[ She sees it, too— feels it, cold concrete biting into her knees as she bows her head and worships to this would-be God, dressed heavy in black, Kylo's gloved hand bizarrely comforting at the tiny small of her back. Her teacher, her mentor, her–– They're back on solid ground and Rey's having trouble catching her breath, having trouble parsing reality from whatever they've both been submersed in in their minds, hers or his, she can't tell the difference anymore. Some strange impulse leaves her wanting to reach for him but finding her fingers grasping at nothing but empty air, eyes unfocused as she resists the urge to reach out. It's pointless. ]
And yet, [ She exhales and inhales deeply, mentally willing her pulse and breathing to shift back to normal: ] Here we are. Both still living and breathing. [ Rey risks lifting a forearm to swipe the sweat gathered at her brow, stray loose curls gathering at her temples as she shifts her stance and relaxes minutely. The mental exercise has taken much from them both but particularly from Rey, muscles weakened and feeling awkward, as if from lack of use or distrophy, and she grips her lightsaber tightly before pressing it off, a sharp pain at her temples, just behind her eyes. She wonders if he can feel it, too. ]
Do you think we might call it a truce? You're too much— [ in here, and vice versa and it's... a lot. Rey gestures between them, haphazard and less sharp than usual, her focus split and frayed at the edges, caught up in thinking too closely about Kylo Ren's bottomless gaze, of Chewie's mournful cry and accompanying crossbow fire, the sound of Finn's screams muffled through a snowy wood echoing in her ears relentlessly, unable to shake it. And he could very well likely take advantage of the situation, of her weakness now, vulnerable and open to attack and willfully admitting it. ]
( It isn't there yet, but he knows that it will be, a dull headache creeping in around his temples, behind his eyes, a burn on his mind as if he's been staring into the sun for to long, gone too many days without caf. The physical echo of her in his thoughts lingers, and he hears the suggestion of screaming, her name from someone else's - FN2187 - mouth, his own answering call - traitor! - until it becomes difficult to deviate one from the other, him from her, the presumption of her memories and perceptions and his. An impulse stays the course in his nervous system, to reach, to test the warm grit of skin underneath fingertips, but he can't tell whether it's his or hers, just as he sometimes can't tell the difference between her reality and the calm, lush island that she retreats to when she's dreaming.
The beginnings of an ache in his head transmute to the healing pain in his abdomen, where a droid-treated hole in his side is still barely healed. He can feel the exhaustion pooling within her, rippling off of her in waves, and he knows that if he were to exploit it he could overpower her easily, definitely has the compunction and the power to do so - though there is always the risk of her surprising him in that way, again - and could bring her to kneel at the mercy of his master. The problem inherent in that solution is the possibility that she will one day overpower him in a way that leaves him at her mercy, and that, were she to train alongside him under Snoke and best him, it would be the end of Kylo Ren and all that he has worked to achieve. Snoke would demand it, and Rey, so strong and connected with the Force, intertwined enough that she could stand toe-to-toe with him and not back down, would win. )
I believe I was the one who said we were done here, just a moment ago. Call that a truce if you like.
( He keeps his voice detached, made that much easier by the helmet, though he has the distinct impression that, regardless of how hard he tries to seem unaffected by both her presence in general and her presence in his head, she can tell without trying very hard that he's lying. It unnerves him to know that she's always there, enough that he can sense her just existing through billions and billions of stars. Even if he can't pinpoint where she is and only gets snatches of what she's doing or how she's feeling, it's there, ever present at the back of his mind, a boon and a hindrance. If he can see fragments of what she's learning, can suss out fractions of how her power grows with each day under proper but misguided tutelage, there's no telling what she will be able to glean from him once he touches down with the Supreme Leader and begins the painstaking process of completing his own apprenticeship. And though he approaches that horizon with a swollen and heavy sense of pride and satisfaction, it will be done with the knowledge that one of the greatest assets to the Resistance has what seems to be a permanent pass to his thoughts, only growing stronger with each day that passes, with each attempt they make toward each other.
Abruptly, Kylo inclines his head, sensing an incoming transmission from Hux before it's broadcast to him. While he despises the implication behind coming to Hux when called, a nudge not dissimilar to what he senses when Rey is casting about through the Force in an effort to look for him comes rolling in as well. One of the other Knights casting about for him. Time to go. Kylo is a shroud to them at the best of times and a verifiable black hole when he's feeling particularly displaced from them, better than the rest of them despite the way he knows they turn their nose at him following his defeat on Starkiller Base. He cloaks himself now in the same manner, though only long enough to offer Rey an exaggerated, patronizing bow. )
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And yet, [ She exhales and inhales deeply, mentally willing her pulse and breathing to shift back to normal: ] Here we are. Both still living and breathing. [ Rey risks lifting a forearm to swipe the sweat gathered at her brow, stray loose curls gathering at her temples as she shifts her stance and relaxes minutely. The mental exercise has taken much from them both but particularly from Rey, muscles weakened and feeling awkward, as if from lack of use or distrophy, and she grips her lightsaber tightly before pressing it off, a sharp pain at her temples, just behind her eyes. She wonders if he can feel it, too. ]
Do you think we might call it a truce? You're too much— [ in here, and vice versa and it's... a lot. Rey gestures between them, haphazard and less sharp than usual, her focus split and frayed at the edges, caught up in thinking too closely about Kylo Ren's bottomless gaze, of Chewie's mournful cry and accompanying crossbow fire, the sound of Finn's screams muffled through a snowy wood echoing in her ears relentlessly, unable to shake it. And he could very well likely take advantage of the situation, of her weakness now, vulnerable and open to attack and willfully admitting it. ]
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The beginnings of an ache in his head transmute to the healing pain in his abdomen, where a droid-treated hole in his side is still barely healed. He can feel the exhaustion pooling within her, rippling off of her in waves, and he knows that if he were to exploit it he could overpower her easily, definitely has the compunction and the power to do so - though there is always the risk of her surprising him in that way, again - and could bring her to kneel at the mercy of his master. The problem inherent in that solution is the possibility that she will one day overpower him in a way that leaves him at her mercy, and that, were she to train alongside him under Snoke and best him, it would be the end of Kylo Ren and all that he has worked to achieve. Snoke would demand it, and Rey, so strong and connected with the Force, intertwined enough that she could stand toe-to-toe with him and not back down, would win. )
I believe I was the one who said we were done here, just a moment ago. Call that a truce if you like.
( He keeps his voice detached, made that much easier by the helmet, though he has the distinct impression that, regardless of how hard he tries to seem unaffected by both her presence in general and her presence in his head, she can tell without trying very hard that he's lying. It unnerves him to know that she's always there, enough that he can sense her just existing through billions and billions of stars. Even if he can't pinpoint where she is and only gets snatches of what she's doing or how she's feeling, it's there, ever present at the back of his mind, a boon and a hindrance. If he can see fragments of what she's learning, can suss out fractions of how her power grows with each day under proper but misguided tutelage, there's no telling what she will be able to glean from him once he touches down with the Supreme Leader and begins the painstaking process of completing his own apprenticeship. And though he approaches that horizon with a swollen and heavy sense of pride and satisfaction, it will be done with the knowledge that one of the greatest assets to the Resistance has what seems to be a permanent pass to his thoughts, only growing stronger with each day that passes, with each attempt they make toward each other.
Abruptly, Kylo inclines his head, sensing an incoming transmission from Hux before it's broadcast to him. While he despises the implication behind coming to Hux when called, a nudge not dissimilar to what he senses when Rey is casting about through the Force in an effort to look for him comes rolling in as well. One of the other Knights casting about for him. Time to go. Kylo is a shroud to them at the best of times and a verifiable black hole when he's feeling particularly displaced from them, better than the rest of them despite the way he knows they turn their nose at him following his defeat on Starkiller Base. He cloaks himself now in the same manner, though only long enough to offer Rey an exaggerated, patronizing bow. )
Scavenger.