genessia | Fall into me....

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Fall into me....

WHO: Kylo Ren and Rey
WHAT: With Snoke no longer around to meddle with their connection, and without half a galaxy to separate them, there is nothing keeping the two dreaming force sensitives from connecting at night. Expecially when Kylo starts having a nightmare.
WHEN: 31 Jan night
WHERE: Force link
WARNING: Nightmares involving death and other disturbing images

The edges of the images are blurry, as if the world is in water color and the artist has spilled their dipping bowl all over the page, smearing color to color. The room they're in is full of people, faceless every one of them, tittering meaningless words. Their fingers tug into soft fabric, a rich weave of white and cream that hang at the hip of a woman, Leia's eyes warm but distracted as the turn towards them. There's something off about her youthful appearance, a little too almond at the eyes, flowers in her long loose hair that Ben can't remember her ever wearing. But the edges blur again as she shushes him, turning his small body towards another person, not his father but one of her attendants. "Sorry Ben, mommy's busy." The words sound like they're coming from a mile under the ocean, and their feet hit dirt instead of the polished marble, the attendant nowhere in sight but towering trees taking the place of all the pristine curved chandeliers.

Someone is mocking them. The words are a blur, and no matter the effort they put into it they could not look that way, but the humiliation and anger rushes through them as clear as glass, the sharp edges of rocks coming apart around his feet. He's taller now, and the voice in their head is louder, laughing, encouraging him to believe the taunts. He is worthless here, will never live up to the standards Luke or his students, would only be what he needs to be if he...yes... give into the darkness. Give into the hate. Even in the dream that voice seems to drag back into eternity, the longest and deepest memory that he has.

Instead he runs, they run, Rey carried in his dream as if a second skin, barely able to determine where their minds started or stopped in this nightmare. Was it a nightmare? It's turning, the ground giving away, and for a flash he's a child again, begging his father not to make him sleep as Han chastises him. "Grow up Ben! It's not real, dreams can't hurt you kid!" But they can. And they do.

Red streaks his hands, heaving heart and fear and adrenaline rushing through him as he stares at the glassy eyes of one of his former classmates, one who had rushed him the moment he had stepped out of that hut, lightsaber drawn. It speaks to him, a quick airy voice bubbling the gore at it's throat. "You always wanted this." He didn’t. He never did. He had tried so hard to avoid this path, and yet it had swallowed him up anyway. What choice did he have?

Back in his room Kylo Ren is breaking out in cold sweats, face twisted into a pained grimace as he flips and turns, long limbs flailing out over the sides of the mattress, his breathing labored as his mind turns again, a soft scene. His father's walking him through a tall field of flowers, but his face is that of Anakin Skywalker.

And then it's Snoke, and the field is the throne room, and the newly created Kylo Ren is kneeling still in his dirt stained pajamas, feet dirty and bruised in front of him, tears wetting the slick floor as he gives into what fate has determined for him from the beginning. The shadows behind him have no faces, but they carry that familiarity of knights guarding their prince. The crown that now sits in front of his splayed hands melts and turns back, forming Darth Vader's twisted mask.

Take it.

And he does. Because he has to. Ben Solo, no Kylo Ren, No Rey, lifts the mask to his lips, the burnt metal twisting and sticking to his skin, rushing into his eyes and mouth and nose with an agony like lightning, familiar so familiar, and he is sucked down into the black of the floor, and keeps sinking.

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They're under different roofs, yet it really feels like they're the same person. The sensation of wet island soil and cool blades of grass under bare feet is a new sensation for her, but she doesn't have the opportunity to savor it, as adrenaline spikes in her blood and her heart races, urging flight.

Her hands slapped against her face, the searing white pain Ben felt against his face vivid on her own. It was what initially woke her, a vocal gasp propelling her out of her slumber as she lay flat on her back, her chest heaving as she caught her breath.

Eyes wide, she stares up at the ceiling, adjusting to the darkness of her bunk. "...Ben..." She breathlessly whispered to herself, pushing herself up to a sitting position and looking around, the now-familiar surroundings of her Commonplace bunk coming into focus.

She brought a hand back up to her face, rubbing calloused fingertips across her lips, dragging them down her chin in thought as she tried to process all that she saw.

Was it right to assume that as she woke, so did he? Looking into the shrouded corner of her room, she outstretched her thoughts. 'Ben--Ben, are you awake? Wake up!'

The shock of pain is almost a comfort it's so familiar, the burning agony pouring out of his body though all his limbs as he sinks deeper in the darkness rather than waking. He drifts into the black like a stone through slime, slow and methodical. It feels like what he thinks death must be like, muffled and slow and yet calm, and he aches for it. Even with their different states she can probably feel it from him. That longing for it to end.

And then there's her voice, like an arm plunged down through ice to grab his own. "Ben--Wake up!" and he does.

The room he's in is dark and warm, and despite that he's chilled to the bone, hair sticky with cold sweat. He palms a hand over his face slowly, willing his breath to calm, still too wrapped in the ghost of the dream to realize what must have happened. But It doesn't take him long.

"How much did you see." There's no anger in his voice, just exhaustion, and he sits up, swinging long legs over the side of the bed. He rests his face in his hands and elbows on his knees, before carding his fingers through his hair. "You shouldn't have had to experience that."

"None of us have control over our dreams." Sympathy laces her thoughts, warm and soft and dulled by interrupted sleep. Even so, as seconds pass, his figure starts to materialize in her vision, strong and clear. She feels her hand, heavy, float up to reach for his shoulder in some conciliatory gesture, but she stops short, fingers curling slightly before returning to her lap. "Do you have these sorts of dreams often?"

If so, how is this the first time she's seen one? Why? Was it because of their proximity now? Or their heightened interactions? Had Ben somehow subconsciously reached out to her so she could take part?

He can feel her hand at his shoulder, moving through the air, through the force, and he wants her to touch him, and at the same time wishes she'd just leave him be. There's no telling what would be worse. He wants to lie to her, to deny ever dreaming this way, but it's kind of pointless. She's seen it all. Experienced it. The traumatic memories resurfacing as dreams.

"Yes." It's in that same even tone, but there's a spark of pain in their connection. Snoke used to loop these thoughts back to him constantly in times of meditation, training him with pain and starvation and lightning to use that horror and suffering to build his own strength. His bare shoulders and chest are littered with scars from it, punctuated with the puckered lightsaber scars she herself gave him, drops of sweat clinging to his skin. "I'll be more careful next time."

He hadn't intentionally dragged her into his mind, how could he want to show her his shame? He had barely slept since their fight on Starkiller base, and even then, with full systems between them, and the constant pull of their opposing sides dominating their thoughts.... this quiet was new. And dangerous.

She can sense his turmoil, that he was both annoyed and relieved that she was there. It was hard to respond to him when she didn't know which of those sentiments was the dominant one. Tip-toeing around the subject, a balancing act of lessening the intensity of their exchange and not downplaying it both--silence settled between them, though she could feel his attention on her.

"Do...you want to talk?" It wasn't like the Force was giving them much of a choice in the matter. Perhaps they should make the most of it. After all, it's not like they'd be interrupted this time. At least, not on her end. "It can be about anything, it doesn't have to be about that."

“Why do you think the force still connects us?” He looks up at her then, dark circles heavy under his eyes, and this light, or lack there of, casting the scar across his face in heavy lines. It would be easier if he could shut their connection off completely, instead she’s here as clear as ever, and despite that passing thought he tries to get a grip on the edges of that feather, draw her closer. He does so with care, not wanting to ruin what may be so tenuous. He wants to shut it off sometimes but he doesn’t want to lose it.

“Even across realities? Was I brought here because you are here I wonder.” There is no accusation in his tone, just tired curiosity. The longer he’s awake he importance of the fact that she’s here, coming to him instead of drawing back from the confusion and horror she just experienced with him, and he turns his body to face her, eyebrows pitching upwards. “Why are you here Rey?”

She could hear her breathing--or actually, both of them, as their labored pants mingled in her ears. She realized her mouth was open, gaping dumbfounded, and she quickly shut it, doing what she could to regulate her breath as she slowly sucked in through her nostrils.

"I hadn't given it all that much thought, really." If she were to be entirely forthcoming, she was too busy being grateful that the Force even existed here. It gave her something to work towards if efforts to get back were all for naught.

"If you were brought here because of me, it wasn't because of any conscious effort on my part." She couldn't speak to her subconscious, though. There were times where she wasn't entirely aware of the things that went through her head...or she was too busy denying them to acknowledge them much.

There was no doubt, though--something...something inexplicable shifted upon his arrival. Something within. Or maybe it was all around and without, too. Anakin Skywalker seemed to sense it, at least.

She felt her chest start to tighten, and her breathing slowed into a deep, shaky breath at his third question. "That was something I was hoping we could find out together."

Her cheeks grew hot at the admission. But she never had the chance to communicate that they had no business bringing their war to this place. Maybe Anakin had? Someone? But without the war, maybe they didn't have all that much standing in their way.

He hadn’t meant it that way, but her answer was more telling than any response she could have given for running to him instead of away from their meeting of the minds. He furrows his brows, lips pitching down as he tries to wrap his brain around the flushed cheeks, her obvious reaction to this admission, his own heart picking up pace.

“We?” He asks with hope written on his face, it shows through no matter how he tries to rein it back. There’s a beat, and then Kylo turns a little more, teeth pressing into his bottom lip as he looks down at her hands and reaches up with one of his own. His fingers are ungloved, and they slowly move past her cheek and settle (all buzzing energy and emotion) on the back of her neck. His breath hitches, and he draws her down, his forehead pressing to her collar bone, fingers curling into her skin. All he’s ever wanted for as long as he can remember is this. A real connection and purpose. One of his own. He doesn’t have to speak for her to hear his soft plea. please stay.

She could feel his pulse thrumming at her chest, and it made her ears burn. She cast her eyes down to her hands, fingers curling as they helplessly faced upwards.

In her peripheral vision she sees his hand, and her eyes snap upward to catch a glimpse of his face, but by the time she had, she was already too late. She lurches forward, pulled by a gentle nudging force that eventually resonates into soft fingertips upon the back of her neck. Her hair there stands on end, bare arms prickling with goosebumps as she feels his sweat, slick against the skin of her collarbone.

She doesn't move, can't make a sound for fear of startling him away. Ben--

A sharp rapping sound instead startles her, and she jumps, looking toward the entryway of her room. It was one of the downfalls of being in the communal housing she was directed towards upon her first day here--there was even less privacy than there'd been on the Falcon. Her lips press together as she swallows, her pulse pounding in her ears at the notion of being caught.

They weren't done. There was still so much to say--she turns back to face Ben, his visage already fading as their connection weakens. "Where are you?"

She doesnt move, doesnt try and fling him away or pull out her blaster and kill him, and his heart thrums even harder as he turns his face into her skin, nose dragging up her collar bone as he breathes her in. It's like she's truly there, despite the strange electric fuzziness about their contact. There's no force vision but it's almost better than that, having her close, and his lips almost brush over her skin when the knock at the door draws her attention away. The realness of the experience disappears instantly, and he falls forward, catching himself on his mattress with one hand, shame and embarassment twisting his stomach up. What is he doing?

Kylo Ren runs his fingers though his hair, pressing his lips into a thin line as he feels the closeness of their connection fading fast, when she asks him where he is. His mind immediately flashes to his current living arrangments, a spare room at his grandparent's apartment, something he planned on rectifying soon, crystal clear to them both before he shoves it down, flushing hard as he gets to his feet. "You don't have to come here. It's nothing."

"I can't see where you are. And you aren't here." She wasn't having any of it as she too leaps to her feet, stumbling around blindly as she searches for her boots. Her mind gropes for tendrils of their connection as they evaporate in fleeting, curling wisps around her fingers.

Kriff--! She trips over her boots, catching herself just short of dropping to her knees. She hisses through her teeth, the excitement that had risen up her neck and face finally sinking back down into her stomach, shifting slowly into a heavy sense of dread. He didn't want her there. He was pulling back. "I'm not asking for permission. I'm asking for your coordinates."

Edited 2018-02-02 22:05 (UTC)

There's hesitation and then, he gives it to her, and then on top of it directions from where she lived. He had walked it more than once in the last few days, looking up at the building before making his way around Nova City, seeking out the target that would meet his needs. He had hoped to convince her to let him in one day, but after their last tat-on-tat he hadn't expected it to be this soon. Or in the middle of the night. Or in his bedroom. "You'll have to be quiet." He warns her, embarrassment palpable, but just beneath that was the spark of anticipation. If he wasnt awake before, he certainly was now.

"Thank you." It came out a tinge more annoyed than she would've liked, but as she pulled the crepe draping of her tunic across her shoulders in a weak attempt to shield her from the night air, it occurred to her that their connection may have evaporated at last.

She couldn't waste any time. She wasn't sure if the wildlife she'd been warned against loitered the Nova City streets, but she hadn't ventured to find out. She wasn't bothered when she left the commonplace, reciting the directions Ben had graciously given her after finally relenting to her demand for coordinates.

For being so insistent, she hadn't thought very far past what she'd do once she'd arrived.

Fortunately she had quite the climb to make to his bedroom window to think it over. Luckily there were various adornments around the building that made the ascent somewhat easier.

He's been alive 29 long years, the vast majority of it a dark haze of unpleasant memories, bad nightmares, and suffering. In the last seven he has destroyed more than he's created, and has hoped that eventually he'll reach the farthest down he can go and then maybe, just maybe he can start working on climbing up again.

And now here he is like some teenage boy waiting for girl to climb in through his window to---to do what? His mind dives into places he generally reserved only to the quick venting of his physical frustrations, and his entire body feels hot at the thought. He should have been more firm about wanting her to stay out, but it's too late now. Instead, he awkwardly finds a shirt to put on and pulls it over his head, checks his bedroom for anything out of place, and then sits and waits.

He senses her before he sees her, and goes to the window to open it, bracing on the heels of his palms as he looks down at her, the hilarity of this moment hitting him hard as he watches her scale the building.

"I could have came down instead."

She's slightly winded when she looks up to him leaning over his windowsill, and she can't help but laugh a little. She considered it, but didn't want to leave his seeing her up to him. With her coming to him, he would've had to force her away. Ignoring her would've been so much easier.

"Help me in." She thrust an arm over the ledge, gripping tightly as she wedged a foot into the windowsill in an awkward spider-like climb into his room.

Her eyes met with his before looking him over--unintentionally, as she caught herself and stammered; "You have a shirt on this time, that's a change."

"Last time you made a point to ask me to cover up." He arches an eyebrow, but tucks one foot under the radiator, and leans over, wrapping his wide hands around her waist. He lifts her like she weighs nearly nothing, the muscles in his arms tensing as he swings her into the bedroom and sets her down on the ground. His hands don't move for a second, fingers twitching at her waist. He swallows, before slowly letting her go, and he takes a step to the side, turning past her to close the window.

What now?

She lets out a startled cry as he lifts her up and over, seizing hold of his shoulders until her feet hit the floor.

Her hands quickly release him, readjusting her makeshift shawl around her shoulders in an attempt to maintain some level of modesty. Laughable when she thought about it--first the hut over open fire, then back-to-back atop a severed supreme leader--was there anything remotely decent about sneaking into his room?

Was sneaking even necessary at this point? Maybe it was just a habit by now.

She was so busy considering that fact it took a moment for her to realize his fingers lingering on her waist. Her eyes moved from his hands to his eyes, realizing that maybe he was expecting a "thank you."

Her ran her hands across her shorts then, looking around his room. "Looks cozy." It must be nice having a place to call his own, rather than starting off in a communal room.

“My grandfather is very generous.” He says quietly, still looking out the window with his hands sitting on the lock. He specifically keeps his eyes off her, not wanting to focus on how little clothing she wore, little shorts and a thin shirt, he had felt how thin it was when picking her up, her chest in line with his nose and he’s still pink in the cheeks and ears from it.

Without the filter of their connection, having her here all warm and solid, he’s feeling excessively nervous. What did she want from him to put herself in this situation? Alone in his bedroom (it didn’t feel quite like his yet, and wouldn’t be for long) in the middle of the night. He sucks in a deep breath and then turns back to her. He wants to ask a million questions, a million accusations, wanted to gather her up and kiss her and never let her go, to beg for her to accept his sacrifices in her name, and instead he just says her name, that name he had killed for, his voice dying off.

“Rey...”

His back to her, she seizes the opportunity to close the distance between them. "Ben." Softly she spoke, with just enough volume for the words to travel between them. He turns to her after a grueling moment, and tentatively she placed a hand on his shoulder, just short of where it sloped up into his neck.

"You look ill. It was just a dream." She was saying it as much to herself as she was to him, and touching him was a good a reminder of that as any. "Even if it happened--it's long over now."

Edited 2018-02-04 02:05 (UTC)

"Was it?" He laughs at that, a half hearted sound, and he leans into her touch despite himself. Her fingers are warm on his skin, and the little hairs on the back of his neck raise up at the contact. There's barely any space between them, and he could easily wrap her up in his arms here, the thought passing quickly before he shoves it down, hands hanging heavy at his sides.

"You know better than that." It was more than a dream, but then less than a memory. Something in between. "Is that all you came here to say?"

"Snoke is dead, Ben." Gently Rey urged, her fingers digging gently into the flesh of his shoulder. "He can't hurt you here."

She turns away slightly, examining the strewn-about sheets across his bed. "You were distraught." There was no question of it now, even without having shared the dream with him. She let her hand loosen on him, and she softly treks across the room to his bed, straightening the sheets. "...and I didn't know how long our connection was going to last, and..."

She stopped, releasing the sheets and looking back to him expectantly. "It was you who asked me to stay."

She’s not right of course. If seeing his father, grandparents, or Grievous wasn’t enough proof. Snoke could come back at any time here, and ruin everything. There was never any escape.

But then she looks back at him and speaks through their miraculous connection and he feels his stomach do flips, halfway between affection and being sick. Even if Snoke did return, he knows that he’d do it all over again if he had to. For her. Ben finds himself moving before his mind even catches it, and by then it’s too late. He’s committed.

He crosses the room in three strides, his long arms wrapping around her, one hand pressing into her opposite shoulder, the other over the flat of her belly. He draws her in along with his breath, turning his face into her neck, nose dragging down her cheek to settle into the space between her jaw and ear.

“Then stay.”

Edited 2018-02-04 04:23 (UTC)

The thought had crossed her mind; anything was possible in this mysterious place - if Han Solo, be it the Han Solo they knew or not, was alive and well here, if Darth Vader was alive and well and...good...who is to say that Snoke wouldn't eventually rear his ugly face here in an attempt to toy with Ben's mind yet again?

But determination seared hot through Rey's veins. With the same determination and stubbornness she'd honed in on to set out to find him here, in his moment of need, she vowed to herself. "I won't let him or anyone hurt you." She brought a few fingers to brush against his arm, her shoulders trembling at the sudden, unexpected closeness they shared.

"But..." She finally spoke out loud, her voice once more a whisper. "Ben." She turned her face slightly towards his, her pulse quickening upon realizing just how close their faces were, now. Her eyes avoided his, struck suddenly by a bout of shyness. She had to press onward, overcome it, because what she had to ask of him next was too important to leave unsaid. "The fighting has to stop. Whatever's happened before, what we came from--it didn't follow us here, and trying to carry on like that is only going to disturb the peace that your grandfather and so many others are working so hard to maintain."

She dragged her fingers up his arm in a coaxing attempt, circling them in the crook of his elbow. "I'm not asking you to reconcile with anyone. But you want peace in your own way, don't you?"

"You seem to forget Rey," He mutters into her ear, eyebrows furrowing. "You're the one who always attacks me." Of course he's lashed out, but the war was not his. It had been Snoke's, and he had been dragged along for the ride. Other than having to follow his master's every beck and call, anyone he wanted dead was to simply break free of the cycle he has been forced into. (that was partially a lie, Luke he had wanted dead as revenge for everything that has happened to him after his betrayal. He wanted him dead to soothe the raging pain in his soul.) And it worked, no matter how painful the process was.

He was free. If not only temporarily. And then he sucks in a breath, shaking his head. His hair brushes against her neck and cheek. "I don't intend to try and take over this world, if that is what you're asking." He's offended, for certain, and his arms loosens around her just slightly.

She visibly relaxes at his words, smiling softly in relief. "I didn't forget." She snorted a soft laugh, taking his loosened hold as an opening for her to turn around, resume a bit of distance for propriety's sake.

Or what she knew of it, anyway. She instead sat on the edge of his mattress, craining her neck to look up into his heavy, sleep-deprived eyes. "I'm trying to call a truce here."

She pulls away and it's like backing away from a fire, the heat leaves his chest and quickly cools and he looks away quietly, pushing down his disappointment. "Truce."

It's not a question and at the same time, not a statement. He doesn't sit next to her, instead walks across the room and sits in the chair near the desk, resting his face in his hand, elbow on the desk.

And like that, the gravity of Rey's tone lifted, and a smile lit up the entirety of her face. She knew he would oblige, but hearing him say it out loud brought her greater joy than she'd expected.

That was one potential crisis averted. Not just for her, but for everyone. "Thank you." She paused, watching him across the doom and already feeling his absence.

For all the relief she felt, why were they being like this?

"I don't want to fight you, Ben."

He’s too tired to be dealing with this, and his voice is just as exhausted as he feels. “if you think I have ever wanted to fight you, you havent been paying attention.” He’s quiet for another minute, and then stands. “I think you should go.”

Kylo Ren moves towards the window, undoing the latch before he lets it swing open, standing to the side. In the end she’s only here for her own benefit after all.

She knew better than to expect the victory to be anything but pyrrhic. She pushed out a sigh through her nose, her shoulders sagging. And suddenly the lack of sleep she sensed in Ben came over her like a wave, and with a mental groan she tensed her knees, pushing herself back up into an upright position. "Right."

She walks back to the window, placing a hand on the ledge and looking over. Going back down was always more effort than climbing up, and it was then that she finally chided herself for her short-sightedness.

Pulling her eyes away she looks back to Ben, tired and worried. "Try to get some sleep. I'm sorry I wasn't more help." Did she ever think she would've been?

Edited 2018-02-05 02:54 (UTC)

He doesn’t move towards her, watching her instead with a blank mask on his face, his sweaty hair tangling in his eyes. Shadowed by the dim light of the moon outside, he looked quite a bit like a ghost. “So am I.”

Edited 2018-02-05 03:18 (UTC)

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Fall into me....

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