Which is... Well, she's not sure what, but at least it's familiar, something she knows how to handle. It feels so strange, though, knowing that somehow she is the social one now. His invitation to go on has her taking a few steps back, though, and she does just that.
She feels less anxious while she's moving, sliding through forms she's known since childhood.
"Have you started remembering everything now that you've been here awhile?"
The shirt she's wearing has no sleeves, shows the lines of the scars from the harpy that almost took her life, turned her into a monster that he spent weeks protecting, and she wonders if that falls under the category of mostly.
She wants to know if he remembers beaches and introducing her to Rosethorn and dancing with her in Lark's cabin, if he remembers Alfie telling her stories about their world.
If he remembers the lights going out in the Enclosure and her holding him and forcing herself to learn how to comfort someone by pulling on memories of the time they were in love.
"Are you still keeping notes?" She asks him instead, because all the rest is something she can never let out. "Adding to them, or changing them entirely?"
He does, in fact, remember all of that: he's remembered everything about her by now, the small details and the big events alike. But it doesn't feel for him like it feels for her. He doesn't think back on those memories with heartache; just as something else in his past that's gone now.
"No. I'm not keeping notes anymore." Not like that, anyway.
She isn't surprised. He strikes her as someone who does nothing he did before except smoke and drink too much, she can see that the world has done too much to him to allow him to go back to hobbies like that.
If keeping lists about people is a hobby. She wonders what had been on hers, if he had even kept any notes on her once they had gotten close, and with him like this she thinks there's a chance he might tell her.
"Would I have been in trouble if your collection got out? I could see people using my weakness for fruit against me."
For what feels like the first time that day, there's a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth-- on him, these days, it looks painful. Awkward, like he's forgotten how to really laugh and can only manage these small things.
"I destroyed it, I think." He knows. "Told meself I'd just have to remember."
It doesn't matter that it looks so difficult, that it's something so very small compared to the way she's used to him smiling, used to the sound of his laughter. Even that painful tilt upwards feels like the sun coming out and for the first time since his return something like hope blooms in her chest.
It has nothing to do with her, or the relationship they had before he left. That hope is for him, that someday, with time, those smiles will come more easily.
None of that shows on her face in more than the way she seems to go a little lighter in turn, relax with him a little more, and her movements as she moves her staff around her body become more fluid.
"So all my secrets are safe, then. The rest of my life you'll be the only one who knows I eat horse treats instead of actually giving them out."
But he looks exhausted and this is more than she hoped for, them finding some easy ground between them instead of how tense they had both been in the Falcon. She thought it would always be like that, fighting to find a connection, and to most people this wouldn't be much, but not much is what Rey has known her entire life.
If he's relaxed enough to close his eyes in her presence, to just talk to her, it's more than enough. She goes through the forms in silence for a few more moments, but as she spins the staff between her hands she remembers something important, something others might have forgotten.
"Do you have any weapons, Tommy? Anything to defend yourself with?"
He keeps his eyes closed as he talks, as he smokes. It's less of a matter of comfort or relaxation than it is that he doesn't really care. He doubts anyone here is going to come out and kill him, and even if they did he'd just come right back. It's all so fucking futile.
"I don't," he replies. "He hid all of my weapons, didn't he?"
Or they all disappeared when he left, the bowcaster and the blaster, and weren't returned when he came back. Either way, the ease with which he answers gives her an idea of what he'll say to her next question.
She doesn't know if he does think that, if he's secure with the idea of being a warden who returned an inmate. She doesn't what the mindset is here for so many of the people who call the Barge home, if Tommy will be a target because of the power he once held.
She does know that she doesn't want to find out one day that he's in the infirmary going through a death toll when she had the power to stop that from happening.
"If I remember this place right," and he does, he's just said so, "I'll need one at some point."
He isn't sure what to think of this. He wants the weapon, he feels so uncomfortable without it, but he doesn't know what he thinks of her giving it to him.
He's not going to let it bother him, though. It'll get him what he wants, and that's what matters.
"That's why I'm offering." She says, and then- "I thought you might trust me more than anyone else about it coming without me expecting anything in return."
She needs that to be clear, to be sure that he knows it still.
He doesn't. Not because of her, but because everyone always expects something in return. His family expects money, or safety, or a chance to keep their lie from being boring; the people around him expect obedience, a puppet who will let himself be moved in the way that will benefit them the most.
Everyone always wants something. Even if she doesn't know it yet, she wants something in return.
But he does want this. This time, there's no protesting, no shyness about taking what he wants. So he just nods, not really answering her implied question. "Then yes. I want one."
She saved the things she got from the Admiral when they were getting ready for the the Land of the Dead, still has a blaster pistol tucked away- but she's not sure about giving him a gun. As much as she had loved and trusted the man he was before, he's made it more than clear that that isn't who he is now. As much as she wants him to be safe, she doesn't want it to be at the expense of someone else when a gun is so easy to use from a distance.
But there is one option. She stops in the middle of her forms, puts her staff on her back, and comes back closer to him as she digs into the satchel at her hip. When her hand comes out again there's a knife in it, wickedly curved and long enough to do some damage, and it's clearly been well used. It's still sharp, but when she holds it out to him handle first there are dents and chips out of the wood.
"If you use it on Alfie I'll break your nose when I take it back," she tells him, entirely serious.
He sits up a little straighter when she comes over with the weapon-- with that knife, which looks vicious, sharply curved and heavy.
He reaches out and wraps his hand around the hilt to feel the weight of it, and finds himself impressed, and faintly comforted. The idea that he can be dangerous again, like this, if he has to, that's worth something.
"If I use it on Alfie he'll have deserved it," he tells her, but he nods. He'll accept that punishment, at least.
She honestly can't argue that. She knows Alfie too well by now to try to deny it, and she doesn't nod in return but she does accept that. It's just something she'll have to try to keep an eye on, but she's never been one to nanny Alfie.
"It holds an edge well," she says, with a clear bit of pride in her voice. "You shouldn't need to sharpen it."
She didn't expect a thank you, not if she thinks of him as how she acted towards people when she first got here. Unlikely to take handouts, not wanting to admit they were needed. Knowing it helps is enough, it sets her mind a little at ease just to know he'll have something if he's attacked.
"If you think of anything else that does," she offers, and doesn't complete the thought. He'll know what she means and if she doesn't say it in completion it might be easier to swallow.
Once, she would have reached out to run her hand along the angle of his jaw when he looked up at her like that. There would have been a smile in his eyes, lightness in him.
Now, all she does is nod.
"We were friends once, Tommy. You can't be that surprised that I'd want to make sure you stay alive and at least a little comfortable. This place doesn't have to be torture."
There have been several women in his life who treated him like that: like he was precious to them, like he could be the man he is and they would still love him, his love would redeem him.
And then Tatiana had dug her nails in, had pushed him down and choked him, and given him something much closer to what he deserved. Death, and ecstasy.
He swallows thickly and goes to take another cigarette out of a silver case. "There's always something expected in return, Rey."
"And what is it you think I expect you to be able to give me?" She asks him before she can stop herself, because the arrogance in that is just too much to ignore.
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Which is... Well, she's not sure what, but at least it's familiar, something she knows how to handle. It feels so strange, though, knowing that somehow she is the social one now. His invitation to go on has her taking a few steps back, though, and she does just that.
She feels less anxious while she's moving, sliding through forms she's known since childhood.
"Have you started remembering everything now that you've been here awhile?"
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"Not everything about the people I'd never met. I kept notes on most people, but I can't remember those."
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She wants to know if he remembers beaches and introducing her to Rosethorn and dancing with her in Lark's cabin, if he remembers Alfie telling her stories about their world.
If he remembers the lights going out in the Enclosure and her holding him and forcing herself to learn how to comfort someone by pulling on memories of the time they were in love.
"Are you still keeping notes?" She asks him instead, because all the rest is something she can never let out. "Adding to them, or changing them entirely?"
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"No. I'm not keeping notes anymore." Not like that, anyway.
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If keeping lists about people is a hobby. She wonders what had been on hers, if he had even kept any notes on her once they had gotten close, and with him like this she thinks there's a chance he might tell her.
"Would I have been in trouble if your collection got out? I could see people using my weakness for fruit against me."
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"I destroyed it, I think." He knows. "Told meself I'd just have to remember."
Well. He did a good job of that, didn't he?
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It has nothing to do with her, or the relationship they had before he left. That hope is for him, that someday, with time, those smiles will come more easily.
None of that shows on her face in more than the way she seems to go a little lighter in turn, relax with him a little more, and her movements as she moves her staff around her body become more fluid.
"So all my secrets are safe, then. The rest of my life you'll be the only one who knows I eat horse treats instead of actually giving them out."
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"Not if you keep blurting it out in public."
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But he looks exhausted and this is more than she hoped for, them finding some easy ground between them instead of how tense they had both been in the Falcon. She thought it would always be like that, fighting to find a connection, and to most people this wouldn't be much, but not much is what Rey has known her entire life.
If he's relaxed enough to close his eyes in her presence, to just talk to her, it's more than enough. She goes through the forms in silence for a few more moments, but as she spins the staff between her hands she remembers something important, something others might have forgotten.
"Do you have any weapons, Tommy? Anything to defend yourself with?"
This is the Barge, after all.
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"I don't," he replies. "He hid all of my weapons, didn't he?"
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"Do you want one?"
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"Are you going to give me one?"
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She doesn't know if he does think that, if he's secure with the idea of being a warden who returned an inmate. She doesn't what the mindset is here for so many of the people who call the Barge home, if Tommy will be a target because of the power he once held.
She does know that she doesn't want to find out one day that he's in the infirmary going through a death toll when she had the power to stop that from happening.
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He isn't sure what to think of this. He wants the weapon, he feels so uncomfortable without it, but he doesn't know what he thinks of her giving it to him.
He's not going to let it bother him, though. It'll get him what he wants, and that's what matters.
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She needs that to be clear, to be sure that he knows it still.
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Everyone always wants something. Even if she doesn't know it yet, she wants something in return.
But he does want this. This time, there's no protesting, no shyness about taking what he wants. So he just nods, not really answering her implied question. "Then yes. I want one."
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But there is one option. She stops in the middle of her forms, puts her staff on her back, and comes back closer to him as she digs into the satchel at her hip. When her hand comes out again there's a knife in it, wickedly curved and long enough to do some damage, and it's clearly been well used. It's still sharp, but when she holds it out to him handle first there are dents and chips out of the wood.
"If you use it on Alfie I'll break your nose when I take it back," she tells him, entirely serious.
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He reaches out and wraps his hand around the hilt to feel the weight of it, and finds himself impressed, and faintly comforted. The idea that he can be dangerous again, like this, if he has to, that's worth something.
"If I use it on Alfie he'll have deserved it," he tells her, but he nods. He'll accept that punishment, at least.
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"It holds an edge well," she says, with a clear bit of pride in her voice. "You shouldn't need to sharpen it."
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"This helps," he says, gravely. No thank you, but for him, it's as good as.
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"If you think of anything else that does," she offers, and doesn't complete the thought. He'll know what she means and if she doesn't say it in completion it might be easier to swallow.
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Now, all she does is nod.
"We were friends once, Tommy. You can't be that surprised that I'd want to make sure you stay alive and at least a little comfortable. This place doesn't have to be torture."
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And then Tatiana had dug her nails in, had pushed him down and choked him, and given him something much closer to what he deserved. Death, and ecstasy.
He swallows thickly and goes to take another cigarette out of a silver case. "There's always something expected in return, Rey."
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