes against the laws of physics. Han Solo flies the Millennium Falcon in the same way gravity keeps my feet on the ground.
Han Solo lets out a strangled sound and tries to escape my grip again, making me tighten my hold on his clothes on instinct.
"She is," Leia Organa agrees with Han Solo's preposterous claim. She also isn't lying, but again, that doesn't make it true. Both of them are mistaken. Obviously. Sure, I call my ship the Millennium Falcon, but I know it isn't the real one.
[Starship; SERIES YT-1300 – CLASS Light Freighter – ID 492727ZED, is the Original Designation of Starship; Millennium-Falcon,] BB-8 joins in on the absurdity.
"This isn't the Millennium Falcon," I repeat, unable to believe that I'm actually arguing about this. And arguing with Han Solo and Leia Organa, of all people.
"She is!" Han Solo yells, but I'm more focused on Chewbacca, now coming closer. He's staring at my ship with shocked recognition, and I swear, if anyone else joins in on this madness, I'm going to leave the planet.
This isn't the real Millennium Falcon.
"That is my ship, and I swear, if you don't let go me right this instant, I'm going to–"
"Rip your arms off," Chewbacca finishes with the temper Wookies are known for. While part of him definitely means it, I'm pretty sure he won't actually go through with it.
If he does try, I'll throw him on his ass.
"Chewie," Leia Organa says with sincere warning, though there's a touch humor as well.
"Let him go," Chewbacca orders, ignoring Leia Organa completely.
"You tell her, Chewie," Han Solo says with satisfaction, giving me another glare. I'm... kind of really hurt by how hostile he's being. I thought he liked me. I could understand his reaction if this was the real Millennium Falcon, but it isn't. I mean, even if Han Solo did somehow lose it years ago, what are the odds of it ending up on the junkyard I just happened to live on?
...Oh kriff.
"This is the real Millennium Falcon." Saying it out loud is enough for the Force to hit me with a sledgehammer of certainty.
This is the real Millennium Falcon. My ship is the real Millennium Falcon. For the last six years, I've been flying around in the real Millennium Falcon.
Holy shit.
"Finally! Now let go of me!"
I let go. Han Solo runs into my ship. Chewbacca runs after him.
I follow in a daze. My ship is the real Millennium Falcon. It's not the same model, it's the actual, real, original Millennium Falcon. And I've been flying it for years.
I reach for my ship, expecting it to feel completely different.
It doesn't. It feels just like always. Familiar. Comforting. Safe. Nothing that says, hey, this is the real Millennium Falcon!
Nothing beyond Han Solo and Chewbacca. Both are looking around with recognition, longing, love, and a joy all the more breathtaking for how fragile it is.
"Chewie, we're home."
My heart clenches. Not in a good way.
This is the Millennium Falcon. This is Han Solo's ship. This is his home. And I'm happy for him, I truly am. No one should ever come between Han Solo and his ship. No one has the right to take someone's home away from them. Including me.
But this is my home as well. He doesn't have the right to take it away from me either.
What are we going to do now?
I glance at Leia Organa as she touches the wall. While her emotions aren't as intense as those of Han Solo and Chewbacca, they're still powerful. They're fuelled by the same kind of love.
This used to be her home as well. It isn't anymore, not like it still is for Han Solo, and to a lesser extent, for Chewbacca. But it used to be.
Did it used to be Kylo Ren's home as well?
I'm hit by a surge of nausea, so strong that for a moment I honestly fear I'm about to throw up. My ship has always been a safe haven from him. While there have been a few chases, and one crash that came dangerously close to killing me, he's never come aboard. He's never violated my home in the way he's violated everything else.
The idea of him inside my ship, the idea of it being his home, makes me want to scrub every inch with the most acidic cleaning supplies possible.
Guess I know what I'm going to be doing in between meditation.
Han Solo and Chewbacca walk towards the lounge. Han Solo is trailing his hand along the wall in an uncomfortably familiar gesture.
When they arrive in the lounge, they look around with surprise and confusion. Chewbacca shakes it off first, hope and longing regaining the upper hand again. He walks towards the dejarik board and activates it. Pure happiness rises as he looks down at the holographic figures.
"What the hell did you do to my ship?" Han Solo demands, confusion starting to make way for anger, aggravation, and a whole lot of resentment.
"I redecorated," I point out the obvious, more sharply than intended. I get why he's reacting like this, but that doesn't make me feel any less defensive.
Han Solo touches the wall carpet from Naboo with an overwhelming amount of revulsion and irritation. Again, I get why, but that doesn't make it pleasant.
I look around, conscious of all the changes I've made in a way I haven't been in years. The carpet Han Solo is standing next to covers basically the entire wall. Another wall is occupied by a huge transparisteel casing, full of knick knacks I've gathered over the years. All held in place by magnets to ensure they don't rattle around during take-off. I've also replaced the original chairs with much more comfortable ones, and I've torn down a fair amount of cabinets to make room for a charging station for Artie.
"You've got shit taste," Han Solo says, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. And here I thought he approved of my taste.
I scowl at him, annoyed and hurt, despite how ridiculous that last is. If I'd lost my ship and found it years later, I'd be incredibly aggravated by any and all changes as well.
"You've taken good care of her." Chewbacca says. The real gratitude motivating them soothes some of the sting of Han Solo's disapproval.
"Good care? You added a charging station! Why the hell would you do that?"
[Query – why are there several annoyances inside Gorgeous-Thing?]
Both Han Solo and Chewbacca startle at Artie's voice. Leia Organa doesn't. She just turns her head and raises an amused brow at it.
"Because of Artie," I answer Han Solo's question, moving aside so Artie is in full view of everyone. "Artie, meet the previous owners of our ship."
As expected, there's a sharp burst of possessiveness from Artie, followed by an fierce hostility. It doesn't activate its defensive protocols, though. Good.
"My ship, kid. She's my ship."
[Defensive protocols engaged; Threat Level 8.]
Spoke too soon.
On another note, it's oddly disorientating to hear my ship talked about like it's female. I'm blaming my unusual reaction on the fact that it's being referred to as female by Han Solo.
"They're not taking it away," I assure Artie. While I don't know how all of us are going to deal with the fact that my ship is the real Millennium Falcon, I do know that.
"I'm sorry, did you somehow miss the part where this is my ship?" Han Solo snaps with a glare.
[Objection! Designation; Scruffy-Jackass, is not the owner of Gorgeous-Thing.]
Leia Organa's amusement grows. She also disagrees with that statement greatly.
"It's my ship as well," I say with a scowl, keeping an eye on Artie as it slides out its taser. With its current settings, any voltage fired will be lethal. That has to be avoided at all costs.
"Kid, if you think this is your ship just because you've flown around with her a little, you've got another thing coming."
Oh, he did not just say that.
"It's my ship because I've been caring for it for the past seven years," I snap, backing my words with the Force so he knows exactly how much I mean this. "I've fixed every malfunction, replaced every faulty part, I've spend more hours doing maintenance on it than I can count. I've flown with it throughout the entire galaxy, I've fought with it, I've bled with it, I eat and sleep here, I damn well live here."
Han Solo is looking at me with wide eyes and a clenched jaw, a whirlpool of emotions. The most dominant one is denial.
I won't let him deny this.
"This is my home. And I get that it's yours as well, I really do. I won't take it away from you," I promise, infusing it with all the sincerity I possess. Even ignoring the fact that we're talking about Han Solo and the Millennium Falcon, taking someone's home away is something I'd never do. I'm not that cruel.
That doesn't mean I'll simply give it up either.
I give him a cold look and deliver my next words like the threat they are.
"I won't let you take it away from me either."
Han Solo's expression is as conflicted as he feels. The silence that follows is heavy and tense. All of us are waiting to see what Han Solo will do next. The only bright side is that Artie doesn't seem inclined to shoot anyone. Yet.
Han Solo lets out a harsh breath and his shoulders slump with defeat. I relax as the threat of him trying to take my ship passes. For now, at least.
Han Solo sits down a chair and closes his eyes. He brings up a hand to rub the back of his neck.
"Damn it, this is a mess," he understates.
"Suppose it was too much to hope this would be easy," Chewbacca agrees, less conflicted than Han Solo, but not by much. There's a lot more understanding, though. Or rather, he's not trying to fight that understanding. There's also a flicker of humor wholly absent in Han Solo.
"Dial it down, Artie," I say, because it really does need to dial it down at least two levels. Lethal force is now officially an overreaction too extreme even for it.
Artie lets out a disgusted sigh. It doesn't retract its taser.
[Adjusting defensive protocols; Threat Level 6.]
Guess that's the best I can hope for.
"I take it this means you won't be taking off without warning?" Leia Organa asks, startling me. While I hadn't forgotten that she's here, I hadn't been paying attention to her either. Which is a true accomplishment, given the brightness of her presence.
"...No, I won't," I force myself to say, and it's almost physically painful to do so. I've avoided the Resistance for years, and now I'm voluntarily going to stay with them.
...Unless Han Solo and Chewbacca are interested in leaving with me?
Leia Organa gains a faint smile, and she gives a curt nod, pleased with my answer in a way that makes me want to take off even more.
"Good. There are a few things we need to discuss."
"I'm not fighting him," I warn, meaning it from the bottom of my heart. I might not be able to keep him from hunting me down, but I won't confront him by choice. Ever.
There's a flash of pain from Leia Organa and Han Solo both, as well as an old mourning from Chewbacca. The way all of them are reacting to him will never not raise my hackles in the worst of ways.
He really is Ben Solo. I can't believe– I am once again failing to ignore the thing I really, really, really don't want to think about.
"That's not what we need to discuss," Leia Organa says, not a hint of her pain visible. That's some durasteel control she has there.
"Right, and this isn't the Falcon," Han Solo mutters. This time Leia Organa's control breaks, and she gives him an annoyed glare that's surprisingly intimidating, despite it not even being aimed at me.
Given that Han Solo's eyes are still closed, her intended effect falls short. On the other hand, there's a burst of affection from him, so he might actually be aware of what she's doing. And he's reacting to it in a way only a man in love can.
The affection doesn't remain dominant for long. The emotions that replace it make my own mood plummet.
"Why does he want to hurt you so much?"
The question is tired and broken, but I can't feel even a shred of sympathy.
Not when the question makes every one of my wounds snap back to the foreground.
"Isn't it obvious," I say with a mockery of a smile, mostly uncaring of how it makes Leia Organa's underlying pain flare up high. I'm too aggravated by how I can't stop myself from tapping my prosthetic. "He likes me."
Just saying the words out loud makes me battle a wave of revulsion. That's the absolute worst thing about him. He genuinely likes me, he is fond of me. And he expresses that by hurting me in in the most cruel ways possible.
Han Solo flinches violently, while Leia Organa clenches her jaw, and her hands ball into fists. I shake my head, incredulous at the pained yet genuine love they're both feeling. At least Chewbacca's grief is more like that for a dead loved one.
Han Solo's and Leia Organa's is for a living one.
"I can't believe he's your son."
I grimace as soon as the words escape my mouth. I really need to stop slipping up like this.
"I can't either," Han Solo says, listless and broken in a way that makes me close my eyes.
Things aren't supposed to be like this. Han Solo is supposed to be flying the Millennium Falcon. He and Leia Organa are supposed to be happy together. That's how things are supposed to be.
I shouldn't be surprised to discover his talent for ruining things is so much greater than I already thought it was.
"It was Snoke," Leia Organa says, but while her voice and expression are firm, her emotions reveal that she's trying very hard to convince herself of that. She's doing a good job, to the point where she almost believes her own lie. Almost. "There's still good in him."
My derisive snort is as instinctive as it is sincere. Leia Organa narrows her eyes at me with an anger fuelled by denial and desperation, but before it can turn into a true glare, she deliberately pushes those emotions aside. Ruthless determination returns to the foreground.
"I meant what I said, that's not what I need to discuss with you."
Right now.
I grimace at her involuntary projection. Of course it was too much to hope that she wouldn't want to discuss this forever.
"Then what is?" I return curtly.
"The system killer built by the First Order."
I shiver violently as the endless screams threaten to come back into focus. They're no longer as strong as before, but they're still there.
Judging from the deeply disturbed ripples running through Leia Organa's presence, she's fighting to keep them back as well. To the point where it makes her clench her jaw and ball her hands into fists.
"What about it?" I manage to ask in an even voice.
"We need your help to destroy it."
"You have a way to destroy it?" Han Solo demands, grief buried beneath a sudden laser focus. Chewbacca turns his full attention towards Leia Organa as well.
Artie keeps watching Han Solo and Chewbacca with hostility.
"Not yet," Leia Organa admits with a grimace and an enormous amount of reluctance and frustration. Her eyes remain locked onto me. "But I know we're going to need you."
I feel a chill run down my spine at the certainty she speaks with. It's not just her presence, the certainty is echoed by the Force itself.
"What if I don't want to help?" I ask, no matter that I already know the answer.
"Then we're all probably going to die," Leia Organa says matter of factly, and while there's a tightness to her eyes and a determined set to her jaw, it's mostly her blazing anger and burning resolve that reveals she won't just take this lying down.
The anger and resolve are almost strong enough to mask the underlying bitterness. Almost.
"And after we're dead, the First Order will destroy what's left of the Republic."
Because that first sentence wasn't doomsday enough already.
Wait a minute.
"What's left of it?" Han Solo asks, taking the words right of my mouth Yes, an entire system was destroyed, but the Republic is far more than a single system.
"Most of the fleet was stationed in the Hosnian system," Leia Organa says, keeping a tight control over her anger, and an even tighter control over her fear. Then the implications of her words hit, and I stare at her with horror.
The First Order destroyed the Hosnian system. I shouldn't be shocked by this, of course they would target the capital of the Republic, but I still am. The Hosnian system didn't just have one or two inhabitable planets, every single one of the five planets was populated. Every one of them was home to billions. The shock is almost enough to make the dead break through again.
"We've contacted the remaining warships, but most refuse to abandon their post. They're planning to secure the borders," Leia Organa says with a sarcasm that more than tells what she thinks of that, even without the flare of rage and helpless frustration.
"They're idiots," Han Solo says with disgust. Leia Organa and Chewbacca agree with him completely.
"They are," Leia Organa agrees verbally as well. "And they're leaving us in the worst possible position to deal with this disaster. We don't have enough ships and barely enough pilots for the ones we do have, never mind enough firepower. We need all the help we can get."
She meets my gaze with an focus backed so strongly by the Force that it's hard to believe most of it is done unconsciously.
"A trained Force-user would be a powerful help."
Says the sun that's as trained as I was before finding Maz.
"So what, you want me to shoot an exhaust vent?" I say in my most sarcastic voice, even as I can't help a flicker of involuntary humor at the absurdity of it all.
It's might've been more funny how familiar this all is if it hadn't been so terrifyingly real.
"If that's what it takes to blow it up, yes," Leia Organa says in a voice dry as dust and with a flicker of morbid humor as well. It might be painfully familiar for me, but it's so much worse for her. And for Han Solo and Chewbacca. Having the air smothered by old trauma isn't pleasant.
"For now, coming to our base is enough," Leia Organa continues. I can't help but keep being surprised by the tight control she has over her emotions. While I already knew from various documentaries and holofeeds that she's no longer the impulsive Princess from the movies, it's another thing entirely to see it in real life. "We'll come up with a plan after we finish analyzing the data."
"You found it?" Han Solo asks with relief.
"It wasn't hard to trace the blast back."
Trace the blast back? I thought the weapon is like the Death Star? As in, mobile. Is she saying it's stationary instead?
Do I care? Not really. Well no, obviously I do care, but I'm a little more preoccupied with the fact that I'm actually going to go to the headquarters of the Resistance. That's something I swore to never do, yet now I'm doing it. By voluntary choice. Semi-voluntary. The choice isn't really a choice at all.
I'd have to be a monster as big as him to abandon the galaxy to the horror of a system killer.
"I'll come with you," I say, and scowl as the Force rings with satisfaction. That's not why I'm doing this. "But I'm gone after we destroy that thing." I'll try to arrange something with Han Solo and Chewbacca before taking off, but worst come to worst, we can figure out how to co-parent in a place that isn't the Resistance base.
Of course, this is assuming we succeed in destroying the system killer, but being pessimistic has never helped anyone. We're going to destroy it.
We have to destroy it.
"Thank you," Leia Organa says, relief and gratitude overwhelming all else, before determination regains the upperhand. "We leave now."
"No, I need to talk to Maz and Finn first."
"We don't have a lot of time," Leia Organa argues back, but I'm more focused on the sharp pain and guilt from Han Solo. Maz is all right, so that leaves one other possibility.
I ruthlessly resist the urge to panic.
"What happened to Finn?" I demand while searching for his presence. He doesn't jump out even with me looking this intently for him, but given how he blends with his surroundings, that doesn't mean much. I just need to keep looking and I'll find him.
I might find his body.
Please, please, please let him still be alive.
"He took him."
No.
The denial is instinctive, only grows stronger as Han Solo turns his head away to avoid my horrified expression, his guilt increasing, no, please no, don't let him have taken Finn, anything but that. Even death is better than that.
I continue searching, desperation rising as I fail to find Finn. I can't even find his body.
I look again. And again, and again, and again.
Finn isn't here.
He isn't here because Kylo Ren took him.
And then my breathing is erratic, everything coming back with a vengeance and pulling me under because he took Finn, he's going to hurt him, he's going to torture him, he's going to torture him to get to me.
He's going to let me know exactly how he's torturing Finn.
I run. Leia Organa calls after me but I don't care, am desperately reaching for Maz, yanking her out of her mediation and hurting her, and I don't want to hurt her, wish that I didn't need to do this but I need her because I can't deal with this, not now, not on top of everything else, not when it's Finn.
Maz offers me an anchor and I hate that I need to do this again but he has Finn, Finn who tried to protect me from him, who is so incredibly brave. Finn, who's only just tasted the joy of freedom, who is delighted by the simplest of things.
Finn, who I promised would be safe here.
And then Maz is hugging me and I'm crying because this isn't fair, Finn was supposed to be safe here, Takodana was supposed to be safe, Maz is supposed to be safe, he wasn't supposed to come here!
He wasn't supposed to find me here.
It takes even longer than before, but Maz helps me regain a semblance of control. When I no longer feel like I'm drowning, I take deep and steady breaths, before I let go of her. I wipe my tears away.
"Why didn't you save him?"
I grimace. I didn't intend to ask that.
I already know the answer.
"I couldn't," Maz says, her voice tired and mournful, and her emotions carefully contained to the point where I can't sense them at all. There's a tightness to her eyes I recognize only as guilt because of how well I know her.
I close my eyes. I already knew that. I know that if she could've, she would've saved Finn.
No matter how much part of me whispers that isn't true.
"I tried, Da'lin."
I let out a harsh breath, determinately ignoring the irrational part of me that wants to blame Maz. She didn't let Kylo Ren take Finn.
The Force did.
"I know," I say, infusing it with all the honesty I possess. While there's an irrational part of me that wants to lash out at her, I don't blame her for failing to go against the Force. I understand why she couldn't.
The more you can influence the Force, the more the Force can influence you.
My apology earns me a faint smile and a mental ruffle of my hair. She continues to keep her emotions under tight lock and key, though.
I really hope that my outburst didn't hurt her too badly.
"You saved everyone else," I continue to apologize. I hadn't realized it at the time, but looking back on my fight with him, there had been a few times one of us had dodged shots fired from somewhere in our general vicinity. I also have a vague memory of seeing Emmie over his shoulder. I'm pretty sure that she was snapping a Stormtrooper's neck.
It isn't hard to figure out that Maz used his distraction to launch a counter-offensive and free the survivors.
"Not everyone," Maz says, pained and sad as she looks at a lifeless body nearby. The vocalist of the band that had been playing.
I hesitate. I want to comfort her, but I... kind of really suck at that. Especially when it comes to situations like this.
What can anyone say to offer comfort from a tragedy like this?
"You kept the map from him," I settle on, figuring that's a better topic than people. No chance of it leading to thoughts of those she didn't manage to save.
Maz's lips quirk up, and the warm look she gives me shows that she appreciates the intent behind my words. That's something, at least.
"It wasn't hard to guide his thoughts away from it."
I feel a bitter smile grow. No, that wouldn't have been hard at all. Not with me here.
Then again, it's a map to Luke Skywalker. He should've been more than just a little interested in it.
Except he grew up with– stop thinking about that.
I grab the lightsaber and hold it out to Maz. As expected, she shakes her head.
"I'm not meant to keep it any longer," she says, kind enough to leave out the part where she's no longer meant to keep it because it's supposedly mine.
In that case.
I get to my feet and march towards the shore. Then I throw the damn thing as far away as I can. With the Force, that's quite the distance indeed.
I can't even begin to describe how satisfying it is the see the small speck disappear into the water. The Force might push me to do things, but that doesn't mean I can't push back.
I resolutely ignore the lightsaber calling me and walk back to Maz. She's watching me with a mixture of amusement and sorrow. I know she thinks that I can't avoid this, but I vehemently disagree.
"What will you do now?" Maz asks.
"Go with the Resistance." Unfortunately. "Just to deal with that monstrosity. After it's destroyed, I'm gone."
The compassionate look Maz gives me is completely uncalled for. I'm not trying to convince myself of this. I'm just saying how things are going to be.
"Are you coming with us?" I ask, but the Force answers my question before she does. Maz confirms this answer with a shake of her head.
"No. The Force has different plans for me."
I genuinely can't understand how she can be so at peace with this. The hold the Force has on me is but a fraction of the hold it has on her, and I already struggle fiercely with the consequences.
I love the Force, I really do, but I hate how it sometimes tries to control my life. I don't have a problem with it suggesting things to me, but ordering me around like this? Hell no.
"What will you do?" I ask, partly to distract myself, partly out of real curiosity.
"I think it's time I remind the First Order just why it is I am known as the Pirate Queen."
That is one of the most terrifying things I have ever heard. Good.
"Give 'em hell," I say with a baring of my teeth that can only be called a grin in the loosest sense of the word.
"Oh, I intend to," Maz returns with a smile like the deadliest of blades. She looks to the side and lets out a sharp whistle, drawing the attention of Emmie, HURID and Cook.
"Prepare the Tua-Lu for take-off. Our retirement is officially over."
Cook and HURID startle, before excitement rises. Emmie, on the other hand, starts radiating an unholy amount of glee.
"Roger, roger, Boss," she says in a voice oozing satisfaction.
[Adjusting baseline protocols – entering Mode; Get-That-Booty,] HURID cheers, about half of its hidden weapons becoming visible.
"We're going to swim in the sky?" Cook laughs, and while it's caused by simple joy at flying, the sound itself makes every hair on the back of my neck shoot up straight. I'm far from the only one affected, but the individual reactions are lost as my attention is abruptly yanked to the lightsaber.
The lightsaber is moving. And it's moving in my direction.
You have got to be kidding me.
I focus on it to figure out just how the damn thing is managing to do this. The answer makes me as aggravated as it makes me exasperated.
The lightsaber is tangled in some weed, and that weed was eaten by a bobofish. He didn't eat the weed holding the lightsaber in place though, oh no. Those particular strands are stuck between his teeth and trailing along his body, meaning the lightsaber is being dragged along as he swims.
Naturally, the bobofish is swimming towards the shore. When the water starts turning too shallow for his massive form, he makes a turn sharp enough to dislodge the lightsaber.
Before the lightsaber can hit the bottom of the lake, it gets smacked by the tail of a longshark, continues to be smacked around by the tails of various other fishes, and ends up being smacked ashore. That's not the end of the absurdity though. The lightsaber comes to a halt right on top of a large crab, who, annoyed at the weight on top of her, gets to her feet and moves around to get rid of it.
She takes a ridiculous amount of time to realize that scittering in a straight line won't get rid of it, only coming to this conclusion right at the edge of where the shore turns into grassland. Changing tactics, she shakes her carapass vigorously.
The lightsaber falls off her, hits the ground at an angle that gives it an absurd amount of momentum, and then it follows an an incredibly improbable path that allows it to keep up that momentum for the maximum amount of time.
It comes to a halt right in front of my foot.
This right here is what I hate about the Force. When it's decided that something has to happen, it will manipulate literally anything and everything into making that happen.
I pick up the lightsaber, planning to chuck it straight back into the lake.
"It would be a great aid against him."
Maz's words make me close my eyes. It's true, the lightsaber would be a great aid. He'd never be able to break my hold on it, in the same way I can't break his hold on his. It's a weapon he'd never be able to turn against me, as he can everything else.
I still throw it back into the lake. I won my freedom years ago, and I refuse to let anything take it away from me again. I refuse to let anything make my choices for me.
Destiny can go screw itself.
