Conversations
- Part I -

The kriffin' bond has been bridged once more.

She senses his presence as she enters the solitude of her sleeping hut. Feels it as a sudden stillness in both the Force and the air around her. As if the very universe is at this moment holding its breath. But such a comparison is too vague when, in truth, she can sense him more accurately than that. Like a black thread woven into a white cloth, his Force signature is a strained web of darkness amidst the light. Stretched taut like a bowstring ready to snap. She can feel him there in those blackened threads. The churn of his emotions. The raw tumultuous anger. The deep aching loneliness. The sharp twisting grief. That… That's an unexpected one.

She snaps her own feelings shut. His problems are his own.

"You're not here." She states crisply, taking care to hold her voice steady against the prickle of apprehension that has begun its crawl from the nape of her neck; to run in shudders across her skin. "I severed the link."

He remains silent as she turns to confront him. His face hidden behind the fathomless darkness of his cowl. She squeezes her eyes closed, knuckles pressed to her sides; willing the cloaked figure before her to fade. Perhaps, she hopes futilely, this is all just a dream. Has she already lain upon her bench? Exhausted by the efforts of her day? Perhaps so. Perhaps she need only refocus her energy - to will herself to wake, and it will be so. And he will be gone.

"You're right about one thing." The voice is calm. Steady. "I'm not really here."

Ah, but there is an edge to his tone. It betrays him in those final three words. Irony? Of course. No doubt he's as unwilling to be forced into this communication as she.

"I severed the bond." She repeats. Words grinding like sand between her teeth.

"No you didn't," he counters, "you just closed the door."

"Why, Ben?" She wonders if he will correct her over the hated use of his old name. There's an anger surging within her veins that threatens to boil over at any moment. To spill from her in a torrent of rage. No. It's not the Jedi way. The phrase almost makes her snort.

"Why, what?" His tone has changed. Lightening where she expects shadows. She wonders how he can keep himself so composed. Perhaps, she thinks, she's not the only one holding her eyes closed.

"It's been a long time." She begins tersely. "Why are you here now?

"I'm not here, remember? I thought we'd established that already."

He's laughing at her, she realises. Mocking her! Pushing herself to her feet, Rey snaps open her eyes and springs forward; one hand outstretched towards her bo-staff as she uses the Force to call it to her fingertips.

He holds his ground unflinching as she whirls the weapon, slamming it into his form. Through his form.

There's nothing. No waver. No ripple. No transfer of energy. The staff simply sweeps through his body as if passing through thin air. Which, of course, it is. Frustration causes her skin to flush. What does she really expect? That she'll be able to touch him through the Force as she had on Ahch-To? Shaking her head, she drops the weapon with a clang upon the dirt floor. Feels the anger ebb uselessly beneath her skin.

"I see you're still in need of a teacher." The cowl has slipped back just enough for the chamber light to cast a golden glow upon the lines of his jaw. It dances the high arch of his cheekbones. His face has grown impossibly gaunt since they fought the Praetorian Guards side by side. But those sharp planes and deep hollows are all she can see, and suddenly she longs to bare the rest of his face. He can keep his tone neutral all he likes. But his eyes can't lie. Not to her.

"And I see you're still in need of a friend."

It's a bold choice of words. Had she taken just a nano-sec to think before speaking, she would have sooner swallowed her tongue. But it's done now. She's flung open a door. And she has no idea what now lays beyond it.

A sharp intake of breath. It is, for a moment, all that breaks the silence. And then, in a heartbeat, he is gone.

But he has left one thing in his wake.

That ache of loneliness?

Oh yes.

She feels it now.

This is, she realises wretchedly, how it feels to have a door close on your face.