TLJ Hand Touch ForceTime - Kylo POV

The droid had long ago finished its work. The sterile dark of the med bay was broken only by an array of cold blue wall lights. He was the same place he’d been for— how long now? Minutes? Hours? Sitting, listening, watching. Looking at her. The girl. The scavenger. Rey.

She moved, shifting beneath her blanket, her hair damp and hanging in delicate strings around her face, the firelight dancing across her, flickering in her eyes. He had still not acclimated himself to this new normal, a life in which she was always there, just at the edge of perception, and then, without warning, right there in front of him. Real, and vital, and close enough to touch, all the world drowned out save for heartbeats and the sound of her breathing.

Something had changed. The last time the Force had joined them, some of the hate, that blind, fiery hate, she bore him, had faded. Familiarity had begun to breed comfort. But now the hatred had drifted; it was still there— he could feel it; but it was remote and subsumed by something stronger.

He didn’t know how long she’d been talking, couldn’t remember how it had started. She’d been talking about a cave, and a vision. The Force had offered her answers, but not the ones she wanted. He knew well the disappointment of false promise. And as she spoke, something old and distant welled up inside him. Tears brimmed his eyelids, and a tightness spread from his chest to his throat, a deep yearning he scarcely recognized, and only knew from memories of another time, another life.

Joined as they were, he could feel and perceive many things as she spoke— memories and feelings flowed freely. He could feel her loneliness, so desperate and sharp, so familiar. When he’d looked into her mind on D’qar, he’d seen and felt the memories of the desert, but not like this. There was nothing like this. He wondered what she felt and saw from him. And for a moment felt a twinge of shame.

“I thought I would find answers here. I was wrong,” she said, her voice growing softer. She wasn’t fighting back the tears anymore. “I’ve never felt so alone.”

“You’re not alone,” he heard himself say. 

Her eyes darted to his, and locked there, hers touched by fire, his deep and dark and reflected with the icy blue of the med bay lights.

“Neither are you.” Her voice was gentle and certain and trembled with sudden fear. Not the fear of pain or the dread of loss— the fear of leaving oneself so open; the fear of daring to hope. “It isn’t too late.”

His mind began to race. All the past and the dark fire of regret surged through him. The students at the temple. Countless prisoners taken and tortured and left to their fates. Lor San Tekka. The villagers on Jakku. Han Solo. She knew. She saw all of it. All the pain and cruelty, the anger, the helplessness, the tableau of his life’s stage, dark and empty and streaked red.

And yet she didn’t look away. Her face was sad and hopeful and lovely in the firelight, her eyes searching, beckoning. She slowly lifted her hand from beneath her thin shawl and began to reach out to him across the impossible distance that separated them: untold light years; the space of a few feet.

Without knowing why, he took off his glove. He could have said a thousand things about why what she was doing wouldn’t work, or to warn her off, or to refute her. But he didn’t. She reached out to him, and he reached out to her. He could feel his hand trembling. What was he reaching for? What did he think would happen here? What did he hope would happen?

He could feel the heat of the fire, the warmth of her body, just inches from his. Attachment leads to tragedy and loss. He could smell the earthen scent of the stone hut, the cool, clean smell of rain. It isn’t her strength that is making you fail, it’s your weakness. The sound of her breathing, the smell of her skin. Show me, Grandfather, show me the power of the Darkness. Anticipation. Warmth. Light.

The touch of another. So slight a thing. Fingertips. Her dark eyes. The desert sun. The cold of space. The drumbeat of raindrops. The thrum of engines. Breath. Sweat. Silence.

The rush of feeling is overwhelming. Like nothing he’s ever felt. Everything at once, all rushing through him. And then the vision starts. He still sees her eyes. He never leaves her eyes. But he sees the vision in her, through her.

A lightsaber ignites. The bloodbeat of combat. Her eyes. Fire, embers, dark and light. Her. Standing with him. And something more. Heat. Light. The scent of sun-kissed hair. The taste of her. Wind and sand. Her eyes. And more. So much more. If only he could—

Luke.

Luke was there. Saw him. Actually saw him.

And she was gone. The firelight gone. The warmth faded to quiet cold. He wiped the tears from his eyes, and put his glove back on. And darkness enclosed him once more.