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.:Kylo Ren:.
Chapter Four: Ebb of The Tide
Poe Dameron woke in the dim lighting of a darkened med-bay. Orange light glowed softly from slits in the white ceiling overhead, and medical drones purred past on motored limbs or treads. The hospital had been prepared for the night, and new staff walked quietly past, giving the pilot a few curious glances before moving on.
They were right to be confused by his presence, since he technically wasn't supposed to be here (healthy and whole didn't fit well in the Resistance's med-bays). The curvaceous nurse that had allowed him to stay was probably off-duty by now, so there was no obvious explanation for why Poe was sleeping, curled up on his side in thin, pale blankets and rumpled leather clothes, in one of the medical berths.
Poe blinked at the bleached desk beside his bed, still clearing the fog of sleep from his mind.
A pair of red goggles stared back at him - vivid and gleaming. He frowned at them, something stirring in his brain. He hadn't worn goggles like that to the med-bay, but they were on the supplies desk associated with his bed.
Something clicked, and Poe closed his eyes, a humorless smirk curling at his lips.
"Have you been watching me sleep?" He asked, voice rasping and tired in his own throat.
The response was immediate, dry and sarcastic. "I wanted a proper nightmare rather than those watered down things they keep forcing on me."
Poe rolled in the blankets, looking over at the figure who was seated at his bedside. "Still having trouble with those, then?" He asked seriously, frowning.
The woman in the chair gave him a thin smile, her fine blue features stretching. She wore an officer's uniform, fitted perfectly to her willowy figure. Green eyes, luminous and catlike, blinked thoughtfully at the pilot. "No trouble I haven't asked for." She answered, voice husky and deeper than a woman's should be.
Poe snorted, turning his attention back onto the ceiling overhead and stretching his arms. "You should take the medication." He yawned, words garbled and distorted in his mouth.
"Medication's nauseating."
"What, literally?"
"Yes."
Poe gave her a raised eyebrow. "So you're choosing freakishly terrifying nightmares over nausea." He said flatly. The woman smiled again, her perfect teeth gleaming. Poe sighed, running a hand through his mussed hair and jerking himself suddenly into a sitting position. That turned out to be a bad idea, and he doubled over with a groan.
"Still sore from your last flight, then?" The woman asked.
He answered her with a derisive snort.
Her name was Kinsley, and she held the respectable position of second lieutenant, assigned to the operation and maintenance of the TIE-fighters. That was how Poe had first met her.
The ring on her left hand proved how important that first meeting had been.
Poe smiled, reaching out suddenly. She met his hand without hesitation, wry smirk fading into something softer. Their fingers intertwined, warm and calloused, and she leaned forward to brace her weight on his bed. "You did good." She said, and Poe's smile tightened.
Trust it to Kinsley to bring back the worries he had been avoiding thinking about, and soothe them in the same moment.
"We almost didn't make it." He whispered back, grinning without humor.
She nodded, and there was a stiffness in her neck - a tension in her shoulders. "I saw. I heard."
For the next few hours, there was only the soft swell of respirators and the murmur of medical equipment. The smell of sterile chemicals was sharp in the air, but the couple was warm and comfortable in the dim lighting. Peace surrounded them; the sighing aftermath of a vicious battle. The dead were already mourned and gone. The living were recovering.
It was a good day in the Resistance.
Rey hadn't left. She couldn't bear to.
The sand was soft and wet beneath her knees, soaking her clothes with the wet of lapping waves. Warm breeze pulled gently at her braided hair, pushing her tears away in slanting tracks down her cheeks. Luke Skywalker's lightsaber was cold and heavy in her hands, cradled in her lap as she slumped upon the shore.
All she had ever heard of the Jedi had been hopeful for his return, if only he could be found. Commander Leia's desperate eyes flashed in Rey's mind's eye, tired and old. Han Solo's bitter sadness ached in her heart, and she could remember his wry, hapless smile when she had spoken the Jedi's name.
So many needed Luke Skywalker, but none of them realized how shattered the man would be... least of all Rey.
She had been so confused by him; by his promises and his strangely empty friendliness - as though he were going through remembered motions of polite interaction. But the Jedi's despair had conquered, as had his bitterness.
Rey didn't know what it was precisely that he hated, but there was hatred and sadness in Luke Skywalker - she had felt it very clearly, though she hadn't recognized it for what it was until too late.
Now she sat on a wet beach, the grassy slopes of the Jedi's mountain rearing stoically behind her, and cried.
Rey didn't like to cry. It felt weak, and it always brought trouble on Jakku- scorn and laughter followed anyone who wept, no matter what they were mourning. Maybe it was because the trials were too great to survive, if one mourned... maybe it was a defense to laugh instead of join tears together. Or maybe Jakku was as harsh as she had always believed, and no one thought there was anything in the world worth crying over.
But here, now, there didn't seem anything else to do, and for that Rey cried.
They had counted on her - Leia and Han, Poe Dameron and Finn- gods, Finn was counting on her... Finn was lying in a hospital bed, sliced open and unconscious, because of the evil he had stood against. The evil he couldn't beat.
Rey could beat that monstrosity - the First Order - but she needed to learn... needed to understand the things Kylo Ren had offered to teach her, and Luke Skywalker refused to show her.
The Jedi had touched a sore point when he mentioned Ben Solo's alternative name. Rey could remember the horrific fury of that night - the awful battle and the hatred she'd felt. She remembered Finn's still, wounded body staining the white snow red. She remembered fires and explosions - screams and the smell of burning flesh. Most of all, she remembered Kylo Ren's - Ben Solo's - haunting, hungry eyes piercing into hers during his interrogation.
The moment the Sith had taken off his mask, Rey had hated him.
As a masked monster, Kylo Ren was no more twisted than any other evil creature. It was easy to battle him then - to imagine him as a faceless entity she had to defeat. But when he'd taken off his mask - when she'd seen the human face and the pained, bitter expression - Rey was forced to see that the thing before her was no monster, evil by nature and easy to battle. No, Kylo Ren was a person - the human son of Han Solo and Commander Leia - who had chosen to abandon all the things Rey wished were hers. And she hated him for it.
Another sob racked her frame. Rey shuddered, sinking into herself and pressing her face into her knees.
So much had been given for the sake of beating the First Order of which Ben Solo was just a part, but she could do nothing, now. Solo had a master, he'd said - she knew master's exceeded apprentices, and her victory over Ben had been mostly luck. There would be no one to fight whatever depraved mind had trained Ben and seduced him to the Dark Side... no one to stand as opposition to the Sith's powers, now that Skywalker had refused to train her.
Rey was only a scavenger, and all her hopes of becoming more were washed away - as weak and dissolving as the sand beneath her knees.
A step sounded behind her, and Rey's head jerked up, eyes wide and startled.
Skywalker's hooded form stood at the base of the mountain path, sandaled feet just shy of the sand. He leaned heavily on an old staff, and his blue eyes watched her without expression.
When he spoke, his voice was cracked and old, every word seeming to take an enormous amount of effort.
"Come back inside, young one, and tell me your story."
Rey blinked at him, clearing her throat and trying to subtly scrub away her tears with the back of her hand. "You changed your mind?" She challenged bitterly, glaring at him.
The blue eyes softened, a sadness intensifying behind their light. "...Come inside." The Jedi repeated. Then he turned around on his sandals and began to walk back up the trail, staff clicking against the cobbles.
After a few moments, Rey followed.