( It becomes very, very weird very, very fast to be walking across the Resistance camp with her undetained, unshackled, and conscious.
In a way, their hodgepodge set up surprises him even as it doesn't. The Resistance, while Republic-backed, is still a small sect with an alarming number of competent fighters. General Organa is their heart and backbone, and while it's true that their size does continue to grow as it recruits new supporters just as it has the Corellians, it's a well-maintained and gossiped about topic among First Order squints and higher-ups alike that Organa could keep the whole thing running and pushing ahead on her own merit, a universal belief that has always annoyed him. Kylo very seriously doubts the Resistance's ability to overpower the First Order without Corellian support and the element of surprise, but the fact remains that they had both today, and now Kylo is following this scrap of a girl through their barracks with a target from every pair of eyes painted on his back.
His boots leave deep impressions in the mud, and he has to shorten his strides so that he doesn't outpace her and pull ahead. The scene that unfolds before him is as jarring as it is unfamiliar, and the rising pitch and swell of laughter that breaks out in peals in different corners of their campsite registers as strange. There is no such debriefing following First Order victories. A breech in protocol of that degree would not be tolerated under any superior officer. Their jovial celebrations and loud, whooping calls to one another warm no part of him, don't take root or dislodge the cloying feeling that still latches somewhere beneath his lungs, and he makes no effort to look a single one of them in the eye as they stride past until a ripple in the Force turns his attention away from their destination.
Poe Dameron and that traitor stormtrooper are watching him as he and Rey pass by the tent where they are stationed. An electrically charged hush falls throughout the gathering of hastily assembled lean-tos and a droid whistles disdainfully somewhere in the thick of things. Dameron in particular looks like he isn't entirely sure what to do with his face as Kylo meets his eye across the muddy yard that spans the distance between them. Without his helmet, there is no question as to whether or not the creature that exists beneath the armor is human or not, even if the truth of his parentage isn't necessarily common knowledge. Ben Solo died so long ago that he could exist as much as Luke Skywalker did before Rey brought him back from exile, a myth. The last time he saw Poe Dameron without a mask, he was barely ten-years-old, to tall for his own body, awkward and burdened with darkness that spilled out into every unfavorable reaction and childish whim. Kylo looks at him now and wonders if Dameron even recognizes him as the boy who used to poke his head into starships with the kind of curiosity that might one day lend him to being a halfway decent pilot.
The extended olive branch of Rey's voice draws his attention away from that particular memory and he clips his words short to emphasize their meaning. )
I'll try not to lose sleep over it. ( He follows her abrupt change in direction without a falter in his step, almost as if expecting it. ) Although maybe I'm the one who should be saying that to you.
( Rey leads him another hundred yards or so toward the squat, gray building and he feels a surge in the Force roll over him like a wave. Their combined presence had been a hard pill to swallow when he was a child, but it had been a source of warmth and reassurance for him then. Particularly Organa. Now, the two of them together overwhelm him and drag him down in their currents. Even without seeing them, he's aware of their proximity the way he is aware of a planet's gravitational pull. This is more tangible even than that. It saturates his mind and all his senses like being submerged in bacta. He's unwilling to let his steps falter, unwilling to show weakness in front of her and in front of them. He follows her inside the command station and focuses on the pain in his hands, a single point of stability against the backdrop of calamity. A flash of gold catches the light from the ceiling and Kylo can hear something that sounds suspiciously like I'm terribly sorry, captain. I've been telling the general for decades that his wiring's no better than scrap metal, but - )
There's the very real chance that the Supreme Leader will intervene once he's aware of what's happening, which I anticipate won't take long once I stop focusing solely on cloaking myself from him. You are running the risk of bringing him down on you as well as everyone else in the base. ( He pauses to let that sink in for a moment, though he assumes that it's a thought that's already crossed her mind, and continues pointedly ignoring everyone who looks at him twice. The back of his neck is still damp. ) I hope your faith in Skywalker and Organa's abilities as babysitters isn't misplaced.
no subject
In a way, their hodgepodge set up surprises him even as it doesn't. The Resistance, while Republic-backed, is still a small sect with an alarming number of competent fighters. General Organa is their heart and backbone, and while it's true that their size does continue to grow as it recruits new supporters just as it has the Corellians, it's a well-maintained and gossiped about topic among First Order squints and higher-ups alike that Organa could keep the whole thing running and pushing ahead on her own merit, a universal belief that has always annoyed him. Kylo very seriously doubts the Resistance's ability to overpower the First Order without Corellian support and the element of surprise, but the fact remains that they had both today, and now Kylo is following this scrap of a girl through their barracks with a target from every pair of eyes painted on his back.
His boots leave deep impressions in the mud, and he has to shorten his strides so that he doesn't outpace her and pull ahead. The scene that unfolds before him is as jarring as it is unfamiliar, and the rising pitch and swell of laughter that breaks out in peals in different corners of their campsite registers as strange. There is no such debriefing following First Order victories. A breech in protocol of that degree would not be tolerated under any superior officer. Their jovial celebrations and loud, whooping calls to one another warm no part of him, don't take root or dislodge the cloying feeling that still latches somewhere beneath his lungs, and he makes no effort to look a single one of them in the eye as they stride past until a ripple in the Force turns his attention away from their destination.
Poe Dameron and that traitor stormtrooper are watching him as he and Rey pass by the tent where they are stationed. An electrically charged hush falls throughout the gathering of hastily assembled lean-tos and a droid whistles disdainfully somewhere in the thick of things. Dameron in particular looks like he isn't entirely sure what to do with his face as Kylo meets his eye across the muddy yard that spans the distance between them. Without his helmet, there is no question as to whether or not the creature that exists beneath the armor is human or not, even if the truth of his parentage isn't necessarily common knowledge. Ben Solo died so long ago that he could exist as much as Luke Skywalker did before Rey brought him back from exile, a myth. The last time he saw Poe Dameron without a mask, he was barely ten-years-old, to tall for his own body, awkward and burdened with darkness that spilled out into every unfavorable reaction and childish whim. Kylo looks at him now and wonders if Dameron even recognizes him as the boy who used to poke his head into starships with the kind of curiosity that might one day lend him to being a halfway decent pilot.
The extended olive branch of Rey's voice draws his attention away from that particular memory and he clips his words short to emphasize their meaning. )
I'll try not to lose sleep over it. ( He follows her abrupt change in direction without a falter in his step, almost as if expecting it. ) Although maybe I'm the one who should be saying that to you.
( Rey leads him another hundred yards or so toward the squat, gray building and he feels a surge in the Force roll over him like a wave. Their combined presence had been a hard pill to swallow when he was a child, but it had been a source of warmth and reassurance for him then. Particularly Organa. Now, the two of them together overwhelm him and drag him down in their currents. Even without seeing them, he's aware of their proximity the way he is aware of a planet's gravitational pull. This is more tangible even than that. It saturates his mind and all his senses like being submerged in bacta. He's unwilling to let his steps falter, unwilling to show weakness in front of her and in front of them. He follows her inside the command station and focuses on the pain in his hands, a single point of stability against the backdrop of calamity. A flash of gold catches the light from the ceiling and Kylo can hear something that sounds suspiciously like I'm terribly sorry, captain. I've been telling the general for decades that his wiring's no better than scrap metal, but - )
There's the very real chance that the Supreme Leader will intervene once he's aware of what's happening, which I anticipate won't take long once I stop focusing solely on cloaking myself from him. You are running the risk of bringing him down on you as well as everyone else in the base. ( He pauses to let that sink in for a moment, though he assumes that it's a thought that's already crossed her mind, and continues pointedly ignoring everyone who looks at him twice. The back of his neck is still damp. ) I hope your faith in Skywalker and Organa's abilities as babysitters isn't misplaced.