Chapter 2

He is screaming, writhing. face contorted in agony when he feels a hand, smaller than his own shaking his shoulder. Instinctively, he recoils from it until his vision clears, and he sees his daughter's frightened and concerned face. "Luke-Father. It's all right. You were having a nightmare." She offers her hand and helps him to his feet.

"I'm sorry if I woke you." He doesn't meet her eyes. "I'll make us some tea." She follows him into the makeshift kitchen, sits down while he starts to heat water and steeps leaves from an old battered fuel container. It reminds her of her home on Jakku, everything recycled and cobbled together. She can tell that just like her, he's used to living with very little and putting everything to use.

"I'm used to waking up early for work anyway. I don't sleep very well most nights." She stares into the warm cup he hands her. "I have nightmares too or maybe they're visions. I don't know."

"With time, you'll learn how to tell the difference, but visions are deceptive. I've made some terrible mistakes in my life chasing after images in visions." The fingers of his prosthetic twitch, curling inward towards his fist. He catches Rey watching his movements and subconsciously tugs the sleeve down over the juncture of flesh and machine.

"How did you get that?" She studies the plastic and metal, listens to the faint motion of the servos and gears, wonders if the now-outdated technology causes him pain.

"I rushed to face Darth Vader before I was fully-trained. I was angry, brash, seeking revenge. I was lucky to survive at all."

"Why don't you replace it? You could have a new hand with synthetic flesh," she says.

He raises the hand, contemplates the stiff joints, flexes the fingers with audible whirrs and clicks. "Like me, it's a relic from another time. And...it serves as a reminder of how close I once came to falling to the Dark Side."

She leans forward, extending her hand. "May I?"

Though his eyes dart like those of a caged beast, he extends his hand, palm up and allows her to push back his sleeve. She examines the connection point and the joints. "Some of the servos are corroded and it's placing excess strain on the wrist. It must hurt you."

He shrugs. "Just a dull ache in the wrist in bad weather."

She regards his hand as she would any machine. A series of parts in a complicated puzzle, all functioning together. "I think I can make a few adjustments so the joints don't freeze up as much and improve your range of motion."

"You don't have to do this, Rey." He starts to withdraw his hand, but she holds it firmly in place.

"It will only take me a few minutes. I can fix almost anything." She smiles and takes a series of tools from the pouch on her belt. "Let me know if anything hurts."

He averts his eyes. "I can't feel anything anymore below the wrist." She raises her eyes for a moment, then goes back to her work, feeling his shame.

After a few adjustments, she sets her tools down. "There. How does that feel?"

He raises his hand, rubs the wrist and flexes the digits one by one. "Better. Thank you."

She catches his artificial hand and squeezes it, but the gesture fills him with regret and sadness that washes over their bond. Sensing his strong emotions, she extends her other hand, takes his warm human hand in her own and squeezes it tightly.

"How did you learn to do that?" He asks.

"I've always been good with machines. This is the first time I've ever fixed one of these, though." She smiles shyly.

"That's something that seems to run in our family. I had a beat up old Skyhopper I used to fly back home on Tatooine when I was about your age. I spent most of my free time repairing it. "

"Really? Isn't Tatooine a desert planet like Jakku?"

"Yes. I had hoped you would get to grow up somewhere different. Somewhere green." His eyes have a faraway look for a moment as he can almost hear the old craft's engine straining and feel the wind whipping through his hair as he flies through the section of Beggar's Canyon known as "the Needle".

She watches him, then shakes him from his musings with her question. "Will you tell me about it?"

He nods and then says. "My aunt and uncle raised me. We didn't have much, but they did the best they could. They were moisture farmers."

She notices the way his expression darkens as he furrows his brow. "What happened to them?"

He takes a deep breath, gets up from where he is seated and rifles through cabinets in a somewhat distracted and purposeless manner. "The Empire came looking for a droid. I was away from home when they tracked it to the farm. When I came back...there was nothing left."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."

He turns back to face her. "It's all right. This was long ago. It was because of that droid that I met my first Jedi master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I would probably never have become a Jedi without him. And he led me to Han, Leia, and Chewie." He smiles, a smile filled with regret.

"The General needs you. Han Solo is dead." For a moment, she is stunned by how abruptly the words tumble from her lips.

"I know. I felt his passing." He closes his eyes, remembers the pain shooting through his chest, followed by the absolute darkness in the part of his mind where he felt Han's presence. "He was a good man and one of my best friends."

His daughter studies him a moment. "I'm glad I got to meet him...before..."

"So...you were with him when it happened?"

"I was there when Kylo Ren killed him." She shuts her eyes as tears begin to stream down her cheeks.

Luke lowers his head. "I wanted to believe he could return to the light. That there was still the same bright boy I taught somewhere inside him."

When she manages to reply, her fists are clenched and her voice is coarse with anger and hatred. "He's a monster."

"He is a man who has lost his way," Luke says. "Once, he was one of my brightest pupils. I had never seen such potential, such power. There was a time when he was like a son to me...when I carried him in my arms, held him on my shoulders."

"Then, he betrayed you. Why didn't you stay and fight rather than go into hiding like a coward?" Before Rey realizes it, the words have slipped out, and she cannot take them back. The expression on his face is heartbreaking.

"I'm sorry," she says quickly. "I didn't mean.."

The drooping shoulders, the lowered head, the altogether desolate expression as he leaves are almost too much for her to bear. Without another word, he seeks solace in a cave on the other side of the island, the damp and the silence fitting. He studies the scratch marks lining one wall.

The young woman tries to reach out to him with her fledgling skills, but finds his mind closed, his presence shrouded in self-loathing and despair. In that moment, she feels like the little girl on Jakku, shouting for her father to come back.