Chapter VI – An Education
After their candor in the alley, Rey retreated into herself, plastering on a smile that didn't reach her eyes and speaking in low, almost docile tones. They returned to the marketplace with quiet steps and a walled-off connection. Ben found the sudden silence in his head – the absence of any trace of her – disconcerting and unpleasant.
He lugged the door back to their home, shouldering it alone with Rey protesting only in a furrowed brow she instantly smoothed. Her placid calm endured while they'd affixed it firmly in place, testing the springs allowing it to raise and lower multiple times. With a satisfied nod, Rey retreated inside, patting the sand from her hair and clothes absently. Ben followed, feeling miserable, and tentatively reached out for her mind.
She brushed the gentle probe back without glancing his way, heading to the cistern for a drink.
"Why are you ignoring me?" He asked.
Rey waved him away. "I'm not. I'm just thirsty."
"We can't get better at this if you don't communicate with me."
"Get better at what?"
Ben flicked his finger back and forth between them. "This. Us," he neared the corner. "We've been enemies for a long time," it was his first reference to their colored history. "And its easier to fall into our familiar, opposite sides," he settled his hand atop hers over the container. "But I don't want that to be all we know of each other. Do you?"
Rey stared at the broad palm engulfing her fingers. "It's hard for me when you're so frank," she admitted. "I'm not used to someone wanting the things you want from me."
"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"I know," she nodded. "But you get angry so fast. It feels like I'm going to set you off all—."
Ben blanched, lifting his hand and staggering back a step. I don't want you to be scared of me anymore, he let his wall topple, so she could hear the depth of his sincerity. I'll work on it. I promise.
Rey peeked over at him. "Can we practice being friends?" She asked. "Before we talk about kisses or tokens or ownership?"
Ben nodded numbly. How could she be so wise when she still worried someone would come barreling in to steal her breakfast? "What an idea," he said wryly. "I wonder why others don't try a similar route?"
Her smile was genuine this time. "We're not like anybody else," she pointed out
He snorted. "Even still, you're right. Friendship will be more than enough to test us."
Rey's grin grew teasing. "Maybe we'll kill each other in the attempt, when we failed so epically before."
Ben thought of how she'd impaled him amid the waves of Kef Bir. That was failure? "That irony would be most unkind," was all he said.
Rey's idea – the novel notion of friendship – proved to be the exact training they both needed. For two people who were seemingly one, who shared vast amounts of their most personal thoughts and feelings, they lacked an acceptance and understanding of each other in vital arenas. A week passed on Carajam, full of routine, peppered with exchanges that grew less contentious as their comprehension strengthened.
Ben had discovered Rey never stopped moving. Ever. The woman seemed incapable of sitting for more than a few minutes, springing up to check the door, the fire, the second room, a sound outside – anything to propel herself into action. It was exhausting watching her, but he couldn't seem to stop, his scrutiny blatant despite attempts to keep it unobtrusive. He had studied her extensively as Kylo Ren, but it was always through the lens of exploitation, gauging how to best capitalize on her hatred and fervor. With those now markedly absent, and his agenda much more benign, Ben reveled in the opportunity just to exist with her. No masters, no conflicts of who stood on the right side, just passed plates, shopping trips, and upended boots full of sand.
Rey had gleaned Ben wasn't well-versed in subtlety – his not-so-surreptitious awareness of her was a constant companion to her days. She'd be disconcerted if it was anyone else, but she figured he was relearning how to move through the world under his own power, and she was his main example.
He was also a brooding daydreamer, one easily lost to musings and vacant, unseeing stares into corners. His moods oscillated wildly, buffeting her with waves of regret and loss one moment, and mild mirth or perplexity the next. It was dizzying trying to keep up, and after a few days, Rey simply allowed them to wash over her, a sturdy rock in the churn of a tempest.
Ben's plagued conscience, locked away for so long, was the most unpredictable of the storm. Rearing at a chance conversation in the market, an encounter in the bustle of Danan Karr, an assembled meal at the table – it stole across his face, hooding his eyes and thinning his mouth to a white line. Glimpses of normalcy – 'good mornings', swept doorsteps, visored looks to the sky – seemed hardest for him to bear; a thousand moments he had missed, refractured into smashed shards across a floor. Rey allowed him space to gather them up one by one, knowing the right to select which to keep had been in short supply most of his life. Famous, exalted figures pressuring him to be things to each of them – a diplomat of lost Alderaan, a pilot of the Millennium Falcon, a Jedi, an echo of the Sith – heir to a legacy none could recreate. Never just Ben.
They were sitting by Rey's bedding, each holding a lightsaber, deciding if they could risk practicing forms without being seen. Ben's interest was tangible, and Rey agreed. They'd only lifted sabers in union once, and she was eager to see how they'd fare when not rallying against the reanimated, semi-corpse of the Emperor.
"We could rent a pair of blurrgs and head for that ridge we saw yesterday," she offered.
Ben made a face. "Please no," he couldn't ride anything that snorted or stamped if his final ascension to force mastery depended it. It was a skill that had completely eluded him, never remotely grasped, let alone honed. He'd also heard the two-legged, toothy-mawed eyesores were very picky about who'd they bear, and the last thing he wanted was to be thrown from one in front of Rey.
She bit her lip to quell the start of a smile, and he stiffened. Had she just seen his memory of meeting a Tauntaun for the first time with his father?
"You look like I just suggested braiding your hair," a laugh she was gracious enough not to loose tinged her voice. "Maybe with ribbons."
Ben almost quipped about how they'd be an improvement, drawing attention from his unfortunate face, but stopped himself. He didn't want her empty compliments to the contrary. Especially if it meant pretending not to see the stark contrast between the physical symmetry they'd each been born with. Rey was beautiful, and he was… decidedly less so.
"Mounts are not my preferred method of travel," he supplied instead.
"A Solo way of saying 'I'm terrible at riding'," Rey wasn't able to hold back the chuckle that slipped past her lips. "Okay, okay, no blurrgs," tapping her chin, she paused to consider. "There's plenty of non-vital equipment aboard the Guardian. We could sell some for a speeder."
"That seems a bit… permanent."
She tapped again. "I'm in no hurry to return."
"Oh no?" Ben tried to keep his voice nonchalant. "What about your friends? That defector? FN-2187?"
"You know his name," she rolled her eyes. "I've spoken of Finn before."
"Extensively."
Rey quirked a brow. "Easy. Your whispering, Jealousy Monster is showing. He's perched on your shoulder, telling you to sound ridiculous."
Ben scowled. She was obviously not aware how often she mentioned the man. "I hardly think one word qualifies," he bit back. "Your Controlling-Ben Monster is the one whispering."
Her second eyebrow joined the first as she hiked them high. "Are you being… playful right now?" She asked, incredulous.
"You could sound less shocked," he grumbled.
Rey raised a finger. "Not shocked. Astounded. Bypassed compressor astonished, completely caught—."
"I get the gist."
Her amusement filled his skull, its lilt expelling the embarrassment threatening to swallow him whole.
"I love it," she breathed, beaming.
Ben felt the air leave his lungs in a rush. Her approval fell over him, heavier than his desert shawl, and its glow seeped down into his skin like a hot bath. He realized – dimly – that he would attempt a hundred further jests if it meant she doled even one more of these blindingly pleased smiles his way.
"Good," he heard himself mumble, cringing at his lack of eloquence. Exuding charisma had never been a talent of his either.
Rey didn't seem to notice, curling her fingers around the lightsaber's hilt as she kept her grin. "Let's go scavenge parts from the ship."
"You sound more excited about that than the prospect of dueling."
She shrugged. "It's an itch Carajam has yet to scratch."
