notbecauseofvictories:

“Listen,” Rey grits out, ducking as another wet clod of grass and mud throws itself at her forehead. Luke’s use of the Force has been getting sloppier, more half-hearted. “I have been on this karking moldy island for three weeks. I have drunk your tea. I have listened to you talk about the Force, and destiny, and—luminous beings, and other bantha shit like that.”

“This is undignified,” Luke says, his voice muffled.

“—and,” Rey continues pointedly. “And then I had to listen to you say ‘No, Rey, this is your fight, the struggle between the dark and the light is for the next generation, my suns have set—’”

“That’s a terrible impression of me, I don’t sound like that.”

Rey doesn’t reply to that, grunting as she comes down off the last of the steps, onto the hard and rocky beach. “Meanwhile,” she says, the strain just beginning to show in her voice, “my friend is back at the base, hurt and alone, while your sister waits for you, hurt and alone, and your nephew hurts everyone—”

“So I have a duty,” he said, with an amusement in his voice that suggested that particular argument had been tried on him before.

“I have a duty, and that means—” Rey stumbles on a loose pebble and almost sends them both sprawling. After a long minute where there is no sound but the waves, and her harsh breathing, she says, “I am taking you with me, whether you like it or not.”

R2 lets out a stream of invective beeps and whistles when Rey comes up the gangplank of the Falcon with Luke in a Sorian carry over her shoulders. Chewie comes running, only to bellow with laughter at the sight, especially when Rey unceremoniously dumps Luke beside the dejarik table.

“Hey Chewie, Artoo,” Luke says amicably from the floor of the Falcon. 

“Jedi,” Chewie growls, baring his eyeteeth. “Your fur is looking nice and thick.”

“Thank you. I like the beard too, makes me think of Old Ben.”

Rey stops all the way to the cockpit, and sets course for D’Qar.