By the time they reached the old T-65, cold sweat streaked Ben's face and he'd gone dangerously pale. The sight of the X-Wing drew up him up short, just for a moment-- because if there was one ship in the Galaxy that Ben knew almost as well as the Millennium Falcon it was Skywa-- Uncl-- Luke's battered fighter.
It was a single-man fighter, a tight fit for one on a good day, but he'd worked on this very ship often enough to know what could be done without. Hauling himself inside, it was the work of moments to pry open an inner panel and create a few extra handfuls of empty space-- enough to squeeze the two of them in the cockpit.
Ben didn't protest when Rey took the controls - he'd concede, later, that he'd barely managed to keep conscious at all - but merely dropped his head to rest against the cockpit canopy. Without the imminent threat of the temple collapsing atop them both, it was easier to slip into something halfway between exhaustion and mediation: aware and conscious through their bond, if needed, but otherwise trusting her to chart their course.
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It was a single-man fighter, a tight fit for one on a good day, but he'd worked on this very ship often enough to know what could be done without. Hauling himself inside, it was the work of moments to pry open an inner panel and create a few extra handfuls of empty space-- enough to squeeze the two of them in the cockpit.
Ben didn't protest when Rey took the controls - he'd concede, later, that he'd barely managed to keep conscious at all - but merely dropped his head to rest against the cockpit canopy. Without the imminent threat of the temple collapsing atop them both, it was easier to slip into something halfway between exhaustion and mediation: aware and conscious through their bond, if needed, but otherwise trusting her to chart their course.