[ The crack of his saber draws her attention, but it's turned away before she can assess the source of the sound, leaving Rey with a suspicious and narrow gaze roaming the space Kylo Ren occupies on his father's ship—for it would be Han's ship no matter whose hands it fell into, no matter where Han was, molecules turning to fuel burning up in the sun that became of Starkiller Base. Her hands unclench at her sides when he starts to speak again, the muffled curse forgotten as she realigns her attention.
He seems bitter, but she can't imagine that he is. So much of what he holds in resentment for Leia and Luke seems, to Rey, rooted in his inability to forgive them for their failings, for letting him become what he is, and she cannot reconcile that with dissatisfaction that they and Han had scoured the galaxy for him and sent barrage after barrage to bring him home, even occasionally at great cost to the Resistance. For him, it's not as simple as anger either, and she settles her beliefs on that, whether he'll admit to them or not.
At full height, he dwarfs her, and she finds herself wishing she'd never stood, for now she only stands at a loss for where to go. The cramped quarters of the Falcon don't afford her the luxury of leaving this conversation. ]
I wish they would. [ Said sadly, but she grows more despondent after the words are out of her mouth, staring just past him as if she expects the ghost of Han Solo to appear in the doorway at any moment. He doesn't, of course. But she does seem to see further into herself, some, for she continues then. ] Sometimes, I want to be angry with them. I believed for so long that they were coming back for me, but they didn't force me to believe that. No one did. I did it to myself. Being angry with ghosts won't undo any of it. That's how I calm myself, and keep it from being anything that I need to control or that could control me.
no subject
He seems bitter, but she can't imagine that he is. So much of what he holds in resentment for Leia and Luke seems, to Rey, rooted in his inability to forgive them for their failings, for letting him become what he is, and she cannot reconcile that with dissatisfaction that they and Han had scoured the galaxy for him and sent barrage after barrage to bring him home, even occasionally at great cost to the Resistance. For him, it's not as simple as anger either, and she settles her beliefs on that, whether he'll admit to them or not.
At full height, he dwarfs her, and she finds herself wishing she'd never stood, for now she only stands at a loss for where to go. The cramped quarters of the Falcon don't afford her the luxury of leaving this conversation. ]
I wish they would. [ Said sadly, but she grows more despondent after the words are out of her mouth, staring just past him as if she expects the ghost of Han Solo to appear in the doorway at any moment. He doesn't, of course. But she does seem to see further into herself, some, for she continues then. ] Sometimes, I want to be angry with them. I believed for so long that they were coming back for me, but they didn't force me to believe that. No one did. I did it to myself. Being angry with ghosts won't undo any of it. That's how I calm myself, and keep it from being anything that I need to control or that could control me.