The collective unconscious – so far as we can say anything about it at all – appears to consist of mythological motifs or primordial images, for which reason the myths of all nations are its real exponents. In fact, the whole of mythology could be taken as a sort of projection of the collective unconscious. … We can therefore study the collective unconscious in two ways, either in mythology or in the analysis of the individual. [C. G. Jung, "The Structure of the Psyche," CW 8, par. 325.]
We'll be sufferin' here
In the blood, in the fear
If your Judas be man
I will kill you if I can
Children born to get high
Turn your heads to the sky
We're burnin' in the heat below
Mark Lannegan & UNKLE, Looking for the rain to fall.
The Force hums peacefully between them – no lighting to tear them apart, no crumbling walls around them to reveal their shame to the world. Just the peaceful dimmed light of Coruscant and the silence of that early morning. Her belly rumbles, but she doesn't want to leave that place at his side. Summoning things with the Force requires at least some degree of focus, and now both of them have none and don't care. He giggles openly to that simple noise and stands up to his feet so he can bring the fruit to her. She falls over the bed, trying to keep him there by clinging to his loose trousers only to make him kick them off altogether. She laughs at the spectacle and he returns the laughter. It is really something completely silly. Such simple anatomy for something otherworldly: but as he turns back to her, he realizes she observes him with devotion. She never saw him or heard him laugh. She feels safe. He made her feel safe. The bloody Jedi Killer made her feel safe.
It is all just insanity, but maybe that's all there is and everything else is just over-philosophizing the simple facts of life.
She wants a home; a safe-haven; something detached from the rest of the world completely. A place of her own – and she invited him there. He feels overwhelmed with joy and honor. Had he known that he'd ever have this effect on anyone, his 13-year old self would feel so much less alone. His transition to Jedi academy would go so much smoother. He might even find some peace with his uncle…
What is he thinking? Is this how it feels or is it just her, mending his mind with some Jedi skill she learned on the way and he didn't?
But she does seem blissfully unaware as she eats the Jaquira fruit, ripe red juice dripping on her chin. He smiles at her awkwardness but lets her stain the bed and everything else with it. Let her do whatever she wants, like yester night.
He didn't intend to come inside her. But then again, he didn't want to use protection with her either. He wanted her whole – not some sort of surrogate contact, but the real her. His life was long ago turned into one prolonged tortuous episode, but this is a sort of torment he never had before.
What if she stays pregnant?
His mind is troubled for a moment as he struggles to find a secret hint, a prophetic dream, a vision of the future. But there is nothing coming to his mind save for her peaceful purring at his side.
And what if she does really? Wouldn't it be just – grand? Imagine that powerful bloodline, those scions of the Force – children with her Butterfly Nebula eyes and his stature. Imagine the message it would send to the galaxy – his powerful Empress, not a delicate flower, not a sporty Jedi in training, but a powerful woman, fertile and strong.
It almost makes him stiff again.
On the side note, imagine the Resistance receiving that news (they still gathered like an old Dejarik club they were reduced to). Imagine the pilot-turned General imagining her sweet Jedi ass covered in his cum.
But as soon as these thoughts practically intrude on him, he regrets it. He wants to pull his brain out from his skull.
She heard him and the wonder is gone. They plummet from that special place, from her safe-haven, directly again to that snow covered forest on top of the Starkiller Base. And from there, they sink down even further – she sends the whole Mustafar scenery to his brain; molten lava, mindless rage and destruction all bundled up. And what's most important, Mustafar she has never seen.
But this is something straight from the Jedi collective unconscious.
His saber is in her hands, active even before it hits her palm. The rage makes the saber yield to her. He tries to snatch it from her – but her pull is so strong and he is still unfocused, unlike her. His saber is now inches from his neck, hissing at him like a rattle-snake, pricking his skin with the unstable energy emission.
Get out.
Rey.
Get out.
She practically kicks him out of that bed. The walls tremble with her sheer power and she throws the deactivated saber at him as he scraps his clothes from the floor. He disgusts her. His saber disgusts her. She took it only to make a point. Or to slay him – he doesn't know which. Only her consideration for the fate of the Resistance stops her from detaching his head from his body or slicing him in half like Snoke.
Now he becomes enraged.
"Stop it", he growls. "You're going to draw the attention of the whole planet to this place".
Isn't that exactly what you wanted?
He looks at her as he buttons up his pants.
That compassion is back again – it never left him.
"No", he answers sincerely in his own voice. "No, never – they are nothing to me. The whole lot of them is nothing to me".
He wants to say a lot of other things, like: "But you are not. You are everything to me. I'd burn the whole damn place to the ground if it would make this go away. I would throw myself right in the reactor core of a Death Star if it would please you. Please – forgive me. I am sorry".
But he is too proud and too rigid, and she is too furious and too hurt.
And has the higher ground – he let her go there himself.
Get out.
The blast door closes with a resounding slam behind him.