A/N: Another chapter so quickly! I'm quite proud of myself, to be honest. Thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and/or favorited - every single one of you is helping me find my confidence in this whole writing thing again!
Kylo-Rey-Kenobi...love you and thank you, sis!
There is knowledge, she has discovered, scattered across the map of the galaxy. Scratched into cavern walls on backwater planets, scrawled across parchment and vellum in dusty libraries, and recorded on Holocrons hidden away in long forgotten temples and shrines, both Jedi and Sith alike.
Rey, in the absence of an actual teacher, has decided that she will learn the lessons for herself, as best she can. All of the lessons. She hunts knowledge as others do wealth or influence — and she is voracious in her indiscriminate greed for it.
General Organa - Leia, she reminds herself - had been somewhat less than pleased the first time she had returned to base with a satchel full of Sith Holocrons in tow. It had made the older woman uncomfortable, the Darkness in them setting her and every other Force-Sensitive member of the Resistance ranks on edge.
Rey alone had been immune to the discomfort; could not even understand why they were uncomfortable — a fact that had only served to make Leia even more concerned.
Which was not to say that Rey could not feel the Darkness rolling off the Holos in thick waves — because she certainly could. It just...didn't bother her.
On the contrary, it called to her; drew her in. Fascinated her.
She had done her best to explain, imagining that Leia, of all people might understand…
Rey, if you're trying to make me feel better about all this, you're doing a really awful job of it.
After the next two such occasions, the General had just stopped asking about her finds altogether, which suited Rey just fine. She was, quite frankly, tired of having to try to explain something that made perfect sense to her and none at all to anyone else.
As she picks her way through the undergrowth, following the thrum of power that draws her like a lodestone, she wonders if this will be yet another discovery that she will have to keep to herself…
He would listen. He would understand.
Rey ignores the fleeting thought with bitter determination, focusing instead on the task at hand with renewed vigor. If she can withstand his cajoling, she can certainly withstand the traitorous bits of her that agree with him.
She has been searching for the better part of two hours when she stumbles across the first, crumbling remains of what must be the temple complex she is seeking. She lays a palm against the stone, shivering to feel that faded tremble of power vibrating up toward her from deep inside. There is an edge to it — a wildness that is somehow both exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
It is also oddly...familiar…
Rey's eyes slip shut as memory stirs. In the theater of her mind a pale blue blade ignites, plunging through twisted flesh and rotted sinew before flying into her waiting hand and then, he is there, at her back, all strength and focus. They move together, they breathe together — she can feel him; his dark, glorious energy blending with hers, the two halves of them seeming to come together into one glorious, perfect whole...
Her eyes fly open and she pulls her hand back from the stone as if it has burnt her. Of all the things about that day that she has tried to forget, it is this that has been the hardest to banish.
Never, in the whole of her life, has she ever felt more complete than she did then. It was why she had assumed — naively perhaps — that he had felt the same way.
To feel it again now…
She shakes her head, shaking off her confusion.
She wants to understand, and the only way to do that is to continue on. If there are answers here, she will find them.
Decided, she moves further into the overgrown ruins, reaching behind her to draw her staff down from across her back and settling it comfortably into her hands. She does not sense any danger, but she has learned from hard experience that not all threats are so easily detected.
The forest floor is thick with leaf litter that crunches beneath her boots, so she steps carefully, toeing under the top layer of ground cover before stepping fully. It works, mostly, and the sounds of her footfalls virtually disappear amidst the chorus that nature sings around her. As she advances, the buildings grow larger - though no less time-worn - and more frequent until finally she finds herself on the edge of what must once have been a large, open square. She can pick out the remnants of half-collapsed buildings surrounding the edges of the space, but the bulk of her attention is stolen by what is clearly the temple proper.
Larger than she had expected, its stone spires stretch toward the sky above, dripping with creeping ivies and trailing lianas. It is a magnificent structure, carved out of the very escarpment that rings this odd little valley. Rey is entranced by the sight and stands straight, one hand lifting to push her goggles up onto her forehead so that she can admire the structure without obstruction.
The sun breaks from behind a cloud, sending a shaft of light down through the loosely woven canopy above. She squints against it, lifts a hand to shade her eyes and catches a glint of something hiding beneath the flora that stretches from one side of the main entrance to the other.
All early caution forgotten in the face of discovery, Rey slings her staff back into place across her shoulders and makes her way up to where that tantalizing glimmer still hides beneath too many twisting vines. It takes barely a thought to lift herself off the ground, and only one more to sweep the rock clear and suddenly, she finds herself at eye level with a symbol that she knows she has never seen before.
At least, not entirely.
Two spirals - one light, one dark - are set into the stone there. They curl around and away from one another, weave together and pull apart. Rey reaches out, brushing tentatively against the gleaming stones; calloused fingers tracing along each rough-hewn whorl.
There is no tension in the lines of it; no struggle. Rather, the twin shapes almost seem to move together. To dance.
He is a solid, unrelenting presence at her back and she presses into him, reveling in the raw, raging strength of him. She can feel his Darkness as if it is a living, breathing thing. It reaches out toward her and something within her — some part of her that she still barely knows — reaches right back and oh, how it makes the blood in her veins sing...
Rey sucks in a sharp breath, yanking her hand back. She drops to the ground, takes a moment. Attempts to center herself.
There is something about this place…
A pulse of power; a shiver within the Force sends Rey stumbling forward, pulled into the shadows that lay within. Something...calls to her…
It never even occurs to her not to answer.
There are times when he wonders why he ever allowed Snoke to shove him into a mask — because, for all the old bastard's derision, the form and figure of Kylo Ren had been entirely of his design.
But this...this is decidedly not one of those times.
On the contrary, at this very moment, he longs for the anonymity that cursed mask offered, because he cannot remember the last time he was this bored.
He sits at the head of a table in one of the many conference rooms aboard the Finalizer. Generals line each long side — some in the flesh, others in image alone. At the other end of the table, Hux stands before a data screen of schematics and purchase orders, detailing the production timeline of a new run of gunships and frigates.
The ginger irritant has been droning on about it for nearly an hour now and he is having a very hard time schooling his features into a neutral expression. Despite what most would believe, he does understand the necessity of such meetings — he had, after all, grown up at the knee of one of the most efficient leaders the Galaxy had ever known — but he is swiftly coming to realize that he is not built for the boardroom.
Hux, who is pointedly ignoring his presence, has made it clear that his attendance here is unnecessary — Supreme Leader Snoke had, after all, been more than happy to leave the day to day details in the hands of his trusted Generals.
It was true...and if there was even a single General in the entire First Order Navy that he honestly believed he could trust, then perhaps he would have done the same.
But he there is not, and so he does not. Until such time as that changes, he will continue to sit in on these meetings, lest some begin to forget just who precisely is in control of this lumbering behemoth of theirs.
Ben?
He stiffens, spine going straight and gloved hand curling into a fist where it rests atop the durasteel tabletop. Her voice in his head was tentative and he got the distinct feeling that she hadn't fully intended to ignite their connection. Remembering her somewhat less than cordial dismissal earlier that morning, he grit his teeth...and ignored her.
She did it to him often enough; perhaps if he offered her the same, she would come to understand just how frustrating it was to be brushed aside.
Ben...please…
His breath catches; stunned to hear that word, in her voice. It was truly unfair, the sheer magnitude of the power she held over him, this infuriating scavenger girl from the back of beyond.
He tries to stay focused though; tries to pretend that his heart is not galloping in his chest. Now isn't a good time, he sends across their link. I'm busy.
There. That sounds suitably aloof, he thinks.
It hurts, Ben…
And just that quickly, he is not thinking at all. He surges to his feet so fast that the chair he was sitting in tips over backwards, crashing to the floor with a clatter that draws the attention of everyone in the room.
Vaguely, he hears Hux call his name — he pays him no mind. Can't see or hear anything beyond the trembling echo of her pain and fear.
Rey. What hurts, Rey? What happened?
He is almost running in his rush to get to his rooms, not caring in the slightest who he knocks over in his haste for privacy.
My leg, comes her choked response. I think...it must have been venomous…
The words make sense, but tell him nothing, though the venomous hits him square in the gut and pours ice water into his veins. He is running now, all pretense swept aside in the face of her distress.
He flings his hand out as he approaches his chamber and the door wrenches open ahead of him. Another flick of his wrist and the moment it slides back shut behind him, he faces the empty space before him and flings the Bond open wide — as wide as either of them ever have before.
Immediately, she is in front of him, back propped against a fallen column of stone, small hands pressed desperately against a bleeding wound in her leg. He is at her side in the space between heartbeats, falling to his knees at her side, his far larger hands knocking hers aside so that he can examine the wound.
"Ben…"
He cannot afford to be distracted, but knows that he will never forget that particular inflection of her voice. He does not know that anyone has ever been relieved to see him before…
The wound is not particularly deep, but the skin around it glows an angry red that concerns him. He brings his hand to his mouth, bites the tip of one finger and pulls off his glove, spits it aside. He lays his bare palm lightly against her skin, earning him a gasp of pain that makes his insides twist.
"Sorry," he says, glances up at her quickly before looking back down again. He closes his eyes, reaches out with his senses.
"Don't apologize," she hisses from between her teeth, though there is none of the usual bite to her words. "Not for this — not for helping me."
He does not answer, too focused on the task at hand. Power flows through him like a river, pouring into her, drawing out the venom that had been crawling its vicious, viscous way through her bloodstream. A few minutes later, he hears her pull in a deep breath, followed by a sigh of utter relief and he can feel her body relax as the air leaves her lungs.
"Better?"
She actually laughs at that, a small trilling thing that sends a flare of warmth straight to the center of his chest. He earned a laugh...
"Gods, yes," she groans and he tilts his head up just in time to see her reach up and yank her hood down before swiping a gloved hand across her sweat-drenched forehead. It leaves a smear of blood in its wake and he feels his stomach roll at the sight.
Without thinking, he reaches out with his naked hand, yanking the cowl the rest of the way off her head and wiping away that offensive streak of red. His eyes meet hers briefly before he drops the now-stained bit of fabric into her lap. "Your hands are bloody," he says curtly, his fear for her — a terror like none he has ever known — beginning to drain away.
It leaves him edgy; shaking with the knowledge of what would have happened had they not been tethered so tightly to one another.
The venom in her veins had been plentiful...and virulent. Had it been allowed to run its course…
He swallows against the bile that burns the back of this throat. Cannot bring himself to even think the word.
"Well...that's these pants done, then."
He looks down. She is fingering the ragged hole that lays now above a wound that is doubtless painful, but no longer fatal. She looks up at him then and she is smiling, hazel eyes glinting with amusement.
He finds nothing amusing about this situation at all.
Growling, he pushes up to his feet, whirling away from her. "I'm not going to bother asking what the hell you were doing out here alone in what I suspect is the middle of absolutely nowhere…"
"Smart, that," she quips, "since I wouldn't have told you if you did."
She is not taking this seriously. He has never been so righteously furious in his entire life. "Do you have any idea what could have…". He stops, rounds on her, glaring down at her hotly. "You could have died, Rey."
She huffs, somewhere between annoyed and flustered. "Yeah. I know. Sorry about that."
His eyes narrow dangerously. "Sorry?"
She shifts uncomfortably and he can feel her temper flare up to meet his own. "Is there something else I should say instead? I've not had the advantage of a royal upbringing, you see, so you'll forgive me if I don't know all the proper protocols…"
"Do not be flippant about this!"
She huffs, turns her face away from him. After a moment, her shoulders droop. "I didn't mean to upset you," she says, softer now, her anger spent for the time being. "I shouldn't have called for you. I didn't actually mean to, if that helps? It just...I was scared and it was just...instinct."
Later, he knows that he will revel in that offhand admission; those words - the meaning hidden behind them - more precious to him than she could ever comprehend. For now though, he sets them aside.
"You calling to me is not the problem. You needing my help at all is the problem."
She draws back as if he has struck her, pulling away from him both physically and mentally. "I told you it was an accident. I'll make sure it never happens again, so you needn't worry."
He is certain of it then — there is no one in the great wide swath of the Galaxy as infuriating as she is.
"You," he spits, "are impossible. You shouldn't need my help, Rey, because you should have been able to help yourself - or have you forgotten the near limitless power that lies at your command?"
Her cheeks flush, her embarrassment so thick that it hangs like a cloud around the both of them and for the first time in a long time, he doesn't feel even the slightest pang of remorse at being the cause of her discomfort.
"I...I didn't know." She stops, jaw clenching - he watches the play of muscles beneath her skin, along the column of her neck; ignores the way his fingers twitch, longing to touch. "I had no idea that you could...do that. With the Force, I mean."
She says it simply. Humbly. Ashamed of her ignorance.
Now...now he feels the guilt bubble up inside of him; now he is the one whose jaw clenches. His anger vanishes, the fog of it burned away by the too-bright truth of her, and he is left with nothing but a lingering frustration. For her, this time, rather than at her.
"Rey," he says her name softly, savoring the shape of it on his tongue.
She hears the change in his voice and her head tilts back, hazel eyes wide and wounded. He takes a step toward her and then another, lowers himself down to one knee before her, meeting her eyes squarely and firmly for the first time in this exchange.
"When I told you that you needed a teacher, this is what I meant."
Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, some of her vulnerability falling away. "It wasn't all you meant."
His lips twist, the grin wry and half-formed. "No, it wasn't," he agrees, because there is no point attempting to lie to her; she would feel the falsehood before it had fully passed his lips. "But it was part of it. You forget - I know how it is for you. I remember. We have so much power, you and I. The big things come easy. It's the small things - the simple things - that we need help with."
She is staring at him now as if she has never seen him before - and perhaps she hasn't. Not so completely, at least. He cannot remember ever having been so simply himself with anyone in the whole of his adult life as he has just been with her.
"I…" she stops and he holds his breath as her arm lifts and small, skilled fingers brush gently against the arm that rests across his knee. "Thank you, Ben."
Her words are a balm to wounds he had forgotten every existed; her gratitude so simple and heartfelt that it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to grab her hand, pull her to him, press his lips against the beat of the pulse in her wrist.
Aware of just how quickly she would pull away should he even attempt such a thing, he masters himself, burying the temptation beneath the concerns he still has for her well-being.
"Please," he says, holding her eyes with purposeful intent. "I know you won't learn from me, but please, Rey...find someone to teach you to heal yourself." A memory strikes him; a flash of remembrance that feels like relief. "Kanata. Maz Kanata - you have met her, have you not?"
The name clearly sparks a memory for her as well - her eyes flash, her anger at him bleeding back into her face. "I have, yes. Just before you blew up her home and took me prisoner."
She is packing herself away again; he can see it in her body language. Can feel her annoyance with herself flare across their Bond - she has been weak, she thinks, to have let him in as she did. Weak and foolish, to have forgotten what he was. What he is.
He sighs - back to square one. He ignores her barbs this time, too intent on her safety to argue semantics with her. "Perfect. She'll be able to help you. Find her."
Without giving her a chance to respond - he doesn't have the stomach to argue with her; not today - he cuts the connection between them.
For a long time, he stays as he is, kneeling on the floor, eyes on the stars streaking past against the blackness of space.
They cannot continue like this.
But he cannot fathom either of them bending enough to do anything else...
Next up...what the hell happened to Rey? What, if anything, did she find in the temple? Stay tuned, kids! :)
