You're joking, right? [He's still turning it over in his fingertips, watching her with the faintest tug of an overly trusting smile. They've been to hell and back, the both of them, and he'd be lying if he said there wasn't some measure of appeal in the pitch she's casting his way. It's just...] The way you move, the way you fight - Rey, you're a certified badass, no matter what title goes along with it.

And I owe you for that. Big time. [Because he never had the chance to tell her before she peeled off to find Skywalker. Not that he blamed her (it was more important than sitting around watching him struggle to hold digipens and cups and dress himself without the assistance of a medical droid or two) just that she deserved to hear it, even if it came a little late.

Or a lot late, thumb working against a panel worn smooth across the years.]