Chapter Text
His mind is so loud. It takes her by surprise, because she would have pictured nothing but ice beneath that rigid exterior, but he’s a raging fire.
She doesn’t know what she’s searching for. She’s wading through painful memories and tearing doubts. He’s a tormented soul, this one. She would roll her eyes at him, except she’s on a mission. She feels she’s close, whatever his secrets may be. It hurts, reaching out to his innermost self. She’s never done this before, never knew she could, and though she should stop and question this newfound ability, she does what any scavenger would do; collect first, think later.
The effort takes its toll on her. She grits her teeth so hard, she has to close her eyes. The sweat running down her face is growing cold.
Finally, in that maelstrom and chaos, she clings to a red opening. A dark, heavy mask. Battered by war. Not Kylo’s. No, it belongs to an old hero - perhaps…not a hero. Inside, she sees Ren trying desperately to cling to it, to embrace it and wear it. But it doesn’t fit, no matter how hard he tries.
She is reminded of her hunts, when she gets stupidly stubborn and wants to get inside the narrowest places, explore the most dangerous heights. She almost understands him, despite the fact that she has never wanted to put on a mask.
Haven’t you?
She opens her eyes.
Maybe she shouldn’t have bothered. Turns out, Kylo Ren is an open book. He is staring at her withblatant disregard for his secret order, he is giving her everything just by looking at her. How can he be so menacing one moment and so pitiful the next? Pitiful may not be right word. But it’s jarring how unstable he seems, alternating from one mood to the next. It could be a well-crafted trick. Get her to lower her guard. She is not sure with him. He’s not stupid, but he isn’t diabolical either. She’s met plenty of wretched scum in her life, yet he seems to be of a different cut. He could be playing her, he could be in earnest.
It doesn’t matter. I know your secret.
She enjoys the words falling out of her mouth. She shouldn’t, but she does.
“And you’re afraid…so very afraid, that you will never be as ruthless as Darth Vader. That you don’t have it in you.”
She savors the horror-struck expression on his face. He looks younger every time his jaw flinches. And his boyish shoulder-length hair, those dark, warm eyes, they really clash with whatever he wishes to inspire -
Her next thoughts are swept aside when she is pushed forward into that horrid contraption and her head hits hard metal.
She feels his temper charging savagely, his dark presence pushing against her own, and despite her best efforts, she is not ready for the onslaught. It’s strange, but he guides himself by feelings. He lets his emotions run loose, instead of forsaking them.
He is inches away from her. She can count two freckles on his nose. Why is he so stubbornly human? A raging boy - cruel and vulnerable, at the same time. She regrets taunting him about his mask. He should put it back, so she wouldn’t see this open face.
“What do you know about that?” he asks, almost gently.
Rey breathes into his face. “Nothing. Just what I saw in your head.”
“You…are gifted with the Force?”
“No. But I’m stronger than you. And I will never tell you anything.”
He raises his hand to her face. She flinches, cursing herself.
His thumb swipes at the corner of her mouth, where a tiny sliver of blood trails down her chin. He wipes it clean. He looks at his own gloved fingers, stares fixedly at the red trail.
“You just have,” he murmurs with infinite sadness and steps away from her.
Rey wants to shout back, ask him what he’s talking about, but he’s already walking further away from her. She will not call him back. She has that much pride. But she knows he will return.