( Her hesitation, the instinctive - maybe - rise and fall of her hand as she briefly weighs the pros and cons of reaching out to him before she decides otherwise flutter at the corner of his peripheral vision once he's looked away again, but Kylo pretends not to notice, glancing over once more only after she's stood up. Their new position is not so different from what they both saw earlier. Trading the projected image of the bridge for the soft, melting earth, and his knees for a seat on the ground, it's nearly the same. He watches her clamber to her feet, steady in the shifting dirt, and looks up at her with his palm still flat and fingers splayed like a five-point star. There is no open curiosity or any degree of wonder written on his face as he turns it up toward her; his features have carefully rearranged themselves back into something befitting the removal of his mask. A mask itself, damp and dirty but showing nothing. Making a conscious effort to, at least.
It's hardly the first time that someone has mentioned those three words to him. All that power. It isn't the first time that he's heard it in that same tone before, either. Those words have followed him around his whole life, from careful, conscious awe to heartbroken disappointment, Skywalker's voice like a warning reminder against Snoke's soft, smooth whisper in his ear, a promise. Some of it had been imagined, and some of it had been real. Eventually the lines blurred and distorted until determining which was the illusion and which the reality seemed unimportant, and it all became real. Rey's implication is tangible in the cooling Corellian air, but Kylo does't balk at it. Once you've heard the Supreme Leader imply that your power is not enough, little else measures up.
He feels an eyebrow quirk at her question, but he stays on the ground for what feels like a long time after she's spoken, staring up at her in a way that manages to take all of her in at once, from the dark folds in the fabric she wears to the relaxed bend in her fingers as they hang at her sides. Skywalker's training is evident in every crease and line of her body in a fight, in the way that she handles the Force and uses it to guide and strengthen her, her footwork and the accuracy that she's gaining with a lightsaber. But it isn't all him, and Kylo can see that as plainly as anything. The way she holds herself, the weight of her conviction and attitude, the way in which she calls the Force to her and the way in which it responds, it's every bit the girl that he encountered in the forest.
He stands, one hand planted beneath him, fingers sinking into the mud under the weight of his frame rising slowly from the ground. At his full height, he is so much larger than she is that the idea of ever being unable to subdue and capture her seems ridiculous. One foot rises and falls and slides a fraction of an inch in the mud as he steps toward her and he is standing close enough to her now that if she reached out and he reached out, they could shake hands. Kylo keeps his at his sides, curled into loose fists that, for once, do not hint at outright violence. Reckless curiosity, interest, keeps him planted, watching her. )
Something.
( It's as much permission as she's ever going to get. )
no subject
It's hardly the first time that someone has mentioned those three words to him. All that power. It isn't the first time that he's heard it in that same tone before, either. Those words have followed him around his whole life, from careful, conscious awe to heartbroken disappointment, Skywalker's voice like a warning reminder against Snoke's soft, smooth whisper in his ear, a promise. Some of it had been imagined, and some of it had been real. Eventually the lines blurred and distorted until determining which was the illusion and which the reality seemed unimportant, and it all became real. Rey's implication is tangible in the cooling Corellian air, but Kylo does't balk at it. Once you've heard the Supreme Leader imply that your power is not enough, little else measures up.
He feels an eyebrow quirk at her question, but he stays on the ground for what feels like a long time after she's spoken, staring up at her in a way that manages to take all of her in at once, from the dark folds in the fabric she wears to the relaxed bend in her fingers as they hang at her sides. Skywalker's training is evident in every crease and line of her body in a fight, in the way that she handles the Force and uses it to guide and strengthen her, her footwork and the accuracy that she's gaining with a lightsaber. But it isn't all him, and Kylo can see that as plainly as anything. The way she holds herself, the weight of her conviction and attitude, the way in which she calls the Force to her and the way in which it responds, it's every bit the girl that he encountered in the forest.
He stands, one hand planted beneath him, fingers sinking into the mud under the weight of his frame rising slowly from the ground. At his full height, he is so much larger than she is that the idea of ever being unable to subdue and capture her seems ridiculous. One foot rises and falls and slides a fraction of an inch in the mud as he steps toward her and he is standing close enough to her now that if she reached out and he reached out, they could shake hands. Kylo keeps his at his sides, curled into loose fists that, for once, do not hint at outright violence. Reckless curiosity, interest, keeps him planted, watching her. )
Something.
( It's as much permission as she's ever going to get. )