Chapter Text
Jakku wasn’t what Rey remembered.
Sure, there were parts of it that were the same. The heavy, searing heat—she remembered that. The way any exposed skin tightened the moment she stepped into the sunlight, the desert air leeching moisture from the creatures that scurried across the sands. And the hulking wrecks of starships in the distance, the graveyard of an empire now hideously reborn—yes, she knew that, too.
But the feelings that should have come with returning to her home planet were gone. She had once felt dread and fear and a painful, terrible hope tied to the idea of a ship arcing away across the blue vault of the sky. A memory of people who had loved and left her and promised to return.
That hope and grief had led her to scratch the tally of days into the walls of the AT-AT wreck she’d made into a home. She’d told herself each small line was one step closer to a happier future, and there had been days when those tally marks had been the only things keeping her going.
Now, though, she felt nothing.
Perhaps that was fitting. Hadn’t he told her so? “You come from nothing. You're nothing.”
Maybe Kylo Ren, like her, could hear the echo of those words across the distance of space even now. Their strange mental bond had worked like that sometimes—an inconvenient sharing of memory, rather than just experience. Rey focused on her mental shields, breathing into and through the sting of memory. She was alone in the galaxy, tied to no one. A tiny creature enclosed in a shell as hard and dark as obsidian that no one—not even him—could penetrate.
With her mental barriers firmly in place, she opened her eyes again, staring out at the desert beyond Niima Outpost. The wind was lively today, sweeping thin crescents of sand across the flats, shifting dunes a few grains at a time. She was wrapped in the old trappings of her scavenger life, swathed in fabric, but the hot wind pushed at the exposed skin around her eyes. Slipping her goggles into place, she took her first steps into the desert.
“Why do you want to do this?” General Leia Organa’s voice echoed in her mind. “There’s nothing there for you anymore.”
And yes, that was the point, although Rey hadn’t been able to tell the general that. Instead, she’d muttered some excuse about needing a break to recover from Luke Skywalker’s death, and while that had been true, it wasn’t the entire truth. Something essential had died in her on Crait, during that final battle that had sapped Luke’s energy as he’d projected himself in front of the First Order’s guns. As yet one more of the tender bonds she’d been able to form since leaving Jakku snapped, she herself had become unmoored. Drifting. Alone.
Except, if she was honest with herself, that disconnect had happened before Crait and the battle and the sight of her mentor’s Force projection being pummeled with cannon fire.
It had happened with a few simple words.
“Join me. Please.”
Kylo Ren’s scarred face and pleading eyes were a constant in her imagination. And wasn’t that the worst thing of all, imagination? Because in reality, they had fought over Luke’s lightsaber, which had broken between them, and then she had fled. Retreated, rather. Gone to find a way to be with her allies in the Resistance and the only family she had ever known.
But in her imagination, she’d run towards him, rather than away. She’d cupped his face in her hands and lifted onto her toes and kissed him. And her answer had been “Yes,” and the question had been different, too. Not a demand to rule the universe in some totalitarian regime, but a request to be together. Him and her, set free from the expectations of the past.
Imagination lied.
So here she was, trudging through the desert, the heat simultaneously a blanket smothering her and a force invading her lungs. She was burning up, but nothing touched the ice inside.
#
Her former home was still there, if not intact. The exposed metal of the AT-AT wreck gleamed in the sunlight, but nothing was left inside but the scratches on the wall. The spinebarrel flower she’d carefully nurtured was gone as if it had never been. Metal, death, emptiness.
It was a fitting resolution for the place that had shielded her childhood years. Wasn’t that what her life had become, anyway? She’d left the planet, but instead of experiencing the wonder of new worlds, she’d experienced the terror of battle and the horror of loss.
I’m broken, she thought. My life is broken.
And as she sank to her knees, she forgot her obsidian shield for a moment, forgot constant vigilance. Loss was a creature, clawing and hungry, and it wanted all of her.
She didn’t cry. Maybe that was a habit innate to Jakku, too. Tears were just excess moisture seeping away. They were the luxury of the rich or the dead. And even though Rey had traveled far, even though she knew she had the credits to leave this horrible planet whenever she wanted, she simply couldn’t weep. Instead, she choked on her own breath, gasping through a mix of self-hatred and grief.
You aren’t broken.
The voice was deep and familiar. It resonated inside her head, as real as the whistle of the wind outside.
Fuck you. The insult was instinctive—apparently her brain had its own defenses entirely unrelated to the Force. But Rey was an alert citizen of her own mind, a woman used to analyzing her thoughts and feelings, and she recognized a horrible truth: part of her had thrilled to have Kylo Ren speaking in her head once more.
Kylo Ren, not Ben Solo. Ben Solo was dead; he’d made that clear enough.
There was a long pause before his response. When it came, she was underwhelmed. Where are you?
None of your business. Don’t you have more planets to subjugate? She wiped her eyes out of habit, even though there was no moisture to wipe away.
It isn’t about subjugation, he sent through their Force bond. It’s about order. You just don’t see it yet.
Rey let out a dry laugh. Oh, if he only knew. There are other ways of providing order. You don’t have to conquer everyone. You don’t have to destroy planets. Have you ever heard of the concept of laws? Democracy? Diplomacy? She stared at the metal walls of her shelter, thinking how ironic it was that the object that had kept her safe into adulthood had been utilized by the precursor of his regime.
Another pause. When his voice sounded in her head again, it sent a shiver through her. I told you we should let the past die.
She slipped her goggles back over her eyes and headed outside, back into the blinding light that might finally burn some sense into her. She shouldn’t be talking with Kylo Ren. She shouldn’t crave anything but his immediate death. You said we should kill the past, she thought, scanning the horizon. Nothing but derelict ships and the occasional silhouette of another scavenger or luggabeast.
And we should. His response was immediate. Rey, don’t you see? It’s all a lie. Why should you care about the faction that recruited you? You’re indoctrinated, same as everyone else.
And you’re not. The response was sarcastic, as he deserved. Rey had never met anyone as indoctrinated as Kylo Ren.
The pause this time was long enough for Rey to have reached the nearest Imperial Star Destroyer and begin scaling it for old time’s sake.
Just come back to me.
The wind whipped away her laughter. Ren, if you think I was ever with you, you are seriously deluded.
This time the silence remained, and as much as Rey told herself otherwise, part of her mourned.
#
Night fell the way it always did in the desert—hard, violent, and with a sudden drop in temperature. By the time the sky was streaked with orange and red, Rey was shivering.
It was foolish and nonsensical. She’d experienced worse all her life and in the immediate past, like on the snow-covered Starkiller Base… but she wouldn’t think about that. She couldn’t think about that. Because if she did, she’d remember the cold snow—her first snow—and the heat of a red lightsaber near her skin and the heat of a body near hers, and then she’d start thinking about dark hair and sad eyes and a body taller and broader than her own. And then she’d remember her inappropriate reaction to an enemy even before this weird Force bond had manifested.
Kylo Ren was a symptom of some sickness inside her.
Instead of dwelling on him, she set up her camp inside the old AT-AT. She’d brought a backpack full of survival essentials, and it should have felt amazing that she now had the means to provide for herself, but the starving scavenger in her was afraid as the sun went down. What if she didn’t get enough food? What if someone attacked to get what she had? It was nonsensical, and it was alarming how being a trained Jedi didn’t fix the programming of her childhood.
I want. I need. I have to have.
This was where fundamental makeup contrasted with reason. She’d always been willing to fight for food, water, and shelter, but her recent experiences had made her want more intangible things. Friendship. Affection. Loyalty. Love. The scavenger in her would do anything to get them.
She’d gotten much of that with the Resistance, but something fundamental was missing. As horrifying as it was, that ever-dissatisfied part of her couldn’t stop thinking about Kylo.
No. No more.
Rey unrolled her sleeping mat and lay down. She’d slept on a similar mat all her life, but now it was uncomfortable. Had she already become so spoiled by life beyond Jakku? Her fellow Resistance fighters had joked about the poor nature of their accommodations, but she’d always counted their bunks as luxury. Had she betrayed her past self so easily?
Rey took a deep breath, then counted the seconds of her exhale. A true Jedi was a master of their fears and memories. A true Jedi didn’t care about discomfort or regret. A true Jedi was calm, controlled, and totally detached from the needs of everyday life.
“Fuck.” Rey slammed her hand into the floor beside her sleeping pallet. It didn’t hurt enough, so she hit the ground harder.
She was a bad Jedi. If Luke could see her now, he would brand her a failure.
Except… Hadn’t he spent years dedicated to regret? And most of that regret had been because of Ben, too…
Kylo Ren, she reminded herself. A monster. A murderer. So why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?
She was already a bad Jedi, so in the dark of the AT-AT that had sheltered her during her vulnerable years, she gave in to the allure of the fantasy. Kylo Ren’s tall frame and big hands, his dark hair and hungry eyes. His desperation as he’d said “Please.” The sheer size of him, combined with the peek at his vulnerabilities she’d gotten from this strange, antagonistic Force bond.
As if she’d summoned him, his consciousness brushed against her own, dark and tempting.
You hate me, he said in her mind.
There wasn’t a word to encompass how she felt about him. Yes, she agreed, ignoring the twinge of guilt.
Their recent communications had been entirely mental since Crait, but for the first time, she got a glimpse of his surroundings, not just him. He was lying in his bunk, staring at the ceiling. If she strained, she could feel the firm pillow beneath his head and the stiff mattress beneath his mostly-unclothed body.
Oh, shit. The echoes of sensation told her he wasn’t wearing anything but tight black underpants. The skin prickled on her arms, and an unwelcome throb began between her legs.
Your hate feels... complicated, he said.
Rey’s cheeks burned with mortification. He was in her head, and her shields were weak. He must know how conflicted she was… and that she fantasized about him, even as she despised him. My hate feels simple to me, she told him, hoping vainly he didn’t detect the lie.
He shifted on the bed. She felt it in a way that defied explanation—like she was part of him and next to him and far away at the same time. The crinkle of crisp sheets was as real as the feeling of the hard floor beneath her.
I think about you, he said abruptly. All the time. I can’t stop.
And fuck, those words ruined her. She gasped, and her pussy clenched. The self-hate that filled her was no match for the lust beating through her veins and pulsing through her body. Moisture pooled between her legs.
I think about you, too, she managed to send. About how I want to see you dead.
He hummed in her mind, and it only made him more vivid. They were in his room together, lying face-to-face on black sheets, and they were also in her shelter, lying on a thin sleeping mat. She could see him so clearly, but she could also feel him with her. The Force bond had never been so intense, and Rey sucked in a panicked breath as taboo urges rioted inside her. She should touch his bare chest, trace her fingers over all that hot skin and tally his scars. She should flick her tongue out to taste him. She should slip her leg over his and rub her core against his muscled thigh.
Kylo groaned. Rey… His lips shaped her name like a curse, and it was too much. Rey scrambled across the small interior of her shelter, her back slamming against the scratched wall. Those marks were all the evidence she needed that her hopes were foolish, that her dreams couldn’t be trusted.
He stared at her, something stormy in his brown eyes. His gaze trailed over her, then moved to the wall. His brows drew together. Where are you? he asked for the second time that day.
Alarm bells went off in Rey’s mind at the insistence in his tone. She felt him reaching into her mind through the bond, trying to pry loose her location.
If Kylo Ren found her, he would kill her.
Rey closed her eyes and focused on rebuilding her mental shields. Piece by piece, she crafted her shell of obsidian until it stood glossy and smooth between them. When she opened her eyes again, he was gone.