1/1/36 ABY: Lirium

Rey's hideout among the plains is starting to look vaguely settlement… ish.

The fact that it's only her is part of why it looks not quite right. It would take the casual observer more than a few minutes to figure out what's wrong. The collection of tidy cottages, a small, straight dirt road, and further back, on a small rise in the ground, a clear dome near the lake, all of that looks fine.

It's just the complete lack of people that makes it look wrong.

Rey's north of her town, on the plain, moving rocks. The Falcon has landed several times, and each time they've run into the same problem, a problem that Rose, now that she's on the Falcon, has gotten serious about. Namely, if they want to keep the Falcon in good shape they can't keep landing it on uneven, boulder-strewn, fields.

Every time they lift off, she's got a new chunk of landing gear to fix.

And these days, where she falls asleep if she's standing still for too long, and irritable from the pregnancy sickness, she's not fixing anything she doesn't have to. Which both Finn and Chewie think is a perfectly acceptable response to being ten weeks pregnant.

Which means Rey is north of town, levitating rocks away from a field, and then moving them to the perimeter of the field so that the clear zone is easily visible.

Kylo finds her out there, a little earlier than normal. She raises an eyebrow at him, seeing that he's got not just food (which he often brings) but a bottle of something, too.

He looks around. "You want help finishing this, or shall we eat while it's hot?"

"There's only a few minutes of good light left. Let's get this done."

He nods, and begins to move rocks as well.

"You know, if you had told me this time last year that 90% of starting up a settlement was moving rocks, I wouldn't have believed you," Rey says.

He's raising one of the further back ones, and carefully dumps it several meters away, on the line. "If you'd asked me this time last year, what was involved in starting up a settlement, I wouldn't have had an answer for you."

They're both learning that making a place for people to live, even sincerely uncomplicated people with fairly simple needs, is involved. Unfortunately, it mostly involves making rough things smooth, bumpy things flat, and rocky things somewhere else.

They don't talk much after that. It's easier to do, even for them, if they don't split their concentration. But after a few moments, the green sun does sink, and they find themselves in twilight.

It's been a week or so since he's come to her here. "Is it getting dark earlier?"

"A little. I think this might be turning to autumn." They both know that there shouldn't be too much variation between night and day here, no matter season it is.

"Do you think it'll get cold?"

She shrugs. "Rainy maybe. It shouldn't be too different than summer." He takes her hand in his, and they walk through 'her town' to her cottage.

Part of him not having been here recently is that she only finished it yesterday. Part of it is Chewie, Finn, and Rose left yesterday.

That said, she's eager to show him her first ever, real, home.

And Kylo's got food, so… her first real meal in her first real home.

She presses her palm to the sensor, opens the door, and shows it off with real pride. "What do you think?"

He's looking around, then steps in, and can feel the pleasure bubbling off of her, so he's pleased, for her.

"Look around!" she says.

There are three rooms. He's walked into the one that's half of the house. There's a workbench against the one side. It's covered in tools and the bits and pieces she's working on. On the other, there's a cooker and a cooler and a sink. She's put up shelves, and there aren't a lot of supplies on them, but for someone who got paid by the meal for most of her life, having a week or so of food stored up feels like unimaginable wealth.

She goes to the sink and turns it on. Water come sputtering out. "I'm still getting the plumbing set, but… Look! Water!" He knows she's been fighting with that, the pump from the lake is stubborn, and tetchy, and older than she is, so it's not in the greatest shape. He pulls her into a close hug and kisses the top of her head and tries his best to feel really pleased and enthusiastic about this.

There's a table and benches, a big soft chair in the corner, the sort of thing that's big enough for her to sit across, or for both of them to sit side by side, and a rug on the floor, and she's made a wreath out of the grass and put it on the door.

He pokes his head into the next room and finds a snug bedroom. The bed takes up most of it, and he smiles at that. He'd been hoping she'd get something big enough for both of them. And dreading that Chewie might bring her a tiny cot, with barely enough room for her. The blankets look soft and nubby. He smiles a little, the top one is tan, but the sheets under it are green. The room is filled with browns and tans and some gray-green from another of those grass wreathes. There are a few pillows, and they seem poofy enough.

"Is it comfortable?" he asks, sitting down on it, bouncing a little.

"I think so. Haven't slept in it, yet," but he knows that. She hops into his lap, grinning at him. "Gonna test it tonight?"

He doesn't have to fake any enthusiasm for that. "Yes!"

She's got a window that looks out on the lake, and he can feel this is one of Rose's touches, a set of curtains. Given that at some point other people may live here, he's appreciating the curtains. Right now, if the mood strikes him, he'll walk around the lake naked, but he can't imagine that will be an option all that much longer. Sooner or later someone will move here. Finn and Rose plan to be here fulltime in not more than six more months, and she'll go looking for new… whatever they are going to be called… or someone will bring her one.

The days of it being just her, just them, are numbered and dwindling.

There are hooks on the wall it shares with the kitchen/work space. The clothing she's not wearing now is hanging from it.

On the other wall, there's a door leading to the third room.

"Refresher?"

"Soon." She glares at that room, and then opens the door so he can see. It's basic, but has everything: sink, toilet, shower, clothing washer. "I've got basic plumbing. The shower isn't exactly doing the job, yet."

"Which job?" (Though he doesn't mind if it never works, because that means more time with her in his shower.)

"The get-water-to-come-pouring-out-of-the-top-and-not-out-of-the-pipes-in-the-wall job. And it'd be nice if some of that water was at least vaguely warm."

"Ah." He's heard how the water heaters that come with these pre-fab buildings leave something, by which he means, everything, to be desired.

Still, it's a house. And she's never had one before, not one that was hers, and she's excited, so he smiles at it and hopes she doesn't work too hard to feel what's under the smile.

She leads him back to her main room and nods to the food on the table. "What'd you bring?"

"Do you know what a rabbit is?" he says, pulling the bench back enough for them to sit.

"No." She says, sitting down, for a moment, before remembering they've got to get the drink out of the bottle and into something else.

"I don't either." He sits down. It's a good bench, sturdy, doesn't creak or complain about his weight the way some have over the years. And it, and the table, are big enough he doesn't feel like his knees are brushing his chin. All in all, it's good. "I've been told they're tasty, and it's cooked into some sort of pie."

"Chef's choice, again?" she says, over her shoulder, looking through a drawer for something to open the bottle. He supposes he could use his lightsaber, but that's likely asking to start a fire.

"Not this time. C8 tells me this is traditional."

"For what?"

"This is a meal eaten for good luck on the first day of the New Year." He touches the bottle, too. "Plum brandy. Good luck meal for a good year."

"It's a New Year?" She hasn't been watching the calendar too closely.

"Thirty-six years after the Battle of Yavin."

"Oh."

"Year one of The Order, soon."

That gets a smile from her. She's heard his plans for this, been helping with them, some, and knows they're getting close. The next step of Operation: Kill The Past is to literally kill the First Order. New symbol, new name, new… Orders. "Ready?"

"Getting there. Frakes tells me the badges are all ready to go and the banners are coming along, and then..."

"How are you doing with getting high muckety-mucks to come?"

He shrugs. "I've given my top twenty commanders five more days to each come up with a hundred names."

"So, you don't know who you're inviting?" She finds the bottle opener, and wiggles it at him. She's got a bottle opener, and just having one makes her happy.

"Or care for that matter. For me, it's about the show, not so much the people who see it."

"How do your commanders feel about that?"

"Palpatine's men are licking it up, carefully building lists of everyone they've ever wanted any favor with, or who may do us some good. Snoke's men are bored and can't believe I'd even pull a stunt like this. So, I'm making Palpatine's men cut their lists down to a hundred, and poking Snoke's to think of a hundred people to invite."

She opens the bottle, pulling the cork out, and gets a mug, and then two. He sees how proud she is to have mugs plural. Not just one cup that everything goes in. She pours one for him, handing it over, and one for her, and takes a sip, and then chokes on it. "Ughl…" She shudders and coughs. "Do people drink this on purpose?"

After that reception, he's not sure if he wants any, but he does take a sip. It's strong. He honestly couldn't tell you if it was made from plums or paint stripper, all he can taste is ALCOHOL.

He doesn't drink much, because he doesn't, generally, like the way it makes him feel. (Like with painkillers, at best it makes him foggy and at worst he ends up in visions he's not interested in seeing. He only accepted the bottle because the chance to drink here, somewhere he could get a little foggy in the head and not have it be an issue, was involved.) So when he does, he prefers something that genuinely tastes good.

He takes the mugs, gets up, and pours them into her sink, and then pours them water. Not exactly a rare or expensive vintage, unlike the brandy, but even with the strong mineral flavor, it's preferable to the brandy.

He takes a drink, and hands her a glass, once she's drunk, he says, "Here's to the first year of The Order."

She offers him a bit of a smile and looks up at him. He knows what she's asking for, silently, and fishes the token from under his tunic, and hands it over. She places it over her head.

Then… he does something he's never done before… Not, since he's been an adult, not in someone else's home. It may be verging on autumn out there, but it's still more than warm enough inside her home. He doesn't need the clothing for warmth, and it's not like he's got to project any sort of image here, so he takes his tunic off, hanging it on one of the posts in her bedroom (noticing that she has, apparently, a post just for him and his clothing), and puts his boots next to her door.

She watches him doing that, wiggling his toes against her rug, making himself at home in her home, and smiles.

He looks around and decides that they likely need plates and forks and… stuff. He shakes his head. "You know, I used to do this every meal."

"When you were a child?"

"No. My mother's house had servants." His voice turns a bit sarcastic. "Senator Organa, Princess of Alderaan, for all of her I'm-just-like-everyone-else, didn't cook or serve her own meals."

Though having said that, he feels her memory of Leia making sure everyone had their meal bars in the Falcon, handing them out, brewing tea, offering cups to everyone.

Kylo rolls his eyes. Of course she did it for the Resistance. But not for him. "She didn't ever do it at our home. But, meals were communal at Luke's. We all cooked, and all served, and all cleaned up." He fetches them forks and plates, laying them on the table efficiently, then sitting next to her. "That's not how it worked with Snoke. Entire divisions were assigned to mess work. Command officers, even though I wasn't officially one, I had the privileges of one, never set foot in the kitchens. You could eat in one of the canteens, or have them bring you a meal, but if you got near one of the kitchens you better be on orders to arrest someone. That's a rule I've kept."

That seems really off to Rey, and he can feel she's stumped by that rule.

"Two reasons, first off, kitchen hygiene," he says, cutting the pie. "If your entire force is on ships and you are the biggest gun in the galaxy, the biggest threat to your men isn't another fleet, it's food poisoning. Some idiot hits the 'freshers, doesn't clean up properly, handles the food, and next thing you know an entire division is down. Second of all, advancement through the ranks isn't always about merit. One of his generals was poisoned by a different one…" He shrugs, everyone is dead now. There's no one he can hurt with the story. "Hux, he and Phasma poisoned his father, who was another of Snoke's men. After that, only kitchen staff were allowed in the kitchen, and I got wary of accepting meals I didn't make, or at least open, for myself."

She looks at the pie, and the plate she's holding out for a piece of it, and suddenly isn't so sure she wants to eat it, or give it to him.

He reads that from her. "C8 scans everything before I take a bite of it, or offer it to you."

She's never actually seen C8. He lives, mostly, in Kylo's throne room, though he spends some time in his office and personal chambers. Just, not when she's there.

He takes his fork, scoops up of a bit of the pie, her piece of it, and chews it, thoughtfully.

"Good?" she asks. She tried the brandy, he gets to be the test subject for the pie.

He shrugs.

She tries a bite. Rich, savory, a little sweet, a bit meaty. She's had things she liked better, but it's not bad. "A billion times better than the portions I used to get."

He nods. "And protein bars."

They continue eating, and she spends a moment really sensing him. "You're off."

He shrugs a bit at that.

"It's the house… it's… what?"

He's sure she can likely get enough of it just by feeling him, but sometimes she likes to hear him say words. Maybe it helps make things clearer in his mind, or hers, or…

"It's a good house, and I'm glad you built it and love it and…"

"And…"

He looks around, and lifts one shoulder, and chews his pie. "And it's you, and it's something you want and…" and some things are hard to lend voice to, some things just don't want to escape his lips, but he's thinking it very clearly, and there's so much more I'd give you if you'd let me. He shrugs the one shoulder again. "But you don't want more. You want this, so…" He looks around at her tidy, modest cottage. "This."

She nods. "This." She stretches, and her back pops audibly when she does it. "I think about… more, sometimes. Because I know you… can… or would… And it'd be easier. And part of me would like easier. Especially this afternoon when I turned on the shower and instead of water coming out of the faucet, it was rushing inside my wall. I would have really liked easier then." He has the image of her cursing away as she pulled back the inside layer of the wall, water spraying everywhere before she got it turned off, and then the hours of cleaning everything up before being able to start fixing the problem.

He smiles a little, at that.

"But it's not just that this is me… I feel like this… building it. Literally putting it together with my hands, is important. So much of this work is just… mindless moving… that it gives me time to think, and I need that. This is part of… learning whatever it is I'm here to learn." She thinks for another moment on how to put it into words. "I think better if I'm doing something. That was true at Orlac's" she's said it before she realizes she's not supposed to, and winces a little.

Kylo shakes his head, letting it float past him. He can think about his wayward cousin… or, given where he ended up compared to Orlac, perhaps he's the wayward cousin, later.

"I need to be doing something with my body and hands, otherwise I just get bored or jittery. I can't think if all I'm doing is sitting around."

"I know." And he does. He can sit and study for hours because he spent years learning how to do it, but he also needs to carve out time to run around and hit things to keep himself able to do that. They've both got big questions with no easy answers, and they need the space to find those answers. "But if you ever…"

"Trust me, you'll know." She spears a piece of her pie. "You said you weren't ever going to be a monk teaching children to meditate. I'm never going to be one of those fancy ladies spinning through ballrooms and making small talk."

He laughs at that. "And do you see a version of this with me in a fancy ballroom making small talk?"

"That's what rich and powerful people do, right? That's what you're going to do with your High and Mighties, right?"

"Not in my experience. It's certainly not part of what I've got planned for the thousands of them my commanders are going to import."

"Uh huh," she gives him a gentle shove with her shoulder. "Master Ren."

He gives her a little shove back. "Mistress Rey."

It's a good bed. Granted these days, Kylo's primary definition of good concerning beds is: "Is Rey located in it?" If the answer is yes, it's a good bed.

That said, it's also comfortable, the sheets feel nice against his skin, the pillows are big enough his head feels supported and firm enough he's not going to be smothered in them.

It's a good bed.

But, mostly, Rey's in it. And they're going to test it out.

He's about to reach over for the slick when two thoughts occur to him. One: the drawer under his bed with the slicks in it is currently conveniently located on the other side of the galaxy, and yes, he knows he can get himself to them easily, he's not exactly interested in going anywhere other than where he is right now, and Two: it's the New Year. Which means they don't need them anymore.

She wasn't sure about his sudden hesitation. He'd been doing that thing, where he kisses along her breast and shoulder and arm, which lets him slip over far enough to grab the slicks, but not have to stop touching her, and then he stopped dead about the time he got his lips to her elbow. She sees his grin and catches the feel of it.

Then she grins back at him, and flips them so she's on top.

"You were on top the last time we did this skin to skin."

He likes her on top just as much as he likes him on top, so he just smiles up at her and wiggles a little, and then groans, loud, when she slides down him.

He can feel it's not that much of a different sensation for her, skin to skin and skin to slick feel about the same from her point of view, but it's distinctly different for him.

He's holding very still, not wanting to spurt, yet, sure that if he gets through this moment, he'll be fine, but it's so… intense. It's so… real. So… her. His jaw is clenched and he's biting his lip, holding her hips, keeping her still, too, because he can feel she wants to start rocking on him.

He kisses her, hard, deep, tongue moving fast, the way she wishes his hips were, and projects how this feels to him. How wet and plush and snug and silky and gloriously her this feels and it's deeply satisfying to hear/feel her moan all over at it.

Another moment, and the need to spurt now eases off, and he can move, and let her move, and from there, they glow.

His fingers drawing down her back in a long, slow pull. Fingertips barely brushing over her skin, lighting goosebumps all along her.

She rocks against him, her skin gliding over his, hair brushing his chest and jaw, breast dragging, just the tips against his chest.

If you'd asked him about it, just when he and Rey were starting up, or, at least, when he was beginning to think that their relationship might at some point involve actual physical sex, what he expected, this would have never have even crossed his mind.

Gentleness. Not just that he's capable of it (though that surprises him, too) but that he loves it. That being softly stroked and petted and loved on lights him up inside. That the touch of his hand, light and soft, skin to skin, or tongue, or shaft, or any of him, just gliding against her makes him feel good, in his heart and head and body.

During that half-hour long conversation where Luke talked about 'physically communing together in mutual accord and affection,' and how it wasn't forbidden, and was, for Masters, secure in their devotion to the light, encouraged as a way to gain knowledge of themselves, each other, and another layer of the light, Kylo-who-was-Ben could tell that A: Luke had no idea what he was talking about. He'd never communed so this was a purely theoretical conversation on his part, and B: Kylo-who-was-in-the- walking-erection stage of life was sure that calm and serene sex was more or less fiction. Calm and serene didn't come into play when he was touching himself, and he couldn't imagine it coming into play touching someone else.

Luke didn't have the feel of it to add to the power of his words, and Kylo couldn't imagine it.

He can now. And, better, he doesn't have to imagine it.

He never expected that. None of his previous experiences had ever even attempted anything like that. And he's not sure if he could have let himself enjoy it before, even if one of his companions had tried to be gentle with him, but now that he can…

He'd lay here for hours, happily rocking with her, soft fluid motions, slowly building each other up.

Fast and hard will come, eventually. He's not sure he can finish without that, but getting there… Especially when she's lying on him, head tucked under his chin, both of them barely moving, just breathing together and feeling, it makes him happy in a way he never thought himself capable of.

She's holding his hand right now, and he's got his senses on it, feeling her fingers between his, and how tiny she is next to him. One of his fingers makes up almost two of hers. Her hands are rougher than his. She doesn't wear gloves every day. He can feel callouses from years of work, and a few jagged nails that got caught on something recently. He lets his fingers slip between hers, mirroring the soft, easy motions of their hips, and feels her skin still sliding against his. Different, rougher, drier, not sexual, but real and here and now and lighting him up.

He can feel her breath against his sternum, and her hair on his chin, and the soft weight of her on top of him, and it's freeing and anchoring all at once. It's a space he never thought he'd get to inhabit, a thing he needed but never knew to want.

There are things he wants to say to her, words that feel frozen, not just on his lips, but in his head, so he traces them across her skin, and kisses them to her shoulders, and runs them through her hair with his fingers, and maybe, with enough of these soft, light touches, his words will unfreeze, and maybe, one day, he'll say them.

She doesn't tell him he's thinking loudly, though he knows she can feel the words that won't form, and how he's trying to touch them to her, how he's trying to let them sink directly into her skin, and pass from whatever soul or life or light he has to hers.

He feels them back, in the softness of her hand on his shoulder, and the glide of her lips against his throat. Feels them in her skin as she begins to move a little faster, and her thighs as they wrap around him.

Love you. It breaks out of him as they begin to move faster, as he slips from her embrace to thrust back into it, harder, deeper, urgent. Love you. It pours out of him, cracking through old, armored plates flaking off of his skin. Love you. It rises up to meet him, her mind joining his. Love you. It shudders through both of them as they cling to each other, bodies slick and pulsing. Love you. It gets soft, and quiet, exhaled between one sets of lips and kissed back to the other.

Love you.

"There's no lock," Kylo says.

He'd been three quarters asleep, snuggled up behind her, arm wrapped around her, drowsing, in an extremely good mood, very pleased at how comfortable her bed is, feeling the brush of her breath against his wrist when the thing he didn't do jolts through him.

The first thing he does every night, when he shuts the door to his chambers behind him, is secure the lock.

His eyes go jolting open, and he's standing before he's even given it any real thought. There's no lock on the door to her bedroom, and he opens the door, looking through the cottage. There's no lock on any of the doors.

"Come back to bed," she's basically asleep, and can't understand what he's talking about. "Morning."

Kylo does go back to bed, but he's tense. He's not a great sleeper at the best of times, and… It's stupid. He knows it's stupid. They are literally the only two people on the planet. But someone could come. Chewie doesn't exactly call ahead of time, and right now he and Finn and Rose could just walk right in, and… And there may be animals, she's found some really big tracks, and…

He's lying there, tense, staring at the ceiling of Rey's cottage.

He feels like he's been doing it for hours, though it's likely only been a few minutes. Then he's up. He pulls on his pants, grabs his saber, and goes to her chapel to meditate. That's normally how he deals with the nights when sleep won't find him.

Inside the chapel isn't much different from outside the chapel. Not on a night like tonight. The dome is fused trans-steel. It's clear as air, a thousand times lighter than glass, and a million times stronger. He's got a view of the night, stars scattered across the sky, only one moon visible right now.

He kneels. The river rocks are smooth and round and hard under his knees and the balls of his feet. Not the most comfortable place he's ever done this.

On several levels.

The night isn't exactly quiet. There's some sort of creature making a lot of little noises, and there's a bit of a wind moving across the plain, rustling the billion blades of grass. The Supremacy isn't ever silent, either, but it makes the kind of noises he's used to, mechanical ones. The rumble of the engines, the vibration of a billion plus tons of steel and electronics shifting through space.

Out here it's the chirp of some sort of animal and the rustle of grass and the susurrus of wind…

And the last time he lived somewhere with things like grass and animals he learned, the hard way, that he always needed a door that locked. And a lock that couldn't be slipped silently.

There's not a lock devised that a well-trained Force user can't slip. All the codes, all of the electronics, all of it just exists to make sure that a piece of metal latches into another piece of metal, and if you can shift that with your mind, the rest of it doesn't matter.

So, for Kylo, a lock isn't there to bar an intruder. It's there to give him warning. It's a ward, not a wall.

The next time someone tries to creep up on him in the middle of the night, he's going to be waiting, blade extended. The next set of eyes peering at him with hate and rage in the dim night will be seen through a red glow.

Thinking on that is not helping to settle his mind.

Of course, his traditional meditations were never designed to settle his mind, either. They were there to give him strength, power, rage.

Cataloging every sin ever pressed against him was a mantra. It wasn't exactly calming, but it was focusing.

Whose sins are left?

Only his mother.

Everyone else, every other slight that mattered, every ounce of real pain or anguish… They're all gone.

And most of them are dead by his own hand.

He can feel the darkness in him, clamoring for a fight, looking for something to get angry at. He could go yell at Rey for not having a lock. He can feel it. It's burning in him, the desire to kick at her just to kick. He's breathing a little faster at the idea. She'd kick back, and hard.

And he'd deserve it.

Whipped and beaten for being dark.

Shunned for his nature.

Marked for his transgressions. More scars, more sins to recount in the middle of the night.

The token is around her neck, but he's sitting in the middle of a much bigger mark, dark gray and light gray swirling into each other, and he can feel the dark, feel it surging through him, feel it seeking to overbalance anything and everything else.

It'd be so sweet. He could just sink into it, rage, let it all out, and she'd punish him for it, send him reeling away, and he'd sink back into black, and she'd raise to white, both of them going hard and rigid and…

And hate is power. Hate is armor. Hate means no fear, even if he can't sleep in a room without a lock on the fucking door.

And that's where it cracks.

Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader, soon to be Master of The Order, the most powerful man in the galaxy, the man who destroyed every one of his enemies, save the one who gave birth to him, cannot sleep in a room without a lock on the door.

Because hate doesn't banish fear, it just masks it. He took the mask off his face. Time to take it off his feelings.

He returns to Rey, quietly, not exactly calm or steady.

She's sleeping, curled into a little ball, calm, steady, easy breathing. His presence doesn't cause her to stir.

Bad things happened to her in the night. From the flashes of it he's seen/felt, worse things happened to her in the night. That didn't cripple her ability to rest near people.

Then he looks around. They're the only people on this planet. She exiled herself, maybe with good reason, hiding is important, getting this started without anyone trying to kill it matters, but… besides the few months with Orlac, (He rolls his eyes at that, he should have known that's where they'd send her. Never let anything outside the family, if they can avoid it.) she's never lived anywhere with people.

She doesn't lock the door because she made sure no one else could come.

He lays down next to her, scooting in close, and shifts them back to his room.

Maybe, one day, he'll sleep in an open room, but not yet.

It is known that when the Supreme Leader retires for the night that he is not to be disturbed for anything less than a full scale attack.

There are rumors that the Supreme Leader cannot be disturbed once he retires. The man who designed the lock on the door to his private chambers would, of course, never speak of it, but… he's not the only one who's ever seen the lock.

There are no sensors, no keypad, no… anything. It's a sheer expanse of black, identical to his wall. Those who know how to use it know which parts of his door to press in which order to get access. Unlocking it properly requires hitting the door at least four times, in exactly the right place, in exactly the right sequence, with the right count between hits. Doing it with the Force results in a loud clacking sound.

It's not an unbreakable lock, but there's no way to sneak around it.