Welcome back and to get the pesky disclaimer out of the way: still not mine.
"Don't fool yourself, Rey. The Force never plays an active part in the galaxy." Skywalker whispered, and she could feel how his fingers twitched as if he wanted to squeeze her hand. "It is a passive entity, emotionless, unmoved by the happenings in the universe, content to simply be. It's us who are searching for a deeper meaning in its manifestations. Let me tell you, there's none."
"You are the expert." Rey conceded with a shrug, sensing they would have to revisit this topic much later. She could almost taste the unpleasant taste of his bitterness towards the Force, sharp and poignant. His brows furrowed and Rey quickly continued.
"I just like the island, the ocean. It's beautiful. And you are here, and you are real. I don't need any other reasons to be here, Mas-" she stopped in time and gave him a small sheepish grin, willing him to believe this at least. Did he understand what she was trying to say? Rey wasn't sure herself. She believed in the Force and saw this situation in an entirely different light than Skywalker.
She hadn't thought it possible to have a destiny, a meaning, be someone who mattered. Yet here she was, learning that something so much bigger than her had led her to a man who needed Rey's help before he could go and save the rest of the galaxy. It was a heavy burden for a girl from Jakku to carry, and she tried very hard to suppress the accompanying feelings of utter terror.
Why me? That was the question Rey wanted to ask, like so many before had, but she thought better of it. Why not? She liked to do nice things for people who were important to her and Skywalker had been the person closest to her for most of Rey's life. Knowing he was real, how could she refuse to help? It was inconceivable to leave the island, to turn her back to the Force – to let her friend suffer so.
Skywalker stared at her for a long time, and Rey was unable to read his expression. A rather large part of her was happy she could not feel his emotions because his eyes were filled with pain so acute she expected him to keel over. Hesitantly, he squeezed her fingers back.
Then his eyes darted around almost nervously, and he let go of Rey's hand, passing her and heading towards the stairs. "The wind's picking up. Come, or we'll be blown off the cliff."
"That doesn't sound like a pleasant experience, Master Skywalker." Rey jogged after him. He certainly didn't move like a man his age – even though Rey was not entirely certain how old Skywalker actually was. "Oh-uuumph!"
He stopped abruptly, and Rey crashed right into his back, bracing herself against his shoulder blades.
"I remember telling you not to call me that," he said, voice tight, and Rey caught only a glimpse of his face when he cast a glance at her over his shoulder. She could feel how he tensed under her palms. "I'm no one's master."
"Alright." Rey nodded and quickly lowered her hands as if burnt. "But how can I call you, then?"
"I don't think we need to cover that, Rey. It was nice of you to visit, but you are not staying here much longer." His voice changed, sounding completely void of emotions, detached and empty. It felt wrong – she had never heard him use a tone like that.
He started to walk down, without another word, without turning when Rey shouted, "What? No! Wait! Come back!"
Damn the man, he was the one jogging down the stairs now to lengthen the distance between them while Rey slipped and stumbled after him on the moss-covered stones. The most painful memory of her childhood echoed in the back of her mind, the same words, the same feeling. Wait. Come back.
When Rey made it down the cliff, the suns were setting, and there was no trace of Master Skywalker. She hated the stairs, the moss. Who would have guessed how something so nicely green could be so slippery.
Rey sent a message to Chewie not to worry and not to wait for her with dinner, or at all. Then she spent almost half an hour looking for the hidden path leading to the several small stone huts on the leeward part of the island. She wasn't that helpless child anymore and walking away from her did not mean the conversation was over.
After another ten minutes, she found Skywalker's dwelling. She knew which hut was his – it was the only one with a roof and walls which he had painstakingly repaired with his own hands. Light poured of the single small window near the door.
Rey took a deep breath and knocked.
No response.
She knocked louder.
Then she knocked with her boot, the door rattling in its hinges.
"Go away."
"No!"
"I said, go away! What part of that do you not understand?"
"Well, I don't plan on going anywhere!"
She didn't remember him being this stubborn. Rey hit the door one last time and marched a few steps away from the hut. She felt as if she should be more respectful, more mindful with whom she was talking. However, for Rey, he was not some unreachable legend, not even her teacher who deserved respect by default. For Rey, whose nerves had suffered several terrible shocks in a very short span of time, he was just unreasonable, and it made her blood boil.
Force, they had not even broached the subject of the Resistance or her training. Had she mentioned that she was Force-sensitive enough to have Kylo Ren offering her an apprentice position? Rey wasn't sure.
There was a stone bench close to the hut, and Rey made her way to it walking backward, sitting down tiredly, and all the while burning holes through that door with her eyes. She could take it off the hinges, she knew she could. There was enough frustration bubbling under her skin to probably level the whole hut to the ground. Then again, from the little scraps she had gathered, the Jedi did not act in anger – that could lead them dangerously close to the Dark Side.
Rey's eyes widened, and she gasped, her hand coming up to cover the mouth.
Anger. Pain. Fear. The Dark Side.
How tempting it was for Rey to knock on Skywalker's door with the Force because she was a little frustrated with him? The thought had entered her mind, and what was worse, she knew that using the bit of anger as fuel for it was easy. Almost natural.
Those emotions were very close to the surface in him. How tempting it was for Skywalker to use the betrayal of his nephew as fuel for revenge? Not because someone had not opened a door, but because someone had murdered every single one of his students, burnt down his home, destroyed his family and thrown the whole galaxy into chaos.
Rey shivered and turned away from the hut, pulling her knees close to her chest and mentally preparing herself for an uncomfortable night.
The darkness fell. The temperature dropped. The door stayed closed.
When the dream comes, Rey is aware of its true nature. The emotions are enough to squeeze a gasp out of her, and she fights for breath, trying to not choke on the remorse. Slowly, she rises from the bench and opens the door.
Skywalker is sitting there in semi-darkness. The fire went out, and only glowing embers remain, painting him in harsh red and orange colors. He is hunched over near the fireplace, hands clasped tightly between his knees, head bowed, staring at nothing.
The guilt is suffocating. How can one man feel so much without being crushed by the weight of those emotions?
"Hey."
"Come and sit. It's cold outside." He doesn't – can't – look at her. Rey doesn't hesitate and flops down on the floor next to him, seeking the lingering warmth of the fire. It really is cold outside, almost freezing. She idly wonders about the island's weather. The afternoon was pleasant, but most of her memories hold an undercurrent of ever-present chill in the air.
She observes his profile, the deep lines carved into his face, the defeated look in his eyes. She finds herself wanting to reach out to him as she has done countless times before but Rey stops herself. It feels too intrusive now she knows the truth. Outside of this dream, Skywalker shies from contact, and she will respect that.
"Don't."
"What am I doing?"
"Do not look at me like that."
Rey feels the urge to cry, but she also knows that Skywalker will not. It has always been her who shed the tears without really understanding why she felt in such a way. Her own heart is breaking with the knowledge, and it is so damn uncomfortable. The last thing she wants is for Skywalker to feel how much his heartache hurts her. He can interpret it as pity, and Rey has a feeling that Skywalker wouldn't stand that. She doubts they can lie to each other, sharing emotions effectively cancels that, but they still can misunderstand and misinterpret the feelings, or omit the truth.
"Like what?"
"Like it's alright, Rey. It's not. I-" he clears his throat and covers his eyes with his good hand. The guilt, the shame, the fear accumulated over the years are too much for one person to feel. He has to let go. "I'm sorry."
"I know." On its own accord, Rey's hand rises and gently rests on his forearm, pulling his hands away to see his face. "I can't help I look at you like it's alright, you know. For me, it is – no harm done."
"No harm done?" Skywalker repeats incredulously and turns to Rey. A humorless chuckle forces its way out of his mouth, and he shakes his head. "How can you say that? Don't you see? I have ruined everything I have ever touched."
"You haven't." Returning his gaze without blinking, she curls her fingers around his forearm. He doesn't shy away this time, only stares at her as if he is seeing her for the first time. In some ways, this really is their first meeting.
Rey can feel when he starts pushing those gut-wrenching emotions away because their oppressive weight slowly lifts and eventually disappears, leaving them – him – just tired and empty. Rey lets it go for the moment. His guilt is one of the many things they will need to deal with in the future but now is not the time.
"I'm sorry I didn't open the door," he says suddenly, and a fresh wave of his shame washed over them, quickly followed by a spike of anger directed at himself, not Rey. "That was very rude of me."
"It's fine," Rey assures him and lets go of his arm. "You were upset and so was I. It's probably a good thing we didn't talk."
"No, Rey, it's unforgivable." Skywalker rises and goes to the other end of the hut where his cot is. He tugs at the blanket and brings it to her, throwing it over her shoulders without meeting Rey's eyes. "I've left you outside."
"I've endured far, far worse, you know." Rey shrugs. She really doesn't understand why he is getting so emotional over the little disagreement. It is nothing major, and they apparently got over it – at least Rey hopes so because she is not leaving the island anytime soon.
"Yes, exactly!" Skywalker slowly sits back down. With his gaze averted to the fireplace, he reaches for Rey's hand. The movement is quick and decisive, but his touch feels like a brush of a feather – as if he reached for her before he could think better of it and then gave her enough space to pull away.
Rey doesn't, only observes him with curiosity.
"I am well aware of that. I was there when you were hungry and cold, discarded by those who had no longer any use for you. I remember… well," he says almost inaudibly. "Even if my mind tried to convince me it was not real, I remember wishing to be able to help you so you would never go another night without food and a warm hearth, thinking you didn't matter."
Something warm flutters around them, tentative and caring – like a gentle breeze caressing sunburned skin. Rey furiously blinks several times. Skywalker stares straight ahead, holding her hand loosely in his, breathing heavily.
"I am so very sorry for not opening the door, Rey." He turns to look at her and Rey finds herself gazing into a pair of familiar eyes filled with regret. Even in the reddish glow of the dying embers, they are still so very blue – like the ocean surrounding the island. He's not the Jedi Master Skywalker, the Rebellion war hero and the last hope of the Resistance. He is her oldest friend. It's time to start acting like it.
"It's alright, Luke," Rey says and smiles, knowing he can feel her sincerity when the hold on her hand becomes firmer. All is well, at least for now.
When Rey opened her eyes in the morning, she found herself wrapped in a warm blanket and a long cloak smelling faintly of leather and something light and sweet. She was curled on the cot inside of Luke's hut, and daylight was streaming in through the window.
That was unexpected and Rey didn't have a clue how it had happened. Then the door opened, and the answer walked in, carrying inside two large canisters of water. Luke had discarded the Jedi robes and wore a dark tunic and trousers with his lightsaber hanging from the broad leather belt.
"Oh, good morning." He nodded her way and set the water down. His face was carefully neutral as he observed her. Rey watched as he clasped his hands behind his back and looked at as if he was bracing himself to face a firing squad of Stormtroopers. He was unsure of where they stood, and it calmed Rey considerably. Her people skills weren't the best, and his were obviously rusty after all those years of exile.
"Hello, Luke," she chirped. It was going to be a good day, she thought.
He started slightly at her using his given name but then his eyes smiled – only for a moment, something sparked in those blue depths and twinkled at her before the ever-present cloud of grief returned.
"Are you hungry?" he said next and busied himself rummaging through the hut, looking for cooking utilities. "Of course you are – well. You are lucky because I am the only one in the entire galaxy who can make an Ahch-To algae salad."
"Algae?"
"Seaweed. It's very healthy."
There was a beat of silence and Luke glanced at her. Seeing her puzzled expression, he added, "Fish for dinner, don't worry. I know I don't make the best first impressions, but I am not that mean."
"I'll eat whatever you set in front of me." Rey hopped from the cot and folded the blanket, putting his cloak carefully on top of it. "Who knows? Maybe I'll like Ahch-To seaweed."
"I am rather concerned by the level of trust you put in me, Rey."
The playfulness of the previous exchange disappeared and when Rey turned to look at Luke. He stood stock still, face serious, holding two wooden bowls tightly in his grasp, his knuckles white. His eyes searched Rey's face as he asked, "Why?"
He was unable to comprehend it, and Rey wondered what would it take to make him see himself through her eyes. There was no doubt that he had made mistakes and that he was far from the Jedi ideal everyone thought him to be but Rey hated to think about how he viewed himself – just the fact that he believed he had to live apart from everybody was alarming. Then there were the moments when he had gone swimming, or rock climbing to better see the stars. Looking back to those memories, Rey's heart broke all over again. How he could not see?
He wouldn't believe her if she told him how she thought of him. Human, fractured, honest, compassionate, and caring – but most of all, brave for living another, and another, and another day, struggling under the burned which was not only his to carry.
"You were always kind to me. If not you, who else?" Rey said casually and went closer to him. The urge to shake him until he would see sense was strong. Rey opted for putting her arms around his shoulders in a cautious, open hug. She stepped away quickly before Luke could even take a surprised breath.
"Now, you promised me a salad. I can't wait to taste it." Seeing the frown on his face, she added, "After breakfast, we can talk some more."
AN:
Dear Red, thank you so much for your comment and your kind words! I have some ideas where to take these two poor Force users. Some bits and pieces from Episode VIII might make an appearance, but this story won't be canon-compliant.
Hope you all had fun reading it and see you in the next chapter!