14. Chapter 14
The scraping of boots on stone pulls Kylo’s attention from the text weighing down his lap, a treatise on the martial strategies of the first Force Knights. The sound persists, crawls through his ears and drills into his brain, tied inexplicably to a wild sort of glee that certainly isn’t his. Safe to infer, then, that Rey is doing something ridiculous.
Twisting around in his chair, his suspicions are confirmed as he watches the skinny little scrap of nothing scale a sheer rock wall with all the ease walking up stairs. He’s never seen anything like it. There’s no real Force power involved in her antics, she’s just hanging there by her fingers as she searches out the next foothold. Reactions ranging from awe to irritation fight for supremacy on his tongue. For better or worse, the one that wins is, “What are you doing?” in probably the single most accusatory tone he’s capable of, as if that phrase hasn’t already started a dozen lost fights.
“What you told me to.” Rey’s twenty feet in the air if she’s an inch and she actually turns her back to the stone so she can bestow an unreasonable, smug look on him.
Kylo is on his feet in an instant, book slamming down on the table as the chair falls forward, turning to face her so he can confront her face to face.
“I told you no such thing!” He protests. “Get down from there!” As if that’s got a chance at working with this little lunatic. He’d have better luck persuading the sun to rise in the West.
“Whatever I wanted, you said.” The saucy little smirk she sends him takes most of the sting out of the words that might have otherwise moved him to rage.
His pride won’t let her get the last word. “If you fall on your head I’m not carrying you back.” For just an instant he remembers the weight of her falling into his arms during their first encounter in the woods of Takodana. She had weighed next to nothing and she scowled in her sleep. Does she still do that? He hadn’t noticed it this morning and that rankles.
“If I fall on my head there won’t be anything to carry back.” The quip, tossed casually off the cuff stops him cold. The Force reacts to his sudden overwhelming need, bunching in anticipation for the inevitable. He can see exactly how it will play out, too. A momentary loss of contact with the wall, nothing between her and the unyielding floor below but his quick reflexes. He’s quite sure at this point that she won’t be the type to scream as she falls, but she might be a little weak at the knees after a brush with death like that, might need to lean on his arm for a moment before regaining her composure and brushing him off. She’d probably hate that, suffering the indignity of being rescued, maybe owing a life debt. He’d have to try not to be too smug about it.
An undignified thump pulls Kylo from that juvenile fantasy and he looks up to where the worn grey boots disappear over the railing. She’s silent, but the little flare of triumph is a warm delight where he touches her mind. She explores and he lets her do so without any particular interference. It’s a large area, but as long as she doesn’t venture too far into any of the storage units up there she shouldn’t get lost for more than an hour. Or maybe four, tops. Still, he finds himself getting nervous as she spends more and more time up there. He tries to trace her progress deeper into each room. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not going to give you a different answer just because you asked twice.” He catches a flash of her legs through the railing as the girl needles him and then disappears from sight again. There’s a moment of what he thinks is ominous silence paired with a tang of frustration in her thoughts, and then a kind of banging-crunch that he knows with certain dread is the sound of a locked door being broken open.
“Rey!” He can feel her moving into a room that is full of things that cause her to flinch every few steps. It’s unforgivable, stupid of him to worry like this. When Lord Snoke gave his orders to bring the girl around to their side, they in no way had encompassed feeling this sort of strain over her well being. That said, Lord Snoke probably hadn’t meant to include giving the girl this bit of freedom, either.
There’s a valuable life lesson in there, if he cares to look for it.
Knowing he ought not to be so concerned isn’t the same as not being concerned, and he can’t ignore the feeling any more than he can block out the little jabs of phantom sensation he gets from her. Kylo can’t bring himself to shut her out either, so he just gives in, sitting on the floor and breathing in for meditation. The conscious emptying of his thoughts floods the mental vacuum with her. Flashes of color, a mental tug that pulls her inexorably onwards, heedless of the minor damages sustained to her body. It makes a little more sense when he feels the frisson ripple through her, that moment of recognition that flares along her thoughts and marks a claim to whatever it is that she’s found.
It’s an odd thing, that’s for certain. Kylo’s encountered a small handful of Sith artifacts in the galleries deep below their feet. He can recognize the compulsion that some of the not-quite-sentient constructs of metal and crystal project into the darkness and their call for a master or a slave. Whatever Rey’s unearthing is different, or perhaps she’s just the first candidate to come along in however many thousands of years since this place was abandoned. Kylo stands as her footsteps return to the walkway and Rey sticks her head out over the balcony, “I found it; coming down now.”
Craning his neck he can just make out a the canister that she juggles between her battered hands. “Don’t fall.” Even from here he can see the damage sustained and winces in sympathy.
Rey is slower descending than she was ascending. She balances carefully on the thin metal railing before swinging out on a hand hold, shoulders, arms, back flexing as she stops the swing at a crazy angle with the toe of her boot in a crevice. She holds herself there, groping with her free hand for the next handhold. Her back arches as she reaches down, and he can clearly see the vertebrates protruding under her skin. Then his brain catches up to what his eyes are looking at, parses the stretch of skin and muscle. Rey isn’t wearing a shirt. His entire thought process stutters to a halt.
“I’m not going to.” Her sharp denial pulls him back to his senses. She’s not naked, there’s some sort of off-white undergarment that cuts a straight line under the jut of her shoulders and terminates midway down her ribs, but it’s still an eyeful that steals the moisture from his mouth. “Stop looking at me like that.” She adds, her voice tart.
“Like what?” Kylo glances away, swallowing, but finds himself drawn back to her magnetically. The back of her neck and the small of her back gleam with the physical signs of her exertion and he jams his hands in his belt, taking deep, meditative breaths to keep his thoughts from becoming even more distracted.
“You know what I mean.”
Of course he knows what she means, but he’s not going to confess to that.
The desire to sigh in relief when her feet kiss ground again is murdered upon its manifestation and he edges closer as she unwinds the tunic from where it’s rolled around her waist, sorting through the folds until the dirty, battered source of her interest is revealed.
The box is almost as interesting to look at as she is, and Kylo plucks it from her hand as her smooth twisting torso disappears back under his shirt. “Let me see that.”
He turns it in his hands, and there’s a faint feeling of something there, some intelligence and recognition, but nothing on the scale of what had drawn Rey to it. It’s not dark, he feels quite confident in that assessment. The shape is wrong, and the faint etchings underneath the thick layer of crust don’t align with any of the Sith iconography he knows, though his knowledge is not comprehensive. It’s not light either, whatever it is. There is just a very dense, very neutral well of power inside the container.
“What is it?” Rey crowds his space, looking up at the artifact as he holds it to the light, her hair brushing against his shoulder as she cocks her head to look at it from a different angle.
The box does not respond when he touches it with the Force. If there are any moving parts, they’re either welded shut by intention or by time or the seams are more cleverly hidden than he can sense. Still, it’s a container of some kind, with the real source of interest hidden within. “A puzzle box of some kind? Solve it and see what’s inside.” He drops the box into her hands and she holds it outstretched between them. He tries not to think about how she smells like sweat and blood, metal and oil.
“Could you cut it open?” She’s poking and prodding the corners, scratching at the flaked edge of rust, holding it up by her ear and giving it a rattle, then turning it in her hands, iterating on different possibilities faster than he can follow.
Kylo winces at the thought. “Not without destroying whatever’s inside.” Assuming, of course, that the box hadn’t been constructed to repel or turn any destructive force applied to it back on the user. There are always risks with these sorts of things; Force heavy artifacts can be downright unintuitive when it comes to the laws of physics.
Rey hums at that and follows him back to the table he thinks of as his. The book is still good, still worth his attentions, but his concentration keeps flicking back to the girl every few minutes as she angles the reading lamp towards the artifact, immersing herself in study.
He makes it through several pages heavy with reference and implication to an ancient battle-meditation trance the knights had used but devoid of useful instruction before Rey’s chair scrapes against the ground and she flits off without a word. There’s a distant thudding, something heavy hitting the ground, and excessive rustling. He weighs the benefits of chasing after her, pinches the bridge of his nose and then decides against it. Her fixation still burns brightly in his awareness and the little grimy box is sitting there directly across from him; it’s a safe bet that she’s not going far.
He’s vindicated, for after a long quiet and some more rustling, Rey trots back to the table, her arms full of what looks like garbage. She lays each item out in a row before her: a long dull letter opener, a handful of copper filament, another handful of tangled steel wire, a few flat pieces of metal with varying widths and thicknesses, and a scrap of cloth.
“What are you doing?” He leans forward to watch her sort through the collection, roll the ball of wire between her fingers and re-order the metal pieces to her satisfaction.
Rey takes a perch on the stool across from him, picks up the long dull knife and begins chipping away at the skin fused to the outside of the box. “Cleaning it off.” Wrinkling her nose, she tosses the blade down and selects a handful of the steel wire and begins chafing at the surface. “It won’t open if it’s got all this gunk on it.” She slouches, comfortable over her work and braces a foot against the rungs of the stool, balancing the artifact on her knee. Looking up from where her hands move with quick confident motions over her task, she asks, “What’re you reading?”
“A book.” The retort pops out before he can stop it, but Kylo continues before it can be misconstrued as an attempt to close the conversation down. “I keep coming across these references on an old form of battle meditation. Everyone wants to talk about it, but no one seems to have a solid grasp of what it entails or how one might go about mastering it.” He glowers at the dense black print in front of him. “Iit was integral to how the Knights achieved victory against overwhelming opposition.”
She makes a careful, neutral hum at that, “And you want that advantage for yourself against the Resistance?” Rey tosses the wire down and picks at the flecks with a fingernail. “What is this crap, anyway?”
“Don’t bring politics into this.” Kylo shrugs at the accusation. “If the rebels happened upon a military advantage, they’d take it just the same. That’s war.” All things considered, this is probably the best place and the best time to have this discussion. They are far from Lord Snoke’s cavern and the ominous presences there, these serene surroundings lend themselves to thoughtful inquiry, and Rey’s already worn herself out with ridiculous exertions.
Her snort of disbelief is far less neutral now, and her hands shake as she picks up another tool to scrape a long line of something out of a crack on the box. “The Resistance didn’t feel the need to atomize five planets.”
“No, just the one.” Kylo tries not to think on that day; the way the Force had gone numb in shock, the void that had roared out of that absence had been an evil beyond mere darkness. He was, he is , loyal to his master. It had been Lord Snoke’s judgement that such a display of power was necessary and it wasn’t, isn’t , his place to disagree. Treasonous thoughts like those need to be burned out with pain and blood . Still, what good is all the power in the universe if he’s left ruling over a world of ash at the end?
“That’s different,” Rey growls, but something about her is off, a snag in the flow of her thoughts that he can’t quite define, a flare of comprehension that shines in her eyes and then gone so abruptly that he’s certain that he imagined it.
“Perhaps.” Kylo grants that it’s a poor equivocation. “All the more reason to explore alternate options. Anyway, I might simply seek knowledge for its own sake. You never know.”
Rey huffs a small humorless laugh at that. “You’re not going to convince me you signed on with Snoke for his library.” The corner of her eyes crinkle, just a little bit. It’s far more endearing than he’d like.
He can do this , Kylo assures himself, reminded of the end game once more. The girl is far more dangerous than she knows. He stretches his arms over his head, rotates his shoulders and cracks his neck, a quick inventory of yesterday’s hurts that comes back better than expected, then he takes a moment to absorb the golden tranquility of the Archive, to fortify himself against his weakness. “I’m getting the feeling I won’t convince you much of anything.”
“You’re learning.” Rey sets a shim down and dusts off the surface off the box. “Much better,” she approves as light glints off the brass and titanium etchings raised against the glass walls. Gently she sets the box down, dusts her hands off on her trousers and immerses herself exploring the intricate surface once more.
Kylo goes back to reading, marking the passing of time by the turn of pages. He finishes his current volume without learning anything valuable beyond the inane speculations of what the masters of battle meditation might have used to focus their techniques, the author rambling on without substance in an irksome waste of ink. He tosses the tome aside and pulls the next one on the pile forward, sparing a glance at Rey. She has somehow gone from sitting like a normal person to sprawling across her half of the table, reduced by her frustrations to pressing her cheek against it and tapping the edge of the box against the wooden surface.
“Problem?” Kylo arches an eyebrow at the top of her head.
“I’m working on it,” Rey mumbles. The box makes a couple more solid thunks before she adds, petulant, “Why make me go through all that hassle if it doesn’t want to open up?”
Kylo snorts at that. “Have you tried asking it nicely? Maybe it doesn’t like your attitude.”
“I don’t like your attitude,” Rey snips back without any energy behind her words and picks her head up off the table to look at the box. “Does that work? Talking to it?”
“I have no idea,” he shrugs. It hadn’t called to him and therefore it’s not his problem. “Artifacts of power are generally not well understood. Some of them respond only to certain people or places. Some of them require keys, or a particular touch of power, or a certain state of mind or circumstance. Without knowing exactly what you’ve got there, it’s anyone’s guess.”
Rey huffs a tiny sigh and flicks him a quick, indecipherable glance before peeling herself off the table. Cradling the box in her hands she brings it up before her nose and murmurs, “Uh, hello, box? If you want to be opened up, please give me a sign, or something? I’m not really sure what it is I’m supposed to do with you, or even what you are, really.”
“Did it work?” Listening through their connection, he feels the faintest ripple of response.
Rey blinks, shaking her head as though to clear it. “I don’t think so.” She squeezes it between her hands, running the pad of her thumb along one of the raised carvings. “I’m not giving up, though.”
“That’s a shock.” Kylo discards the book scarcely two pages into the introduction and stands, stiff from sitting too long in one place. “We should head back, it’s getting late. Your little mystery’s survived undiscovered for this long. Another day won’t make a difference.”
Rey hums and pets the smooth glass surface again. “Can I bring it with me?”
Kylo shrugs, watching the way her hands linger on its surface coils something deep in his gut. It doesn’t matter to him. “Suit yourself.” His eyes catch on a sliver of skin as Rey hitches the tunic up to wedge the narrow box into the waistband of her pants and he’s staring again and he almost doesn’t care that she catches him this time. Her discomfort prickles against his mind, and he turns on his heel and heads back towards the exit. Rey dogs his heels, bumping his shoulder when he stops a few feet from the door. “Open it,” he instructs her.
Rey glances at the mirror smooth stone, then back up at him. “How?”
“Try.” He steps back with a crooked grins as her thin shoulders square, rising and falling as she slips into her meditative trance. Through her senses, he feels the Force as a living friend, an ally, feels her request and the quick curious response it elicits. She coaxes and cajoles, wraps the energy of this place in her warm good nature and shoos it towards the barrier.
The stone ripples, but stays strong. Rey cranes her neck to look at him over her shoulder, eyebrows wrinkling in displeasure. “What did I do wrong?”
She’s hooked. The instant response, the desire for feedback, for improvement, sends a delicate ripple of pleasure down his back. It takes a half step to close the distance between them, an inch of air separating her back from his chest, and he places his gloved hands on the exposed slant of her trapezius. “This is an old place,” Kylo murmurs against her ear. He watches gooseflesh prickle along her neck, feels her freeze at the proximity. She isn’t afraid this time; he can feel the anticipation that holds her rigid, feel her breath bated as she waits for his guidance. “Old power. Don’t ask. Tell it what to do.” Breathing in tandem, he brushes his hand down her arm, raising it before her and curling her much smaller hand into a fist inside of his as the Force crackles around her. He can feel the conviction in her mind, her force of will zeroing in on her goal, fueled by the desire to return to this place, to let nothing as inconsequential as a door keep her away.
The door vanishes and they breathe out together before he steps away and leads her back out. She’s quiet on the walk back, frowning thoughtfully at some internal process he doesn’t try to understand. If it distracts her from the mess that’s in his own head, then it can only be a good thing.
“You know you might actually die if you sleep on the floor tonight.” His breath smokes in the air as he divests himself of outerwear and tosses the heavy robe on the bed. They’ll want the extra insulation tonight.
“Do you use that line on every girl you bed?” She fishes the mystery box out from where she had stowed it and places it on the shelf by the door.
“Don’t be obscene, Rey.” He likes the way her name sounds when he says it almost as much as he likes her reaction to it, a faint hunch of her shoulders and the slightest pinking of her cheeks. He doesn’t wait for a response, just reclines on the mattress and tosses the blanket over his legs. It really is cold. First thing in the morning, he’s going to figure out who’s responsible for this particular atmospheric screw up and take it out of their hide. The sheets are icy through his clothes and the cold hurts.
She hesitates for a moment, and then he feels her accept the inevitability of it all. Rey is, at her core, a pragmatic creature after all. She sits on the edge of the mattress to pull off her boots and let her hair loose. With a last rebellious look over her shoulder at him, she slides under the blanket, huddling on the edge of the bed with her back to him. “This doesn’t change anything.”
He’s not sure who she’s trying to convince at this stage. Kylo tugs the blanket up higher, willing the air around them to warm faster. “Of course not,” he agrees, in part because he knows she’s expecting some sort of fight over it. “Come here.” Even through layers of clothing he can feel the flux of energy between them. She’s so close, their thoughts swirling and eddying on the same tides; it's somehow both too much to bear and not nearly enough at all.
Rey picks her head up just enough to look at him and then shuffles a few inches closer. He figures that level of acquiescence makes it acceptable to put a hand on her shoulder and tugs her, unprotesting, the rest of the way to the center of the mattress.
“Keep your freezing cold hands to yourself,” Rey grumbles but doesn’t pull away. He snorts at the weakness of that protest and nudges her head until it rests, more or less comfortably, in the hollow under his clavicle, and he tucks his arm around her shoulders. She relaxes by inches as the warmth grows, as physical and emotional discomfort subsides, as the freakish circumstances become normal. He almost thinks she’s fallen asleep when she speaks.
“Hey, Kylo? Will you show me the thing with the door?”
The sound of his name, spoken aloud, makes his pulse spike and he smoothes his palm down the harsh protrusions of her back down to the soft concavity of her waist. She hesitates at the touch, and then, after a protracted pause, nestles closer and rests her palm on his chest.
He just about jumps out of his skin at the butterfly touch and digs his free hand into the mattress by his leg to keep still. “Tomorrow.” He falls asleep with her hair tickling his cheek and he dreams of a green island and skin glowing golden under the sun, the brush of soft lips and muted gasps of pleasure.