Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5827186.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Wars_Episode_VII:_The_Force_Awakens_(2015)
  Relationship:
      Leia_Organa/Han_Solo, Kylo_Ren/Rey, Poe_Dameron/Finn
  Character:
      Rey_(Star_Wars), Ben_Solo_|_Kylo_Ren, Poe_Dameron, Finn_(Star_Wars), Hux_
      (Star_Wars), Snoke_(Star_Wars), Phasma_(Star_Wars), Leia_Organa, Han
      Solo, Chewbacca
  Additional Tags:
      Implied_Non-Con, implied_prostitution, dub_con, rey_is_fucking_bad_ass,
      the_resistance_is_not_entirely_good, the_first_order_is_not_entirely_bad,
      AU, I_have_no_idea_where_this_came_from, I'm_so_sorry, Reylo_endgame,
      some_Poe/Rey_a_the_start, Mostly_friendship_for_those_two_though
  Series:
      Part 1 of Optical_Delusion_of_Consciousness
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-01-26 Completed: 2016-06-17 Chapters: 11/11 Words: 41771
****** Psychedelic Inebriation ******
by Annaelle
Summary
     “Have you ever lost yourself in a kiss? I mean pure psychedelic
     inebriation. Not just lustful petting but transcendental
     metamorphosis when you became aware that the greatness of this being
     was breathing into you. Licking the sides and corners of your mouth,
     like sealing a thousand fleshy envelopes filled with the essence of
     your passionate being and then opened by the same mouth and delivered
     back to you, over and over again—the first kiss of the rest of your
     life. A kiss that confirms that the universe is aligned, that the
     world's greatest resource is love, and maybe even that God is a
     woman. With or without a belief in God, all kisses are metaphors
     decipherable by allocations of time, circumstance, and understanding”
     ―Saul Williams
     Rey hadn't thought being a part of the Resistance would mean signing
     her life away to the whims of male desire. She hadn't thought it
     would be more of a prison cell than her life on Jakku; so when she is
     handed the key, she is unsure why she does not immediately run. She
     is also unsure why she doesn't hate the other side as much as she
     used to. Maybe things are changing after all.
     REYLO endgame/implied Poe/Rey and Rey/Han. Rated E for rape/dub-con
     and violence.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** Chapter I - The Resistance *****
****** Chapter I
The Resistance ******
***** “Sometimes, even to live is an act of courage.”
—Seneca *****
Being a part of the Galactic Resistance is nothing like Rey had imagined it.
As a little girl, abandoned and alone on Jakku, she'd imagined becoming a pilot
and joining the Resistance to fight against the villainous First Order. As the
years passed, and her family didn't come for her, joining the Resistance became
an escape to her.
And she had.
She'd scavenged and traded and bartered until she could find all the parts she
needed to fix up a small X-wing that had recently crashed near her old AT-AT,
and then flew the hell out of there.
She'd flown to Takodana, where she'd heard rumours of Resistance
sympathisers—once there, it had only taken her a little while to convince them
to take her back to the base with them.
And that's where the problems started.
She was told that the only way women contributed to the Resistance was by
making sure the men had a way to blow off steam at night. Even Leia Organa, a
princess in her own right, and one of the only influential women on the base,
was only heard because she had once drawn General Solo's attention, and somehow
managed to keep it.
Of course, had she known this was what the Resistance would be like, Rey
doesn't think she would have left Jakku to join them. Jakku was an absolute
hell, but at least they didn't make her prostitute herself for food and board.
They'd taken her ship from her when she arrived, so she couldn't even leave
anymore.
She had little choice but to do as they demanded.
The first man she had to bed—the first man she ever bedded—was a pilot named
Poe. He was nice, and he smiled a lot; he even offered to just let her spend
the night, without sex of any kind, when he realised she was a virgin and that
she didn't really want to do anything with him.
She'd almost taken him up on that offer, but then she'd remember that the next
day, she'd be in another man's bed, and that man might not be as kind to her as
Poe would be—she'd rather lose her virginity to him, knowing she had at least a
small chance of enjoying herself, than to one of the other male pigs that
roamed the Resistance base.
And so she had let him take her, and she had, at least, enjoyed it a little
bit. He'd been very gentle, and he'd made sure that she came too, before he
took his own pleasure. In the days and weeks that followed, she learned all too
fast that a man like Poe Dameron was a rarity.
She loathed most of the men on the base, ignored most of the women—there were
far too many who liked bragging about their numerous conquests, including the
married men, and the officers—and tried to keep to herself. Every evening
during dinner, she'd be told which of the men had requested her, and where
she'd be expected to show up after she finished her meal.
She'd be informed of what would be expected of her once she entered the
bedroom—and some of the men liked positively horrible things; one liked to
degrade and demean her, and another liked it when she pretended he was raping
her.
(To her, that didn't feel much like pretending.)
They’re not all horrible, of course. She has some men that she doesn’t mind so
much, after a while, and some that she even likes having sex with.
Poe, of course, is one of them—he doesn’t even want her to sleep with him every
time he requests her. There’s been plenty of instances where he’d just ask for
her company and conversation; where he’d just hold her throughout the night.
She likes those nights.
Fortunately, there’s others too, even amongst the higher ranking officers. A
few of the other pilots are also kind to her, and while most aren’t very good
at making her feel comfortable enough to actually take her own pleasure in
their encounters, she does prefer those to the ones where she spends hours in
the ‘fresher afterwards.
She hates the situation, and she hates that she has to do this—but she doesn’t
hate everyone she has to do it with.
Not anymore, at least. 
She knows that Poe—the kind, sweet man that he is—had tried to request her on a
permanent basis; but it seemed she'd attracted too much attention from the men
higher up in the hierarchy. None of them were willing to let a lowly pilot take
their newest, shiniest toy from them.
And so she was passed from man to man, her feeling of disgust and self-loathing
growing with every man that spilled himself inside of her.
Of course, she’s not one to dwell on things she knows she cannot change—she’s
strong, and she doesn’t need anyone to take care of her, but she’s no fool.
She’s well aware that the things she does to survive don’t define her.
It’s not who she is.
So she doesn’t fight it; she doesn’t cry, and she doesn’t try to steal an X-
wing to get away—it’s not like she has anywhere to go anyway. She simply goes
through the motions and goes on a mandated weekly check-up at the med-bay, lets
them replace the birth control chip every three months, and goes to bed with a
different man every night.
It goes on like that for nearly a year before Princess Leia requests her
presence—at first, Rey fears that it is because Han Solo seems to have taken a
liking to her; he's requested her several times, and no woman likes the girl
their husband is sleeping with.
"You're afraid of me," the elder woman observes as Rey sits before her in her
cleanest shirt and trousers, though her boots are horribly worn, almost as
though the thought amuses her.
Rey doesn't speak, and simply stares at the tips of her boots, waiting for the
woman to tell her why she's been summoned.
"As you may know," Leia finally says, "my husband sent Poe Dameron out on a
very sensitive mission to acquire some potentially game-changing information."
Rey nods—Poe had told her all about it on his last night on base. He had
requested her company for the night, and the request had been granted—she
supposes that the higher-ups wouldn't begrudge him his choice of woman on the
eve before a big mission—and she had once again found herself in his arms.
He'd offered to just have a drink together, and to talk—but she was so grateful
for him and his kindness, she’d just wanted to make him feel cherished and
loved, as he had done for her so many times. She'd used every little trick
she'd learned over the past few months and made him pant and whine until he
begged her; and for the first time, she hadn't felt filthy after they'd
finished.
She remembers wondering if that's what love is supposed to feel like.
"Yes," she finally replies, "I know. Is he back?"
Leia's expression darkens, and Rey's stomach drops. "I'm afraid," the woman
hesitates, "that he's been captured. We've no update on his status, but we are
prepared for the worst."
Rey feels sick to her stomach, and she has to struggle not to burst into tears
in front of the Princess. It feels surreal to think that Poe may be dead; he'd
been so kind, and sweet to her, and she had come to count on his presence on
the base. "Why am I here?" She rasps, unable to really hide how deeply the news
had hit her.
"He was captured on Jakku," Leia says primly, "it seems he was able to secure
the information we were looking for in his droid. Its last known location was
not far from Niima Outpost—"
"—which is where I used to live," Rey finishes, immediately realising where
this talk is going. "You want me to find it for you." She snorts unattractively
and leans back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why would I do that? The
Resistance took so much from me—why would I help you now?"
Leia winces and nods slightly. "I'm aware of what they've made you do, Rey, and
I'm sorry. Unfortunately, it is the only way things work right now. I was in
your position once—and I made the best of it. I used the situation to my
advantage, so I can still fight for what I believe is right. I'm asking you to
do the same."
She can’t rightfully argue with the woman, and reluctantly nods her head in
response.
And that is how, two hours later, she finds herself in an X-wing, on her way
back to Jakku, while a little voice in her head tells her she’s certifiably
insane for helping the people that turned her into nothing more than a common
whore.
She sighs as she prepares to enter hyperspace, and leans back in the slightly
uncomfortable seat.
Unfortunately, the little voice is right.
***** Chapter II - Jakku *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
****** Chapter II
Jakku ******
***** “The enemy is anybody who is going to get you killed, no matter which
side he’s on.”
—Joseph Heller *****
Jakku is just like she remembers.
Hot, dry and absolutely miserable.
Her old AT-AT has been completely stripped in her absence—not that she is too
surprised about that—and even the old doll that she’d left on the shelf is
gone. She looks around, feeling oddly detached as she takes in the walls that
had protected her from harsh weather and other scavengers for many years, and
wonders if the somewhat naïve girl that left this place a year ago, looking for
a better life, looking for a life where she’d be free, is truly gone.
She’s not felt like that girl in a long time, and she’s never wished she could
go back to being that starry-eyed little girl more.
She’d paid a fortune to land the X-wing somewhere safe, where no one would be
stripping it for parts, and she hopes she won’t find that kriffing droid right
away, no matter how much it would help the Resistance. She is looking forward
to whatever little reprieve she can get from having to whore herself out every
night just so she’ll get fed the next day.
She vaguely wonders how many nights of reprieve this little mission will earn
her; not just here, but back on the base as well. She’d made it pretty clear to
Leia and Han—who’d shown up minutes before she took off—that she expected some
kind of compensation for retrieving BB-8 for them.
She stands in the middle of the AT-AT for a few more moments before she decides
that more nostalgia isn’t going to help her find BB-8. She sighs and shakes off
the many memories she still holds of this place, before stalking back outside
and climbing onto her borrowed speeder to head back to Niima Outpost.
She’d managed to convince Unkarr Plutt to let her sleep in one of the tents
while she searches for BB-8. She’s not entirely sure how she managed that, but
she swears she’d seen his eyes glaze over when she’d demanded he rent her one
of those empty tents at the edges of the Outpost, right before he agreed and
even offered to loan her one of the speeders.
Of course, she doesn’t really care why he agreed—he did, and that’s all that
really matters.
Once at the Outpost, she ties the speeder to the iron bars behind Unkarr’s
little shack of a trading post, and offers Mashra, who is just walking out with
a half-ration packet, a wry smile before she turns on her heel and heads
towards her tent.
She has to start planning a way to locate BB-8 in this kriffing stupid desert,
and she has very few ideas on where to start.
She’d already visited Tuanul, where Leia had told her it took off from—she
nearly cried when she’d seen the many bodies that littered the village; women
and men alike—and found nothing that could help her find the little bugger.
She’d found Poe’s damaged X-wing and, in a moment of insane sentimentality,
climbed into the seat to see if she could still feel him there—his scent
lingered, and it had been comforting for a split-second before she realised she
was being stupid. Poe had been a good man; a kind man; that had treated her the
best way he could in a very bad situation, but he was never going to be a
saviour to her.
The only person who is going to save her from this situation is her.
She’d decided that she’d remember Poe as the good man he was—she’d mourn him,
and she’d miss his presence in her life, despite the circumstances that brought
them together, but she wouldn’t let his loss cripple her.
She sighs again, curling up on the little sleep mat and shutting her eyes.
Obviously, she’s not meant to find this droid in a day—and that’s fine with
her.
More time away from the Resistance Base.
Excellent.
.
.
.
T WO DAYS LATER
She’s not made much progress in the past couple of days, and she cannot deny
that she is very tempted to leave the planet and disappear. She knows she could
do it, and she wants to do it, but there’s a small voice that constantly
reminds her that Poe died to get this information.
He died so the Resistance could get the information they need to end this war
before it’s really started.
She may be willing to abandon the Resistance, but she’s not nearly as willing
to abandon Poe—she knows it’d feel like betraying him—like tossing away
everything he had ever done for her.
With a heavy sigh, she packs up her meagre collection of belongings in a
rucksack and leaves the tent. She’d decided the previous day that hanging
around in Niima Outpost wasn’t getting her anywhere, and that she’d move onto
the next village. The village is located a good hundred miles from Niima
Outpost, but she supposes it’s not unreasonable to think that BB-8 could have
gotten that far—it’s not like it needs food or water, or even rest.
She ties her bag to the speeder, and is in the process of wrapping her scarf
around her head against the harsh winds and sun when she’s broken from her
thoughts by a loud, shrill beep.
She jumps, spinning on her heel to look for the source of the sudden noise.
And there, between the watering station and the cleaning stations, is BB-8.
He’s beeping furiously, rolling around someone’s legs, keeping the unknown man
trapped on the spot. His head is bent down and his back is to her, but she’d
recognize that jacket anywhere.
“Poe!” She exclaims, breaking into a run immediately. Her heart leaps in her
chest, and she doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry—he’s alive, alive,
alive—but she does know that she’s so relieved.
“Poe!” She yells again when he doesn’t respond. “Poe!”
She’s nearly there when the man turns—she stops dead in her tracks, feeling
quite like the air has been knocked from her lungs. That man is not Poe—his
skin is dark and his hair is far shorter, and she doesn’t know him at all.
“Were you talking to me?” He asks quizzically, pointing to himself with a near
comic expression of disbelief on his face. BB-8 has stopped rolling circles
around the man’s legs and is rolling back and forth a little, clearly unsure
whether or not to trust her—she’s sure he remembers her; she’d seen him in
Poe’s quarters a fair few times.
“Where did you get that jacket?” She spits, swallowing past the bile that rises
in her throat at the sight of another man wearing Poe’s jacket, “It belongs to
Poe Dameron. Where. Did. You. Get. It?” She pulls her blaster from its holster
and points it at him with a slightly shaky hand, refusing to show him that
she’s on the verge of breaking down.
BB-8 squeals loudly in agreement and speeds to her side, bumping against her
leg affectionately—that was easier than she had thought—before beeping rudely
at the man. She returns her glare to him, not at all surprised to find him
looking at the blaster in her hands warily, and takes a step forward.
“Answer me,” she demands.
 “Okay, okay,” he shouts, throwing up his hands in defence. “Okay! Yes, it’s
Poe’s jacket. I—I helped him escape from the Finalizer, and it worked, we got
out, but they shot at us and we got hit…” He trails off and Rey feels the
dreadful but familiar feeling of nausea well up in the pit of her stomach. “We
crashed,” he says quietly. “Poe didn’t make it. I’m so sorry—I tried to help
him.”
Tears burn in her eyes at his words, and she breathes a deep, shuddering breath
in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over herself—she doesn’t cry.
Her childhood on Jakku had taught her very early on that tears were a needless
and baseless waste on a planet with a water shortage. After joining the
Resistance, she’d refused to cry, refused to give into a useless weakness that
wouldn’t make her feel better in the slightest.
And yet she finds herself on the verge of tears for the first time in years—Poe
had been the closest thing to a friend she’d ever had; the only man that had
treated her with respect when no one else had—she’d held out hope that he’d
survived until now.
But he hadn’t.
She breathes in another shuddering breath and shuts her eyes, ignoring the man
who’d taken Poe’s jacket—he’s staring at her, clearly uncomfortable and
fidgeting—and takes a moment to compose herself.
She gives herself a full thirty seconds before reopening her eyes and shoving
her despair away into a deep, dark corner of her mind. She returns her gaze to
the strange man, quietly deliberating what to do next. She can’t very well take
him with her; her X-wing only seats one, but she also doesn’t want to just
leave him behind.
He’s the only one who can tell her more about Poe’s last hours. 
“You,” he hesitates, still fidgeting nervously with the end of the jacket’s
sleeve. “You can have it back. Was he a friend of yours?”
She wants to nod and tell him that yes, she and Poe were good friends, and that
his jacket should be hers; of course it should, because he would have wanted
her to have it—but no words come to mind and she can’t seem to make her body
cooperate.
It’s not until BB-8 bumps against her leg and beeps softly at her that she
manages to snap herself from her daze. She sighs and nods at the little droid.
“Yes, I know,” she mumbles. “You’re right.” She moves to turn away from the man
in Poe’s jacket and inclines her head to where she landed her X-wing. “Come on,
BB-8,” she says, “we’ve got to go. I need to get you home.”
“Wait,” the man cries out, grabbing her hand as she turns—her anger flares and
she yanks her hand back immediately.
“Don’t touch me,” she hisses, pushing the tip of her blaster against his chest.
Before either of them can say anything else, Rey spots two Stormtroopers over
the man’s shoulders—they spot her at the same moment she spots them, and she
doesn’t know how, but she knows they recognize BB-8. “Sithspit,” she curses
when they turn towards her, their blasters raised. “Stang!” She turns to BB-
8 and says hurriedly, “We have to go. Now.” She’s barely started running when
blaster bolts start flying around her head. Suddenly there are several TIE-
fighters overhead, and there are people screaming, and fires, and things
blowing up—stang, stang, stang!
She’s ten feet from her X-wing when it’s blown up—she’s so close she can feel
the heat of the fire on her face, and she stumbles back a few paces, nearly
tripping over BB-8 as she does.
The man grabs her hand again and drags her away from the wreckage of her X-wing
seconds before it explodes, and she’s too astonished by his audacity to
actually pull her hand away.
Well, that, and the continuous blaster bolts being fired at her head.
“Come on, BB-8,” she yells over her shoulder at the little droid. “Quickly!”
She pulls her hand from the dark-skinned stranger again and shouts, “Stop
holding my hand!” at him, before changing their direction ever so slightly to
where she knows Unkarr has several unused but operable spacecrafts.
“Wait, wait, wait!” The stranger yells. “What are you doing?”
She doesn’t bother to look back—he’ll be following—and yells, “We’re taking one
of those ships and flying the hell out of here!” She doesn’t look too deeply
into why she’s taking him with her—it’s not like she can leave him, either—and
continues running to one of the only ships that is still in good condition.
The rest of the ships are all essentially garbage.
“Fly?” she hears him exclaim. “We need a pilot!”
“We’ve got one,” she yells back, only to be blown back by the blast when the
ship in front of her explodes into a huge ball of fire. “Sithspit,” she curses
again, reluctantly letting the man help her up before turning to the only other
ship left.
“Garbage will have to do,” she groans before sprinting towards it, BB-8 and the
stranger on her heels.
The doors open with a hiss, and she manages to get the ship off the ground and
into the sky, the stranger—who she’d banished to the gunner’s post—constantly
yelling unwanted and unneeded advice in her ear.
At least she managed to get the damn thing off the ground, she thinks, as she
zigzags across the desert, trying to shake the two TIE-fighters still following
her—the rest should be a piece of cake.
She feels the blast before she sees it, and she curses when she realizes
they’re leaking fuel.
Instead of remaining close to the ground, like the man had advised her to, she
tilts the controls and points the ship straight up, shooting out into the
atmosphere and through an entire squadron of TIE-fighters. Rey doesn’t stop to
stare, and instead prepares to enter hyperspace in record time—with the amount
of fuel they’re losing per minute, she needs to do this fast.
“Hold on,” she yells over her shoulder, before turning back to the panels in
front of her, punching in the coordinates to the only friendly planet she knows
within a reasonable distance.
“Takodana, here we come.”
.
.
.
They'd made it to Takodana—barely.
Instead of the smooth landing she'd hoped for, they'd skiddedto a stop,
narrowly avoiding crashing into the trees. Finn—that’s what Poe had named him,
apparently—had complained, but Rey had just been grateful that the ship had
made it that far in the first place.
Once there, she'd set out to find replacements for the parts that had been
damaged. She'd told BB-8 to stay in the ship; she didn't want to risk him being
spotted again—being shot at once a day was more than enough for her, thank you
very much—and she needed a moment to herself.
She’d left Finn with the ship, with specific instructions not to touch anything
and no, she does not need help, she needs him to stay out of her way, before
heading off to the little market set up behind Maz Kanata’s Cantina.
Once there, she’d done what she did best; scavenged the cheapest parts and
tools and bartered for cheap prices while keeping her mind off of her impending
return to the Resistance Base—this time without Poe there to make her life a
little more bearable.
It takes her nearly four hours, but she has finally gathered everything she
needs to repair the ship, and she begins the long trek back, laden with heavy
bags and a sled to drag the components too big to carry. Her muscles burn in
protest, unused to carrying and dragging such weight around—she resolves to
train more in the months to come—and her mind refuses to quiet down.
The little voice in the back of her head is insistent and annoying, because it
is right when it tells her she will die if she has to spend another year as the
Resistance’s whore.
She knows this; it is a realization that had struck her on Jakku; but she also
wishes to adhere to Leia’s advice. Leia had made the best of the way the
Resistance—and the Rebellion before it—worked, and made it so that she could
still fight for the things she believed in.
Rey respects that kind of inner power, but she wonders, deep down, if she
possesses that kind of strength of mind and heart. She wishes, desperately so,
that she could simply say yes, but she is also mature enough to realize that
innate stubbornness will not help her survive a lifetime enslaved to men’s base
desires, destined to hide her own ambitions and goals because of her gender.
It may be the life Princess Leia had settled for, but Rey knows it is not one
she would choose.
She sighs heavily as she finally reaches the front of Maz Kanata’s Cantina once
again and pauses, wiping her forearm over her forehead, where several drops of
sweat were beading and sliding down her temples.
She shoots a furtive glance to the entrance of the cantina and wonders if she’d
get away with going in for a drink—just one—before returning to the ship,
before she shakes her head and reminds herself of the several hours of work she
has to look forward too.
She heaves another sigh and bends down, grabbing the handles of the sled and
resuming dragging it forward, to the other side of the lake, where she’d crash-
landed the YT-1300 freighter. The ship is so old, she grumbles to herself, that
original parts were nowhere to be found on the little market; she considers
herself lucky to have found as many components as she did.
The trek back to the ship takes her another hour—whereas it only took her ten
minutes on her way to the market—and by the time she gets there, her breathing
is laboured and her arms are shaking.
Silently grateful for the fact that there are not a lot of people around on
this side of the lake, she drops the three bags she’d slung over her shoulders
and drops the sled, rolling her shoulders in a hopeful attempt to shake out the
kinks that had formed while she carried the bags.
“BB-8? Finn?” She calls out, picking up the bags again as she walks into the
ship. “I’m back.”
There’s no response, and a little shiver of dread makes its way down her spine
as her head swivels back and forth, taking in the empty ship. She drops the
bags and runs towards the bedroom and the ‘fresher—maybe they’re just in there;
maybe the guy needed to wash up and is still in the ‘fresher and just can’t
hear her.
She hopes for his sake that that’s the case—she told him not to leave the
ship—because she is going to bloody throttle him when she gets her hands on
him.
Just when she’s about to panic, she hears BB-8 beep shrilly as it rolls up the
ramp into the ship, and Finn’s deep voice as he replies to whatever BB-8 said.
She exhales in relief and hurries back to the front of the ship, just in time
to see them stop and puzzle over the bag she’d left there as she ran into the
ship.
“Where the hell were you?” She exclaims angrily. “I told you not to leave the
ship, you son of a Bantha!” She pokes him in the chest aggressively, feeling
inordinately pleased when he takes a few steps back and raises his hands in
surrender.
“We were just looking around,” he sputters, “I went to get us some food and
water from that cantina—that’s all. I checked the supplies on the ship first,
and there wasn’t anything edible left, so I—”
“—so you thought it was a good idea to go out with him,” Rey gestures to BB-
8 impatiently, “in public? Don’t you think that if they could find us on Jakku,
they can find us here too? For Force’s sake, do you have any idea what’s at
stake here?”
“Of course I do,” he says, a little too smug for her tastes, “I'm a pretty big
deal in the Resistance. I know what I’m doing.”
Her eyes nearly bug out of her head when he says that and she wants to laugh
and smack him at the same time. “You’re no such thing,” she says scathingly,
shaking her head dismissively. “I don’t—” She stops talking when someone
screams outside, and an unnatural wave of heat seems to roll over them before
it passes.
“What the hell was that?” Rey chokes, watching as his eyes widen in horror
before he hurries outside. She looks after him quizzically for a moment before
she follows him, finding him standing with four other pilots, all looking up at
the sky with expressions of mixed curiosity and wariness.
She looks up, too, eyes widening at the sight of four large, red beams
travelling across the skies.
She doesn’t know what they are, but the sight of them makes dread pool in the
pit of her stomach—and then, suddenly, she can’t breathe, and there are
thousands, millions, of cries echoing in her head, and she can feel heat
searing off her skin.
Her knees buckle and she stumbles, gasping as she tries desperately to force
air into her lungs, and tries to push away the sound of those helpless cries.
She grasps at the nearest thing to remain on her feet—it just so happens to be
the sleeve of Poe’s jacket—and tries to blink, but her body won’t cooperate.
“So much pain,” she gasps, pressing her hand to her chest. “What was that?”
She knows Finn’s talking, and maybe she should listen, but there are still so
many voices in her head, confused and afraid and crying and she can’t
breathe—she needs to get away.
Away from here, away from him, just away.
She turns on her heel and runs, sprinting into the woods—but not before she
yells at BB-8 to stay on the ship, where he’ll be safe—to get away from
whatever it is that’s happening to her.
She just needs a moment to breathe.
She’s been running for less than ten minutes when she hears the distant sounds
of screaming and explosions—she’s not close enough to hear the blasters, but
she knows that if she turns around now, she’ll be found soon enough.
She should go back—should take BB-8 and hide him and whatever information he
holds—but she can’t. She can’t make herself move back towards the fighting,
can’t convince her body that she’s needed there, that she has to do this for
Poe—in fact, she can’t move at all.
“What the—” she chokes, fighting against whatever invisible restraints suddenly
hold her, when she spots him. He’s tall and dressed entirely in black robes,
and his face is covered by a mask—but she can sense something from him, and she
isn’t sure if it terrifies her or comforts her more.
“There you are,” the man speaks, his voice mechanical and void of emotion,
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Before she can speak, he gestures to
the men behind him—Stormtroopers, she realizes—and says, “Go find the droid. I
will take care of this one.”
“Who are you?” She breathes shakily, still attempting to struggle against
whatever he’s doing to restrain her. “What do you want from me?”
He’s quiet at first, walking around her in slow, deliberate circles as he
studies her. He finally stops behind her, and she can feel his body heat when
he steps closer, his voice a near whisper as he says, “So, so many things,
little girl.”
And then, there is nothing.
Chapter End Notes
     Another little chapter of this little piece of trash. There will be
     canon elements, but also lots and lots of AU, and I will be taking a
     lot of liberties on political issues and such. Also, I warn you in
     advance, there will be violence and mentions of sexual assault in
     this story.
     Of course, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed and followed and
     faved and left kudos--you guys are amazing :D
     Thanks to Juulna (MeaghanM) for beta'ing, listening to my incessant
     ranting and growing idiocy on the subject of this story :D I love
     you, girl, and you're totally my Reylo-soulmate :p
     Please leave a little message with your thoughts! :D
     Love, Annaelle
***** Chapter III - Interrogation *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
****** Chapter III
Interrogation ******
*****  “War is what happens when language fails.”
—Margret Atwood *****
The first thing she becomes aware of is something tying down both of her arms.
They are pinned down by her sides and, no matter how hard she pulls, she can’t
move them. Her legs are similarly tied down, and it’s not until she tries to
slip out of her boot to get her foot loose that she realizes she is being
observed.
She stills and swallows thickly, every little hair on her body standing on end
as she tries to recall the moments in the woods before she lost consciousness.
Memories flash before her closed eyelids at dizzying speeds, and she feels
slightly nauseous when she remembers him—when she remembers being helpless.
She lets out a breathy sigh, gathers all her courage, and turns her head
slightly so she can look at him.
“Where am I?” She’s surprised by how steady her voice is, but she’s careful to
keep her expression neutral—she’s not going to give that laser brain anything,
no matter what he does to her. From what Finn had told her, Poe had withstood a
lot of torture from this monster before he finally caved. If Poe could
withstand it, so can she.
“You’re my guest,” the mechanical voice answers, and she’s certain he’s mocking
her—because if this is how he treats his supposed guests, she’s almost afraid
to see what he’d do to his enemies.
“Where are the others?” She demands harshly, refusing to give him the
satisfaction of an answer to his earlier jibe.
He tilts his head to the side slightly and she can tell he is studying her—and
she hopes he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. “You mean the traitors,
thieves, murderers, and rapists you like to call friends?” Rey doesn’t quite
manage to hide her grimace when he describes them as such—mostly because she
knows he’s right, and she can’t refute his words without lying.
“You’ll be pleased to hear I have no idea,” he adds, and she almost exhales in
relief.
Almost.
Instead, she maintains her steady glare and clenches her jaw as she
imagines—vividly—bashing his head in with her old staff.
Almost as soon as the thought crosses her mind, she can sense a wave of
something like amusement coming from him—and she’s far too busy being startled
to think much upon how she felt that—before he says, “You still wish to kill
me.”
“Tends to happen,” she spits back, “when you’re being hunted by a creature in a
mask.”
When she looks back on it later, she’s not entirely sure what she expected him
to say in the face of her accusation. Maybe something to negate her; something
to counterbalance or disprove her words; something to throw her own words back
at her.
She does not, for a second, expect him to remove said mask—and she is decidedly
not prepared for what he looks like beneath that mask. He’s young—younger than
she anticipated—with curled black hair that is surprisingly voluminous despite
being trapped under a helmet for hours, a long face dominated by a large nose,
full, pink lips and rather big ears.
He’s handsome, in a way, and it throws her for a minute.
He looks so human.
She watches, still speechless, as he unceremoniously plunks the mask down on a
large ash tray before approaching her.
“What do you want from me?” She whispers, wiggling in the chair uncomfortably
when he leans down over her, crowding her with his large, imposing form. She
can barely breathe when he's this close, and it makes her want to crawl out of
her skin. “What do you want?” She repeats, focusing on how she hates this man,
simply because he's clearly First Order, and they are responsible for killing
Poe, for hurting so many others—for wanting to take people's freedom away.
“You're a peculiarity,” he finally replies, leaning back just a tad. “One that
I intend to examine thoroughly.”
“I’m no one,” she contradicts almost automatically; a response that had been
drilled into her head for as long as she could remember. “I’m a scavenger girl
from Jakku—I’m no one.” The words feel hollow as they roll from her tongue, the
lie thicker and harder to pronounce than it ever was before, and there is
something pushing against her consciousness, pleading to be let in.
“You know I could just take whatever I want,” he says, his voice level and
calm—but the words are too familiar, too painful to hear again, and her entire
body freezes in fear.
“No,” she whispers, turning her head away from him, desperately wishing that
she could escape his touch.
It’s no use—his hand follows her movements, hovering just above her forehead,
and she can feelhim pulling, dragging memories to the forefront of her mind.
She can see the moments playing out all over again, and it’s the worst kind of
torture she could ever have envisioned.
She’s forced to feel everything all over again, and she’s drowning in the
sensation.
Pain.
Fear.
Loneliness.
“You’re so lonely,” he taunts—but she can sense an underlying emotion from him.
One she’s certain he didn’t expect her to recognize—empathy.
“So afraid to leave,” he continues, flashing through her memories of her life
on D’Qar, “despite what depravities and terrible things they made you
do—despite knowing you could steal an X-wing and escape to that ocean you so
often dream of. That little island. I see it.”
She grits her teeth and pushes back, with all her might, against the probes in
her mind—against him.“Get out of my head,” she hisses, willing him to back
down, shoving him back as hard as she can, “I’m not giving you anything.”
She can feel him fighting back, shoving at her mind with short, sharp jabs, and
she can see the little muscle in his jaw thicken as he spits out, “We’ll see
about that.”
The struggle lasts no more than a minute, and suddenly, he falters, and Rey is
hit by an unexpected and strange bout of dizziness—the world before her seems
to spin, and she switches between seeing him and seeing herself. All she can
hear are relentless taunts and jeering laughter—and she feels so small and
worthless and afraid.
Memories flash before her eyes—memories that are not hers.
“You,” she gasps, arching forward in the chair, straining against the bonds
that hold down her arms and legs, “You’re so afraid—that you’ll never be as
strong as Darth Vader.”
“Enough!” He bellows, surging forward to shove her down on the chair—the
connection snaps, and she feels like she crashes back into her own mind,
watching him pace around the room with large, impatient strides. “You,” he
starts, shaking his pointer finger at her, “You are powerful. More so than you
know, little girl.”
She’s still gasping for breath, her head spinning as she attempts to come to
terms with everything. “What was that?” She chokes, lifting her head up so she
can look at him again. “How did I do that? How did you?”
He raises an eyebrow at her before a sly smile spreads across his full lips.
“The Force—surely you know who and what you are? I would imagine your family
made sure to tell you never to use your powers again, until they told you it
was safe to do so.”
Her heart sinks as she stares at him, the knowing look in his eye downright
terrifying.
“I’m no one,” she repeats again, “I can’t use the Force—I don’t know what just
happened.” She believes in her own words—she had stopped being a part of her
family the moment they abandoned her on Jakku. And though she, deep down,
recalls someone telling her to remember that she shouldn’t use her name
anymore, she has no recollection of her life before being left on Jakku.
“Of course,” Kylo—she’d snagged that name from the deep recesses of his mind,
had seen him giving himself the name to wear like armour—shrugs casually. “Your
family is of no further importance.” He stops before her again and eyes her
intently. “I can teach you. I can show you the ways of the Force.”
“You would make me a monster,” she sneers, appalled at the mere thought of
allowing the monster that killed Poe—even indirectly—to teach her anything.
“No,” he chuckles, “No—I would make you strong. Untouchable.”
The words are tempting, and she can nearly envision herself standing before the
men of the Resistance, strong and brave and untouchable, and she honestly
considers saying yes for a split-second—and then she remembers Poe’s face, the
way he’d smiled at her, and the way he’d tried to protect her in the only way
he could.
She remembers hearing that he was captured. She remembers Finn telling her that
he and Poe were shot down, and that Poe didn’t make it.
The First Order was responsible for his death, and she would never side with
them because of that.
“No,” she hisses, relentlessly pushing down the tears that are burning behind
her eyes, “I’ll never be on your side—you are the murderers and thieves, not
us.” Before she can say anything else, she feels him press into her mind again,
and she can’t shut him out.
An image of Poe floats to the forefront of her mind again, and she can feel his
genuine surprise.
“The pilot,” he drawls slowly. “You care a great deal for him.”
“I did,” she snaps, narrowing her eyes at the audacity he must have to bring up
Poe. “And then you took him—you killed him.” And suddenly, everything she had
felt when Finn had told her Poe was gone wells up again, and the images of what
she would have to endure at the Base without Poe there to protect her, at least
a little bit, flash before her eyes.
She doesn’t even realize he was watching along with her until he chokes, and
she turns to him, surprised by the absolute disgust on his face.
“You’ll be glad,” he chokes, even paler than he had been before, “to hear that
the First Order does not treat its female soldiers and officers as such—any
female for that matter. Every contribution to winning this infernal war is
appreciated, and it matters not whether you have breasts or balls.”
His jaw is clenched, and she can tell he is absolutely seething on her behalf,
and it confounds her.
“As long as you have a brain,” he thunders, “You will be appreciated here, and
no one is treated like a slave based on their sex.”
Rey is stunned by the intense anger behind his words, and openly stares at him.
No one has ever responded like that to what the Resistance did to her, and
she’s not sure what to make of it.
Surely there is more to it than second-hand anger over seeing her memories?
“Join me,” he finally says, stepping forward and pressing a button on the panel
beside the chair. The restraints open with a hiss and she holds her breath,
unable to quite believe that this is happening. “Join me,” he repeats, “and I
swear I will do everything in my power to ensure you will never be touched
against your will ever again.”
“You’ve killed,” she whispers, “thousands—millions. I felt them, though I don’t
know how. How can I join an organisation that destroyed… destroys innocent
people? That destroyed the only man that ever treated me with respect?”
He is silent for a long time, and she almost thinks no response will come—she
almost thinks he’ll just refasten the restraints and leave her—when he finally
says, “He’s not dead. Your pilot—Poe Dameron. He is quite well. His Force
signature is quite strong, I assure you. He’s not dead.”
She gasps, her eyes filling with tears despite her best attempts to keep them
at bay, and struggles to breathe, to think—it can’t be real, Kylo has to be
lying, he has to be.
Poe is gone.
He’s dead. Finn saw him die and she felt it, she grieved for him—she felt the
pain of losing him and being unable to do anything to save him.
He can’t be alive and well.
He can’t be.
She closes her eyes, squeezing them shut as she takes a deep, ragged breath, a
single tear running down her cheek as she repeats her new mantra to herself,
desperately shoving her hope deep down.
It’s not real, it’s not true; he’s just saying these things to make me join
him.
“I’m not lying,” Kylo says, and she can sense amusement from him. “Your pilot
is alive and well.”
She swallows thickly, eyeing him suspiciously, but nods. “Show me,” she says
hoarsely, “Show me how you know.” Before she’s had a moment to prepare, she can
see his memory in her mind, feel the immense amount of power he exerted to
locate that little star with its own humming melody—to find it absolutely
untainted and intact.
He’s alive.
She doesn’t need to know much about the Force to know that the little light
belongs to Poe, and he’s alive—and that’s all she needs to know.
She knows what she needs to do.
“I’ll join you,” she tells him, “But only if you swear to me that you will make
sure that Poe remains unharmed and free—whatever happens from this point out.”
She sits up straighter and looks him right in the eye, refusing to back down.
“Promise me none of your men or Stormtroopers will hurt him in any way.”
He stares back with something akin to curiosity in his eyes for a long time
before he nods curtly. “I swear,” he replies. “I will see to it that he is not
harmed in any way.” He holds out his hand again and says, “Do we have an
agreement?”
She stares at his outstretched hand for a long time, the little voices in her
head waging a war of their own as she attempts to contemplate the consequences
of accepting his help, his protection and his hand. There are thousands of
little implications should she allow him to teach her—because she has no
illusions that he will show her anything but the Dark Side of the Force—and she
isn’t sure if she wants that.
But, more than anything, she never wants to feel helpless again.
She never wants to be forced back into her life at the Resistance Base.
The only thing—person—that had really tied her to the Resistance, Poe, would be
safe if she did this. He would be spared, and he would be able to build up a
life away from this mess—and so her last tie to the Resistance is severed.
She takes a deep, shuddering breath, meets his dark, hypnotic gaze with her
own, and takes his hand.
An electric current shoots through her arm the moment her skin touches his, and
she gasps, surprised, tugging her hand away from his and cradling it to her
chest. Her skin is still tingling as though receiving tiny little aftershocks,
and it’s both pleasurable and terrifying. When she looks up at him, his eyes
are wide and surprised, too—but there is a hint of recognition in them, and his
lips quirk up into a little, genuine smile before he speaks.
“Don’t be afraid. I feel it too.”
Chapter End Notes
     I thank you all for your support of this story--I have most of it
     written, only three more to write before it'll be completed, after
     which I'll be updating twice a week.
     For now, updates are scheduled for every Saturday :D
     Thanks a million to Juulna (MeaghanM) for her endless patience and
     listening to my medication-induced rambling for much of the past few
     weeks. You're a saint, darling :D
***** Chapter IV - D'Qar *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
****** Chapter IV
D’Qar ******
***** “The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him,
but because he loves what is behind him.” 
― G.K._Chesterton *****
Poe presses the button to release the hatch so that he can exit his X-wing,
feeling more than a little satisfied with the outcome of their mission. They’d
retrieved BB-8 and managed to force the First Order into retreating without too
many losses on their side.
He considers that a win.
He hopes that he’ll get the chance to see Rey today; he’d been back at the Base
for less than two hours, both of which he spent in the med-bay, when they’d
gotten the call that BB-8 had somehow ended up on Takodana and that the First
Order was on their way there too, so he’d not had the time to seek her out; to
see if she was okay.
He’s worried for her.
He has watched her grow skinnier and paler over the months, and he’s going to
speak to General Solo about letting her out of the life he now knows she was
forced into.
It makes him feel sick to know he’d contributed to that life, even though he’d
tried to protect her.
He’d done a fairly shitty job at it, he’ll admit that freely, but he’d tried.
He climbs from the X-wing and hands off his helmet to one of the ground crew
that had hurried towards him and the ship as he landed. “I think the main fuel
tank took a hit,” he tells Marty, one of their younger mechanics, “and I got
the feeling my blasters weren’t entirely up to par either.”
Marty nods, but before either of them gets another word in, they’re interrupted
by shrill, excited beeping, and Poe barely manages to turn around in time to
avoid BB-8 bowling him over in excitement at being reunited. He laughs, feeling
a little lighter and happier already, as he listens to his loyal, excited
little droid beeping and squealing.
“Yeah, I missed you too, buddy,” he chuckles, kneeling next to BB-8 and patting
the droid’s side.
BB-8 squeals again, and Poe’s eyes widen a little at that. “What?” He breathes,
looking up to where BB-8 said the Millennium Falcon—who’d have thought that
ship would ever be found again?—had landed with Finn on board. He doesn’t
listen to most of BB-8’s other frantic beeps as he catches sight of him—he’s
alive.
He’d mourned the loss of a potential good friend—the man who went against
everything he’d been taught to save him from the First Order; even though he
only did it to save his own skin too.
He chuckles, his lips curling up into a large grin when Finn starts hurrying
towards him. He stands and meets Finn halfway, nearly bursting in laughter at
the awestruck way the younger man says his name before he manages to catch him
in a hug.
“You’re alive,” Finn says, sounding both relieved and worried at the same time.
Poe chuckles and pulls away from him, keeping his hand on Finn’s shoulder as he
does. “So are you,” he exclaims happily, “I was afraid you’d—” He doesn’t
finish, but he doesn’t need to; it looks like Finn understands what he means
perfectly.
“What happened to you?” Finn inquires, eyes wide and concerned, and Poe’s a
little struck by how handsome Finn is—how had he not seen that before?
He needs a second to shake off that sudden flare of attraction—it’s been some
time since he’s actually been with a man, and he chooses to blame that—before
he says, “What happened? I got thrown from the crash, woke up at night—no you,
no ship, nothing—”
Before he can elaborate, BB-8 interrupts, squealing about how Finn had kept the
First Order from taking him on Jakku and Takodana, and Poe can’t quite hide his
awestruck expression.
“BB-8 says you saved him,” he tells Finn, who’s still looking at the droid with
an expression of mixed confusion, suspicion and fondness.
“Well,” Finn stutters, and Poe swears he can see him blush a little. “It wasn’t
just me—we never would have even escaped Jakku without—”
Poe doesn’t let him finish; he doesn’t have the patience to—he’s just so
relieved that everyone’s okay and that Finn finished his mission for him when
he thought Poe wouldn’t be able to do it anymore. “You finished my mission,
Finn,” he tells the younger man with a bright smile, patting his leather clad
shoulder, “that’s—” he cuts off and stares at the jacket for a long moment
before blurting, “that’s my jacket?”
“Oh,” Finn stutters—and he’s definitely blushing now—attempting to shrug it off
immediately, “yeah, here…”
He can tell the younger man is somewhat embarrassed. Though he really isn’t
sure why, it’s quite touching to know Finn kept his jacket through the entire
journey from Jakku to Takodana to D’Qar—and he has to struggle to not laugh,
because he’s sure Finn won’t take it well. “No, no,” Poe chuckles, refusing to
think upon how he thinks Finn looks better in that jacket than he ever did.
“No, you keep it. It looks good on you—you’re a good man, Finn.”
Finn smiles weakly, and he looks like he’s about to say more, when Poe spots
General Solo and Princess Leia stroll towards them from the ship Finn had
disembarked—is that really the Millennium Falcon?—and jumps into position
immediately.
“General,” he nods respectfully, “Princess.”
Leia offers him a bright smile that makes him glow with pride—the Princess’s
approval has always meant a lot to him, after his own mother passed away—and
her husband grumbles good-naturedly. “Mister Dameron,” Leia says, her voice
smooth and almost melodic. “It’s good to see your prior injuries didn’t cause
any permanent damage.”
He nods before laying his hand on Finn’s shoulder again. “I believe you’ve met
Finn?” He asks proudly. “He’s the reason I was able to escape the Finalizer,
and I understand he found BB-8 and finished my mission too.”
“I couldn’t have done it without Rey,” Finn says bashfully, though he does look
troubled.
And then his words register, and Poe’s eyes widen as he swivels around to stare
at Finn. “Rey? What the Pfassk does Rey have to do with this?” He looks from
Finn to the General and his wife a few times before he realizes just how guilty
the Princess looks.
“Well,” she starts, looking down and away, and Poe’s stomach sinks—he has a
really bad feeling about this— “when you were taken, we were able to intercept
several messages from the First Order that indicated you had entrusted BB-
8 with the map. When we used his location software to find him, we found that
he last pinged not too far from Niima Outpost—”
“What, so you sent Rey?” He exclaims, taking an angry step forward.
“Withoutback-up? Are you people out of your damn minds? She could have been
killed, for Force’s sake!” An awkward silence falls between the four, and Poe’s
stomach sinks further when he realizes what had been wrong with this picture
all along—Rey isn’t here. 
“Poe,” Finn starts, reaching out to touch his arm. “It’s not their fault—”
Poe won’t have any of it—his blood is boiling, and he has never been this angry
before—and yanks his arm out of Finn’s reach as he balls his fists, glaring at
the couple he’d always trusted and believed in. How could they have sent a
defenceless girl into a dangerous situation like that without back up?
“What the Pfassk is wrong with you?” He shouts, well aware that he’s drawing
the other pilots’ attention, “She’s nineteen for Force’s sake! Haven’t you done
enough? Are you so intent on destroying her life that forcing her into
prostitution wasn’t enough—you had to send her on a kriffing suicide mission
too?”
“Wait,” Finn exclaims, his eyes wide and disbelieving. “You did what to her?”
Poe ignores his new-found friend and glares at the Princess, who seems to
shrink a little with every hateful word that falls from his lips—and he would
feel bad at that, but he’s so kriffing angry.
“Hey,” Han speaks up for the first time, “don’t talk to her like that, kid. It
was not a suicide mission—Rey was the only one who knew the terrain; she had
the biggest chance to find and bring BB-8 back.” The elder man sighs and shakes
his head regretfully, and Poe hates to see that the man is genuine in his
regret, “We didn’t think she would be in any serious danger—we didn’t think
she’d register on their radar at all.”  
Finn puts his hand on Poe’s arm, and Poe calms a little, turning to face Finn.
“What happened?”
“She—” Leia begins, but Poe interrupts and shakes his head, shooting a glare at
the Princess. He’d admired her for years—nearly kriffing worshipped the
woman—but he can’t even stand to look at her right now. “I don’t want to hear
it from you,” he hisses venomously. “I don’t want to hear anything from you
right now.”
He turns back to Finn, who simply swallows thickly before he starts. “I—we… The
ship was damaged when we got to Takodana,” he says hesitantly, “so Rey went to
get some parts so that she could fix it. And she told me to stay on the ship,
and I should’ve listened, but I—I wanted to help, so I went to the Cantina,
and—”
“Finn,” Poe sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “please get to the point.”
“She was so angry,” the younger man replies weakly, his eyes wide and pleading.
“And then we saw—the Hosnian system—it… it was like Rey got hit, too. She
nearly fell over, and she was crying, and then she suddenly just ran away, and
then there were Stormtroopers everywhere—I saw Kylo Ren carry her aboard a ship
before they retreated. I think she was alive, but—”
Poe chokes, nausea forcing its way through his entire body as he recalls his
own time spent in Kylo Ren’s interrogation chamber, before Finn came to get him
out. He forces himself to take a few deep breaths to steady himself—he can’t
afford to lose his head now—before he turns his gaze back to the General and
the Princess, who were listening to Finn’s explanation with rapt attention as
well.
“When are you setting up a rescue mission?” He demands, his tone brokering no
room for argument.
“Poe,” Leia speaks, her tone sad and soft, “we can’t afford to risk the
manpower needed to free one person from the Finalizer—much less a girl. We all
care about Rey, but we’re far more concerned about the things she knows—she
knows where our Base is, she could lead them straight to us. We’re better off
preparing for that eventuality than a rescue mission that wouldn’t eve—”
“It’s your fault she’s even there in the first place! If it had been you,” Poe
bellows, jabbing his finger in Leia’s direction angrily, “We’d all be on our
way already! We are not leaving her there to die!”
“Poe,” Han sighs, looking older and wearier than Poe has ever seen him. “We
don’t have a choice. I’m sorry.” The man steps forward and claps him on the
shoulder, almost like the friendly gesture will just make it alright that they
sent an innocent girl to die for them—after they spent an entire year forcing
her to have sex with every man on Base in exchange for food.
It’s not alright, Poe fumes internally, watching the elder couple stroll
towards the hangars, and he’s going to do whatever he has to in order to fix
this.
He’s getting Rey back, one way or another.
He failed her once, and he’s not going to do it again.
He turns sharply, eyeing the other pilots—who are all still standing by their
X-wings, clearly having overheard the conversation—before he strides towards
them, purpose and confidence clear in his step. He knows many of the pilots
refuse to take part in the way the Resistance treats young girls, and women in
general, and he plans on using that—none of them will agree with leaving a
young girl like Rey to the mercy of the First Order.
He hears Finn rushing to follow him, though he’s sure Finn is still confused
about the various interactions he’s just witnessed.
“Where are we going?” Finn asks, a little breathless from trying to keep up
with Poe. “And what the Pfassk did you mean by prostituti—”
“We’re making this right,” Poe replies grimly. “I’m organising a search party,
and then I’m getting Rey back—I’m not leaving her in the hands of that
monster.”
Chapter End Notes
     Hi guys!
     After this chapter, the chapters will be getting longer, and there
     will be small timejumps :) I promise, after this chapter, we will
     also be going back to Kylo and Rey :D Here's a nice little peak into
     life at the Resistance Base from everyone's favorite pilot, Poe
     Dameron!
     Thanks a million to Meaghan for her efforts to help me when I'm stuck
     on this story and the right way to write Kylo and Rey and their
     character development.
     As always, thanks to all of you for your support! I love you all!
     Love, Annaelle
***** Chapter V - Finalizer *****
Chapter Notes
     Back to Kylo and Rey, darlings. Now, fair warning, this chapter earns
     it's E rating--violence and implied rape (not graphic, but there are
     allusions to it).
     Thanks to all of you for your comments and follows and faves, my
     loves! You are all awesome :D
     And a HUGE thank you to Meaghan for putting up with my whining and
     stressing over getting this chapter (and the rest of them ;p) right.
     You're a doll, Meaghan :D
     Please, leave a comment with your thoughts.
     Love, Annaelle
     PS This story will have ten chapters, and then two sequels :D
****** Chapter V
Finalizer ******
***** “Betrayal is a more subtle, twisted feeling than terror. It burns and
eats, but terror stabs right through.” 
― Wendy Hoffman *****
Kylo Ren does not, by any means, consider himself a patient man. He all but
stomps through the corridors, not stopping to wonder about the unusual drop in
temperature as he nears Snoke’s cavernous throne room. The room is easily the
biggest in the entire ship, and is always shrouded in shadows, the temperature
significantly lower than it is anywhere else on the ship.
He is impatient and hot-headed and impulsive, and he is well aware that said
qualities will get him into serious, irrevocable trouble one day—he just hopes
today isn’t that day.
He growls under his breath when another foreign flash of emotion shoots through
his mind, and he cannot quite dampen his annoyance with the scavenger girl—she
seems to have latched onto his mind somehow, and she is quite loud with her
thoughts and emotions.
Guilt, fear, relief, hope.
He doesn’t know what to do with that—she feels so much, so intensely—and his
head feels as though it is about to explode with the amount of memories and
impressions and feelings she is pouring into it.
It is a kind of headache he has not felt in a long, long time.
And yet, he muses, he has accepted the girl as his Apprentice. He had felt
enraged on her behalf when she had unintentionally shown him memories of her
time with the Resistance—he is still unsure why he felt so enraged on her
behalf; he hardly knows her at all. He does not hold the Resistance and their
treatment of women in high regards as it is, but after seeing how they had
treated Rey, his need for vengeance has come bubbling to the forefront of his
mind again.
It has been a long time since he has actively thought about it, but now that he
has, he finds that he cannot keep it off his mind anymore either. He’s not sure
he wants to get it off his mind again either—he has lived with it for so long,
he’s not entirely sure he will ever find a way to peacefully exist without its
constant shadow looming over him—a crutch he cannot walk without.
And now, he has an Apprentice to deal with; one he had chosen himself, and one
that will likely share in his yearning for punishment—for the Resistance’s
blood.
She infuriates him already; he needs not spend more than an hour with her to
know she will push him to the very limits of his patience. She is the type to
be defiant and stubborn, and she is going to drive him absolutely insane—but
there is something about her.
Something that called to him, even in the woods on Takodana—something that,
even now, triggers the will deep inside of him to be more than a revenge-driven
nerfherder. 
He stops walking, staring ahead blankly as another wave of the girl’s emotions
hit him, patiently waiting for the moment to pass, closing his eyes and sending
back a wave of calm—he needs to be calm and focused once he enters Snoke’s
lair, and he cannot do that with Rey bombarding his mind with thoughts that
aren’t his.
He allows the wave of calm to soothe his own pained mind as well—he had left
Rey in a somewhat comfortable cell while her quarters were being prepared. She
had not been happy about it, but had accepted his explanation and told him
she’d need more information about the Order—told him there was a lot they
needed to talk about.
He’s sure there is.
He cannot imagine her being anything less than exceptionally curious and
bright.
He hopes he is not wrong to judge her as such.
She has calmed, and he thinks she has fallen asleep, so he proceeds down the
long hallway, mentally preparing himself to face Snoke—and potentially, his
wrath. Kylo went off script when he decided to take Rey and leave the others to
procure the droid—which they did not do—and he knows his Master may decide to
punish him severely for that lack in judgement.
He passes the squadron of Stormtrooper guards that are permanently stationed
outside of Snoke’s chambers, shoving down every pesky little emotion that still
lingers in his mind, and striding into the dark, cavernous room.
He passes the many desks that are arranged around the platform where the
Supreme Leader stands.
The sight of the Supreme Leader is awe-inspiring, as it always is, and Kylo
feels grateful, once again, that the powerful man before him enabled him in his
quest for vengeance and power. It is, however, still somewhat disconcerting to
see the man he had trained with since his teenage years only in the form of
holograms, but the Supreme Leader had insisted upon it.
The hologram is over three metres tall, and Kylo feels as though it properly
displays the power and authority that his Master possesses—unlike his Master’s
true form, which is short and quite thin, with limbs that look as though
they’ll snap beneath the smallest amount of pressure.
“Kylo Ren,” Snoke speaks, “What have you to say for yourself?”
Kylo bows his head in submission, allowing his Master access to his mind
immediately. “The girl is strong, Supreme Leader, and I will be able to convert
her fully to the Dark Side. She is untrained as of yet, but she is stronger
than she knows. I am certain she will be a valuable asset to our cause, and she
has already consented to being my Apprentice.”
Snoke leans back in his chair, his fingers knitting together as he looks down
upon Kylo. “She agreed only after a reassurance that was not yours to give,
Kylo Ren.”
He remains seated on his knees, wincing a little—he realizes he overstepped
when he promised Rey no harm would come to her pilot—as he waits for his Master
to speak again.
“She is one of the Resistance girls then,” Snoke finally says, his voice steady
and calm—but there is a dark, hateful look in the man’s eye that tells Kylo of
the true rage that lies beneath his Master’s calm exterior—as he studies Kylo.
“Yes,” Kylo replies softly, “She was. I would beg your permission to train her
myself, Master. She’ll be a force to be reckoned with, and the Resistance will
finally be punished for its disgusting promiscuity and their immoral and unjust
treatment of women. Allow me to orchestrate their destruction.”
Snoke remains silent for a long time, and Kylo fears that he will be ordered to
dispose of the girl for a short moment before Snoke finally says, “Very well.
You have served me well, and if what you say is true, this girl will be the
Resistance’s undoing. I shall inform General Hux of the arrangement myself. You
are to alert the Knights that you have taken an Apprentice and then take her to
the Temple on Moraband. You have three months to prepare her—then I will call
for you, and you will bring her to me, whether she is ready or not.”
Kylo inclines his head towards his Master, but hides his relief and
gratefulness.
The Supreme Leader has little patience for petty human emotions.
“Now,” Snoke drawls, leaning forward eagerly, “You will face your punishment
for your insubordination.”  
He barely has time to take a breath before the pain hits him.
.
.
.
The unruly clatter of fighting reaches him long before he enters the practice
area. It echoes through the long, empty hallways leading towards it, and it
might be an ominous sound to anyone who does not belong in this area of the
ship. It is a section of the ship entirely dedicated to the Knights of Ren and
their training.
Not even General Hux is permitted to step foot inside these halls and
chambers. 
Kylo Ren is, of course, aware that his seven Lieutenants have each taken a
dozen or so Apprentices themselves—all with varying sensitivity to the
Force—but he has not yet taken the time to inspect the latest new recruits.
He supposes that is what he will be doing today, after informing his
Lieutenants of his new, personal Apprentice, and her demands regarding a
certain Resistance pilot.
His Knights are loyal and strong, and they deserve his attention on a regular
basis, and he will, grudgingly, admit that he has been occupied with many other
things in the past couple of weeks, none of which included his Knights and
their new recruits.
He enters the large space and, while he is well aware his Lieutenants will be
able to sense his presence immediately, studies the sparring matches that are
going on. The bulk of the arena is taken up by a group of gangly teenagers
dressed in dark grey robes, struggling with poleaxes nearly as tall as they
are.
He would chuckle at their apparent awkwardness and struggles, but he remembers
all too well how difficult said poleaxes had been to handle. Jacen Ren, one of
his lieutenants, who is standing a little away from the young recruits and
shouting orders at them, is a difficult teacher to impress indeed.
Kylo nods in approval—many of these recruits are, indeed, Force-sensitive, but
only mildly so. Being trained in several forms of fighting is something he has
encouraged from the moment he had been old enough to truly comprehend the
reality of battle and war—only being well-versed in a single form of combat
would result in death. Being versatile and unpredictable is what ensures that
he and his Knights win every battle they have ever engaged in.
Behind the sparring teenagers, Kylo can see a broad line of men and women,
dressed in robes so dark they are nearly black, firing steadily with a wide
array of weaponry at black and red target dummies.
He smiles, grateful that his mask hides his face, when he sees Lumiya Ren—plain
black robes and leather trousers clothing her shapely frame. She is not wearing
her mask and her long, straight black hair cascades over her shoulders, nearly
down to her waist.
It is interesting, he muses, to see how she and Aalad’zaja, the only other
female Knight, differ when it comes to their clothing. Zaja has always
preferred longer, wider robes that obscure her figure entirely—when she wears
her mask, one could not tell she was female at all—while Lumiya never lost her
preference for simpler, but more form-fitting clothing.
He himself never had an issue with their outfits—the only thing he had ever
demanded from his Knights on the matter was that their garments were to be pure
black, and that they would not hinder them in a fight. In this, every single
one of his Knights had obeyed him without question, and therefore he saw no
reason to insist upon something akin to uniforms.
He wonders vaguely about Rey’s preferences before he shakes those thoughts and
refocuses on his Knights.
Hoolidan, one of the older Knights, has detached himself from his own group of
trainees and is making his way towards him with large, confident strides.
“Master,” he speaks, his red eyes offset sharply against his blue-green skin.
“I was not aware you planned an inspection today—we would have prepared the
recruits more adequately for you.”
Kylo tilts his head to the side curiously—well aware that it unnerves Hoolidan
when he is unable to see his facial expression—and studies the man. “It
seemed,” he begins, “more prudent to perform unannounced inspections along with
scheduled ones. To avoid unpleasant surprises.”
“Of course,” the male Duros nods. “Do you have a preference on which recruits
to inspect first?”
Kylo shakes his head and straightens, standing to his full height as his voice
echoes through the large chamber. He deliberately increases the volume of his
voice. “No. I do, however, have an announcement for the Knights of Ren.
Recruits, stand down while I speak to your Masters.”
The recruits all stare at him, their eyes wide and awed, and he attempts not to
preen under their reverent scrutiny—arrogance does not become the Master of the
Knights of Ren.
His Knights all swoop past their students and flock to his side, their dark
robes flapping dramatically behind them as they move. The recruits stare for
one more moment before Zaja barks an order at them and they scatter, some
returning to their exercises while others form little groups that break into
chatter almost immediately.
“Master,” Lumiya greets him, her face void of expression and emotion. “It has
been some time since you have graced us with your presence.”
“That it has,” Kylo inclines his head towards her—Lumiya had always been one of
his favorite Knights; she is strong and clever, and he is well aware that she
is always aware of everything that goes on around her. In fact, he would not be
surprised if she is already aware of Rey’s presence aboard the ship, and his
reasons for visiting them today.
“I have, however,” he continues, “news that concerns you all.”  
The seven Knights all straighten just a tad, and he sees Dota Ny and Bo-Ro-Tara
both reaching for their weapons, while Lumiya and Aalad’zaja both gather their
hold on the Force. Jacen, Venamis and Hoolidan don’t respond visibly, but Kylo
can tell that they are all tense, uncertain what kind of news would warrant the
presence of all seven Knights of Ren.
“While on Takodana,” Kylo speaks, grateful for the fact that his mask filters
out most of the emotion in his voice, “I happened across an exceptionally
gifted Force-sensitive. I brought her aboard the ship—and she has recently
consented to being my Apprentice.”
He can sense their disbelief and apprehension, and it saddens him that his
Knights—his most trusted and loyal—would doubt his judgement.
“If I may, Master,” Zaja begins, “is she loyal to our cause? Takodana is known
for housing those that sympathize with the Resistance—”
He holds up his hand and Zaja silences immediately, shrinking back a little, as
though she realizes she has gone too far in questioning him—as though he would
not have taken care to inspect the girl’s mind before he accepted her as his
Apprentice.
Of course, there is no need to let them know that, while he was able to sense
that Rey loathes most of the Resistance with a burning passion, she shut him
out before he could inspect her loyalties further.
“She will be loyal to me,” he speaks in a thundering voice, “and none will move
to question those loyalties but me.” He glares at each of his Knights, and
knows that, even from beneath his mask, his point has been illustrated quite
clearly.
“Now,” he continues, “the Supreme Leader has granted my new Apprentice her only
wish before she agreed to join us. Of course, he will expect all of you,
including your recruits, to follow this order to the letter, if you wish not to
be brought before him to be punished for disobedience.”
All of the Knights nod quickly, but only Lumiya has the gall to step forward
again and ask, somewhat incredulous that Snoke would grant a mere girl a
request. “What wish of hers did he grant, Master? And how are we to play into
this?”
“The pilot,” Kylo deadpans, “Poe Dameron.”
He senses recognition in their minds, as he had expected—after all, it had been
one of the Knights who recognized the man when he had brought him on board—and
a healthy dose of confusion, too.
“It seems,” he elaborates, “my Apprentice believes she owes him a great debt.
The Supreme Leader has agreed to not harming Poe Dameron in any way—in any
conflict with the Resistance, Dameron is to walk away unharmed.”
“But Master,” Bo-Ro-Tara steps forward, “in direct one-on-one combat, would the
Supreme Leader have us sacrifice ourselves so the man would walk free?”
Kylo tries—he honestly does—not to roll his eyes. “Certainly not,” he huffs.
“General Hux is being given the same orders, and the Stormtroopers will know to
steer clear of Dameron, too. If you were to encounter him in a one-on-one
fight, I suggest you find a manner to incapacitate him so that he will awaken
once the fight is over and be able to return to wherever he came from.” He
takes a deep breath and adds, “Let there be no mistake—I support my Apprentice
in her demand; I have seen what Dameron has done for her, and I see how she
owes him a debt.”
He had not planned to throw his weight around, so to speak, but he senses that
both Venamis and Dota Ny are not quite convinced of the severity of the
punishment that awaits them should they violate this order.
“Yes, Master,” they all murmur after a short, tense silence, before he nods and
dismisses them.
The only one that remains is Jacen, who nods respectfully before inquiring, “If
you have no other duties to attend to, Master, might I beg a moment of your
time? I believe my students would greatly benefit from seeing a Master at work
in a sparring match.”
A wave of emotion from Rey crashes against the walls he had erected around his
mind, and he grits his teeth in annoyance—he must remember to teach her to
build protection around her mind before he teaches her anything else.
She is attempting to drive him mad, he’s certain of it.
He shoves the feelings she had sent to him away, not bothering to investigate
them further, before he nods towards Jacen and draws his lightsaber. “Of
course,” he says, “anything to help groom our next generation of Knights.”
.
.
.
Several hours later, Kylo finds that he has missed sparring with a somewhat
competent partner. Jacen had managed to get a few good hits in, and his ribs
still ache when he breathes in too deeply. He is, at the moment, more
preoccupied with the feelings Rey is projecting towards him—while he had been
able to ignore her while he'd been sparring, he had noticed when the undertone
of her emotions changed, grew darker and desperate, and he worries about the
sudden change.
He is, of course, not at all familiar with Rey’s mind just yet, but he has
sensed a certain pattern in her emotions thus far, and the things she is
projecting now are far from it.
He supposes he might have left her waiting far longer than he had originally
intended—perhaps she's simply vexed because he left her by herself in the cell
for so long. He had promised to return soon to show her to her new
quarters—seven hours later may not count as soon anymore.  
He had, at least, removed his mask already. He had immediately sensed that the
mask put her on edge in a way that was not at all beneficial to his cause. He
needed her to grow comfortable around him, so that he would be able to
recondition her mind as Snoke had commanded without her noticing—so that he
could fully turn her to the Dark Side.
It is only when he reaches the door that leads to Rey’s temporary cell that he
realizes something is truly wrong. The Stormtroopers that had been posted by
Rey’s door are nowhere to be found, and now that he is this close to her, it is
almost like Rey is screaming her feelings of anger and fear and betrayal at
him.
When he opens the door, he is surprised to find the cell shrouded in darkness,
and he can barely make out Rey’s form curled up on the cot in the corner of the
cell. He frowns and, with a flick of his wrist, the cell is suddenly bathed in
light, and he is stunned at Rey’s appearance.
“Rey?”
She is pale, huddled in a little ball on the bed, her hair no longer up in the
three buns, but mussed and knotted, almost like she had been running her
fingers through it endlessly. Her eyes are red-rimmed, almost as though she had
been crying, and her lower lip is red and swollen.
“Rey?” He inquires quietly, unsure what to make of this. “What’s wrong? What
happened?”
She’s silent, and doesn’t respond when he calls out to her and approaches her,
and that alone worries him in such a way that he feels like he’s going to be
ill—he does not know much about Rey, but he knows she is anything but silent.
Without truly stopping to think about it, he takes her hand in his and pulls at
it gently, guiding her from her seated position, to the door, and then through
the corridors to her new chambers.
Once there, he drops her hand in order to close the door behind her, still
unsure on how to get her to tell him what exactly had happened.
He turns around to find her standing in the middle of the room, looking rather
lost.
Until her eyes meet his.
Before he realizes what she’s doing, she is across the room, slapping him so
hard, he’s pretty sure he’ll bruise, shoving him back against the door, as
tears slip down her cheeks uncontrollably—and he can feel everything she’d been
trying to hide, everything she so desperately didn’t want to feel, just pour
out, and he doesn’t think she can stop it.
“You promised,” she cries, her voice breaking in the middle of the sentence.
“You promised you guys were different!” She punches him in the shoulder as hard
as she can, one insult after another spilling from her lips, and he’s just
standing there and taking it and what in the name of the Force is going on?
He finally manages to grab ahold of her and clenches his fingers around her
shoulders, momentarily stunned that his hands completely envelop her shoulders,
and shakes her. “What the Pfassk is going on, Rey?” He demands, worry and
frustration coiling in the pit of his stomach.
All the fight drains out of her, and she slumps forward into his arms, one arm
slung around his neck while the other curls around his waist. “You promised,”
she whimpers quietly, sliding her fingers through his hair with one hand, while
curling the fingers of her other hand into his shirt, “You promised I’d
never—that no one would—but he did.”
She dissolves into tears again, and he senses she won’t be able to stop once
she’s started.
Kylo is at an absolute loss—he has never been faced with this kind of situation
before, and he hardly knows how to comfort a distressed woman—and awkwardly
pats her back as she clings to him.
“Let me see,” he whispers softly, “let me help you. I need to see what
happened. Let me in, Rey.” His arms tighten around her as though to strengthen
his words, her fingers clenching in his shirt and his hair, keeping him
anchored against her while her tears rapidly soak his shirt.
He has a feeling that he knows where this is going—the lack of Stormtroopers at
her cell is very telling—and he can feel the rage bubbling up inside of him
already, barely contained. He pushes against the walls surrounding Rey’s mind
gently and reluctantly strokes his fingers through her hair, sensing that it’ll
calm her and put her at ease.
And then he is seeing flashes of her afternoon. A stinging slap to her face,
before being forced onto her knees and—
He forces away the image, but he can’t quite push away the awfulfeeling of
being forced into submission, the pain as the ginger-haired man forces himself
on her multiple times, the bruises that form on her thighs and arms where he’d
held her too tightly…
“You promised,” she cries, “but then he came, and he—he said—”
 “I’ll take care of it,” he hisses through clenched teeth, his hands shaking
with barely-repressed rage as he pushes her back gently. “I’ll make him pay.”
He looks over her, eyes lingering on the places where he knows she is aching,
and offers, “Do you—would you like a medical droid?”
She looks up at him with wide, teary eyes before she moves her head from side
to side curtly.
He nods and takes a step back, shakily pointing towards the bedroom and the
bathroom. “Fresher’s in there,” he says. “Bedroom too. Try to get some
rest—I’ll return shortly, after I’ve taken care of the man who did this to
you.”
He has turned around and is nearly outside when she asks, so quietly that he
nearly doesn’t hear, “Why?”
He pauses, fingers clenching into a fist as he takes a few deep breaths to
steady himself—he may have a terrible temper, but he is not incapable of
controlling himself when he needs to. “Because,” he finally replies, “this is
not what the First Order stands for—and this is not something he will be
allowed to get away with.”
“He’s a General,” she chokes, and he can tell she is crying again, even without
looking at her.
“I don’t care. He will be punished.”
***** Chapter VI - Starkiller Base *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey all! Meaghan M (Juulna) here - Annaelle's beta. I'm updating for
     her as she is still in the hospital, recovering. Don't worry; she's
     okay and will be up and at'em again soon!
     Here's the next chapter for you - one I'm sure you were eagerly
     awaiting, as the whole Hux thing gets addressed! (Don't worry,
     Annaelle, I forgive you for writing Hux as a terrible person :P <3)
     Hope everyone enjoys, and has a great day! Do let us know what you
     think. ^_^
                               ****** Chapter VI
                            Starkiller Base ******
***** “I found him carefully studying me, his lips in a thin line. “Has anyone
ever taken care of you?” he asked quietly.
“No.” I’d long since stopped feeling sorry for myself about it.” 
― Sarah J. Maas *****
Rey hates that she let that man get under her skin so much; that she let him
come so close to breaking her—because she had. He had hardly been the first man
to force himself on her, but she had honestly wanted to believe Kylo when he
swore that no such thing would be allowed to happen to her here.
It had been foolish and naïve to believe him, but she had.
She remains standing for another long moment in the middle of the rooms which
Kylo had, apparently, prepared for her, swallowing thickly, before she can’t
stand the feeling of her clothes and her skinanymore. She nearly rips the
fabric off, stumbling towards where Kylo indicated the ‘fresher was—she needs
to be clean.
She wants to hide away in a dark little corner and protect herself—she wants to
crawl into that ‘fresher and wash away every sign of her weaknesses. She would
need time to rebuild that wall—the wall that had always kept her safe; the wall
that would keep her from shattering when Kylo would decide to leave her on her
own again as a result of causing too much trouble.
She looks down at her hands, noting how much they’re shaking, and wonders
vaguely if this is just her breaking point—perhaps she’s just… reached her
limits.
Perhaps it is time to just… let go.
The thought, however, feels foreign in her mind and she knows she is stronger
than this. Her hands curl into fists, and she deliberately does not look at the
bruises that are blossoming on her wrists and arms.
She can still feel his touch, despite Kylo’s attempts to soothe her; can still
feel the filth of his assault, and she wants it gone. She can still feel his
pale fingers trailing down her throat before he forced himself inside of her
repeatedly, while three Stormtroopers stood watch in the corridor—to make sure
Kylo Ren wouldn’t catch them unawares.
The shaking has now become almost uncontrollable, and she shivers in
disgust—disgust with General Hux, as he had so proudly called himself, disgust
with his actions and disgust with herself.
With whom she’d become.
She stumbles to the ‘fresher, tripping on her way in, her legs no longer able
to support her weight. She crawls the rest of the way to the ‘fresher, leaning
her head back against the wall as she raises one arm to turn on the stream of
hot water—no cold water added.
It is so hot it burns, soaking through the thin shift she is still wearing
within seconds, but the burn feels good. The burn is a kind of pain that
doesn’t feel like it is about to consume and destroy her.
She doesn’t let herself think anymore.
She doesn’t even feel.
She just sits under the scalding hot spray and cries, loathing herself for the
mistakes she’s made, loathing herself for letting Hux ruin her tentative faith
in Kylo Ren. Loathing herself for letting this get to her so badly when she’d
been through much the same before this. She ignores the deep red marks that
start to form on her skin, the tears running down her cheeks mixing with the
water that cascades down from the shower head.
She feels filthy.
She feels stupid, for believing that her life could be falling into place, for
letting her guard down and believing Kylo, for believing that maybe she could
learn to love herself again. Rey feels completely overwhelmed by the pain that
wreaks havoc through her entire body, and she cannot even push it back
anymore—can’t pretend she doesn’t feel wrecked and broken and used anymore.
So she gives in.
And she cries.
And cries.
Until she has nothing left to cry about—until there is nothing left within her.
She feels empty.
And it doesn’t hurt anymore.
.
.
.
The first time she wakes up after her scalding hot shower, the bedroom is
silent and the lights are dimmed, and her entire body is aching. Her mind is
oddly quiet, almost as though she doesn’t quite know what to think after the
events of the past day, and she finds a little peace in that quiet.
Soon though, the ache in her body becomes too acute to ignore, and she lets out
a soft whine of pain as she rolls over to the edge of the bed.
She startles when she looks in the mirror on the bedroom wall, nausea once
again rising in the pit of her stomach as she eyes the blossoming bruises that
cover her upper thighs, belly and arms. Her lip is still red and swollen, and
the skin around her left eye is a little black and blue as well.
She presses her hand to her belly and hisses, tears springing to her eyes at
the sharp pain that shoots through her body at the soft touch. “Sithspit,” she
curses, stumbling back towards the bed, “that hurts.”
She’s never been this sore before, and she is unused to this kind of pain.
None of the men at the Resistance had ever beaten her.
“Excuse me, Miss,” a mechanical voice interrupts her, and she jumps, smacking
the back of her leg against the edge of the bed.
“Ouch,” she cries, biting her lip to distract herself from the pain.
“Sithspit.”
“Miss?”
She turns to look at the medical droid that had appeared in the doorway, her
fingers still curved over her bare ribs. “Hi,” she says through clenched teeth,
“I take it Kylo Ren sent you?”
“Yes, Miss,” the droid responds, rolling forward. “Please remain still while I
scan for injuries.”
She doesn’t argue further and simply lets the droid treat her—once it is done,
she lies back on the bed, sighing in relief when she can do so without pain,
staring up at the ceiling blankly as she wonders how she could break even after
a year of being exposed to the same abuse.
Why this time?
She ponders on the question for hours, until the lights dim again, and she
slips into sleep without even realizing it.
The next time she wakes up, there is a small pile of clothes waiting for her on
the table in the main area, along with a full tray of food and drink—she is
still, even after a year spent at the Resistance Base, unused to seeing such
quantities of food and water, and doesn’t touch the tray for hours, watching it
as her stomach grumbles and protests.
She does, however, replace her damaged garments with the newer, dark grey ones,
and is grateful to find that all of the garments have been tailored to
perfection and to her tastes.
There are even new boots, in black, soft leather that she instantly falls in
love with.
After she has dressed, she finally gives in to her stomach’s furious demands to
be filled and eats to her heart’s content, enjoying the many kinds of
fruits—many of which she has never even seen before—and drinks all the water
she can.
She’s tried not to think of the things General Hux made her do while in that
little cell, but, even though her body doesn’t ache with the memory anymore,
her mind keeps slipping back into that dark space, and she keeps replaying the
memory until she can look at it without crying or hurting or anything.
She just… doesn’t feel much of anything anymore.
Now, she just waits.
Waits for a new meal to be brought inside by a droid.
Waits for Kylo Ren to finally show up.
He doesn’t.
.
.
.
Another two days later, she looks up from where she’s curled up on the sofa
when the door opens with a hiss, revealing Kylo Ren’s impressive stature. She
wants to care that he’s returned to her, as he had promised, but all she feels
is dull numbness.
He is wearing his mask, which surprises her for a split-second before she
decides that she doesn’t care, and long dark robes with leather gloves. In his
hand, he clutches a rumpled ball of dark fabric.
“Why are you so…” He hesitates, and she can tell he is struggling to find the
right word. She can feel him brushing against her mind—has learned to recognize
the feeling in the past week—and refuses to let him in again.
“Where were you?” She demands, and she feels proud that her voice is strong and
steady. “You said you’d come back and you didn’t. Where were you?” She doesn’t
wanthim to know that his presence had been comforting, that he had made her
feel safe—but she can’t quite hide the desperation in her voice as she speaks,
and she hopes he hasn’t noticed.
He stills at the question, and she can tell he had not expected her to speak at
all, given her mental silence towards him. There is a short silence before he
replies, “I had things to attend to. Did the medical droid tend to your
injuries to your satisfaction?”
She clenches her jaw angrily, but forces herself to remain calm and nods.
“Yes,” she replies evenly, hesitating for a moment before she adds, “Thank
you.”
He inclines his head towards her before he speaks. “I am pleased to see your
new garments fit nicely.” He holds out the ball of fabric in his hand and adds,
“You will be required to put this on before we leave.” She stares at him for a
couple of long moments, frustrated with his lack of response to her earlier
queries before snatching the fabric from his hand and shaking it open.
“A cloak?” She frowns, “Why would I need a cloak?”
He is silent, and she huffs in frustration before doing as he’d requested, and
pulling on the cloak over her new, dark grey tunic and trousers. “Happy?” She
grumbles, setting her hands on her hips and glaring up at her—freakishly
tall—new teacher.
“No,” he replies gruffly, “but I suppose I’ll make do for now. Come.” He spins
on his heel and stomps out of the room, and she rolls her eyes at him—she is in
no mood to deal with him and his permanent broodiness—before reluctantly
following him outside.
The halls are the same dull gray color as her new rooms, and she is a little
surprised that there are virtually no Stormtroopers patrolling the corridors,
despite her expectations. She has to walk a bit faster to keep up with Kylo,
whose longer legs seem to carry him forward a lot faster than hers carry her,
and studies him, unsure what to make of this ice-cold determination she senses
within him.
“Where are we going?” She finally asks, resisting the ridiculous urge to pout
at him when he swivels around and glares at her—at least, she assumes he’s
glaring beneath that mask of his—and crossing her arms over her chest.
“Must you turn everything into a fight?” He demands, and the voice modulator
can’t quite filter out the amused exasperation in his voice, and she fights the
ridiculous urge to grin at him—she’s angry, stang it. She wants him to tell her
what the hell he is up to, if he made Hux pay for what he did to her, and why
the hell she hadn’t seen him for four days after he told her he’d be back soon.
“Must you always answer a question with a question?” She shoots back, refusing
to back down.
He shakes his head, before grabbing her elbow—with a gentle but firm grip—and
guiding her into a dark alcove. She presses against the wall as he removes his
mask, her heart beating a mile a minute, unsure of what the kriff he is up to
this time.
His dark eyes sparkle with amusement as he regards her, his helmet dangling
loosely from his fingers, and she is only a little startled to feel something
warm and unfamiliar glow beneath her breastbone.
“I did not come to you earlier because I sensed you needed space,” he speaks,
his voice soft and kind, which baffles her a little, since she hadn’t really
thought him capable of such emotions. “Also, I was, as I promised you, pre-
occupied with making sure General Hux would not be allowed to get away with
what he did to you. I needed to see to the preparations for his punishment.
That is where I am taking you.”
She is staring at him, her mouth wide open.
She has no idea what to say to him—she does not even know what to feel.
No one has ever done something like this for her before, and she doesn’t know
what the appropriate response is—what do you say to someone who’d arranged your
tormenter’s punishment?
She finds that, in the end, it hardly matters what the social protocol is—she
doesn’t care either way.
Instead, she just smiles broadly and lunges forward, wrapping a very surprised
and uncooperative Kylo Ren in a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispers, “no one’s
ever done this for me. Thank you.”
He stiffens in her arms, his own arms trapped by his sides by hers. “You are
welcome. Now… Let me go,” he enunciates, clearly very uncomfortable with the
affectionate gesture.  
She grins as she leans back, biting on her lower lip hesitantly before lifting
up onto her toesto press a kiss to his cheek—she has no idea where that idea
comes from, and she refuses to think about it—and replies, “I think this will
be the only time, Master, where I will not listen to you. Thank you. You have
no idea what this means to me.”
The way his cheeks redden tells her that he is as unfamiliar with this kind of
affection as she is, and that only endears him to her further.
She lets him shove her back, and she can’t quite keep the smile off of her face
when he stalks back out into the hallway, only to stop after four steps when he
realizes he hasn’t put his mask back on. She chuckles as he awkwardly tugs it
back on, and follows him through the corridors with a new spring in her step.
The fact that she is walking towards what may very well be someone’s
execution—on her behalf—doesn’t really seem to sink in. She’s sure she is
supposed to feel guilty, or at least uncomfortable, but she doesn’t really feel
anything about it.
The only thing she really registers is that Kylo Ren is keeping his word.
He is going to punish one of the men that violated her—he’s not going to let
something like this happen again.
Maybe the First Order isn’t so bad after all.
She follows him through the maze of corridors, still unsure of what to expect,
or where this punishment would be taking place—an interrogation room, much like
the one he had put her in on her arrival here, perhaps. She is so lost in her
thoughts that she nearly walks right into him when he stops suddenly in front
of a non-descript, steel door.
“What?” she asks, eyeing his mask in frustration—she doesn’t like not seeing
his face. “Are we there?”
“Yes,” he replies simply, stepping forward and tugging the hood of her cloak up
and over her head, so far forward, she’s sure he can barely see her face.
It hits her then, what she is likely about to see—what Kylo has set up for
her—and though she supposes she should feel dread or nausea or even guilt, she
cannot quite summon up any emotion but undulated glee.
She wonders if feeling that way makes her evil.
She supposes that to some, it does.
Rey isn’t entirely sure what the expression on her face tells him, but she
swears she feels something like approval radiating off Kylo before he nods and
gestures towards the door. “Come,” he says, “and keep your hands in your
sleeves.”
She frowns a little at the odd request, but does as he says nonetheless.
When the door opens, she is quite startled to find that they are not entering
an interrogation chamber, like she had expected, but are actually stepping
outside. She gapes at her surroundings, her eyes wide and her jaw slack,
because it’s so cold, and she—
She has never seen anything like this before.
The podium they are standing on is enormous, arched in a half circle, with a
large space cleared before it, large enough to house an entire fleet of TIE-
fighters, she muses. She turns slowly, in awe of the sheer size of the
mountains that surround the little valley they are in, and wonders over the
fine white substance that covers everything in the near vicinity.
She marvels over it, slowly raising her hand to catch one of the shimmering
flakes.
She doesn’t really notice Kylo had continued walking until he calls her name,
and she looks up to find him standing several metres away.
“I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly, hurrying back to his side, “I’ve never—is
this snow?”
He stills, turning his head towards her in silence. “Yes,” he finally replies,
“keep your hands in your sleeves or you’ll freeze your fingers off. Now come.”
He gestures towards the middle of the podium, where seven tall figures stand,
hands clasped behind their back, all wearing masks similar to the one Kylo is
wearing—the Knights of Ren, she realizes quickly.
Behind them, a contingent of officers is gathered, all dressed in dark winter
coats lined with fur, their expressions wavering from disgruntlement to
downright glee.
And finally, she realizes why Kylo had demanded she wear the cloak—not for
warmth, as she had initially thought when she stepped outside, but to grant her
some sense of anonymity, should she wish to have it.
Kylo pauses, undoubtedly taking in the same sight she is, before continuing
towards the Knights. “—should’ve know they’d all be here,” he mutters under his
breath, so quietly she’s sure he doesn’t mean for her to hear. “Kriffing
vultures.” 
She isn’t entirely sure what he’s talking about, but as they approach the
Knights, they all sink into bows, their silence reverent. As she and Kylo reach
them, one of them—a tall, slim woman—reaches up and removes her mask. Her skin
is a pale shade of green, and her cheeks and chin are tattooed with the same
geometrical design.
What startles Rey most about her appearance are her eyes—a violent shade of
orange.
“I am Lumiya Ren,” she speaks, inclining her head towards Rey, “on behalf of
all Knights of Ren, I wish to express our support to you. You are one of us
now, and we are duty- and honour-bound to protect you—and we punish those that
hurt our own.”
Rey stares at her, speechless, barely managing a small nod in appreciation as
she attempts not to be completely overwhelmed by this entire day. Kylo Ren
being kind and loyal to her and protective of her is one thing—she’s fairly
certain all Masters are the same with their charges—but she had not expected
the same of the Knights of Ren.
She swallows thickly and squares her shoulders before pushing back her hood,
and meeting Lumiya’s strange, bright orange eyes with her hazel ones.
They stand together, staring at each other, for a brief moment before Kylo
strides forward and grabs her elbow, leading her forward, through the formation
of Knights, to where a lone figure is kneeling, arms spread and chained to
separate poles.
Rey does her best not to gasp when she realizes that it is not the man in
chains Kylo is leading her towards, but the giant hologram of a man behind
him—she isn’t quite sure how she missed that before. The man looks old and ill,
a large scar disfiguring his head and face, and a quiet sense of power is
radiating from him, even through the hologram.
She realizes that this must be the man Kylo had called Supreme Leader Snoke,
and her mind is whirring with a mix of gratitude and awe towards the man who so
cherishes female rights. She cares little for his poor looks—she’s known plenty
of better looking people with terrible personalities. It stands to reason that
the opposite can be true.
Kylo walks until they stand directly before the man and sinks down on one knee,
into a reverent bow. She’s sure no one can tell due to their thick and wide
robes, but he tugs on her elbow insistently until she follows his lead and
sinks into a kneeling bow as well, dipping her head down low. Her heart is
racing, and it’s only the steady pressure of Kylo’s hand on her elbow that
keeps her from outwardly responding to all of this—there is much more pomp and
grandeur here than there ever was at the Resistance Base.
There is a pressure on her mind, and she gasps quietly, focusing on the steady,
comfortable pressure of Kylo’s hand on her elbow before she allows Snoke access
to her mind.
She senses his acceptance in her mind, and she can feel Kylo rise to his feet
at her side, but her legs suddenly feel like jelly, and she is not entirely
sure she can stand. She exhales shakily, surprised to see her breath condense
into a tiny white cloud, and attempts to make her legs move, but she can’t.
She wants to cry, because she’s so humiliated, and the cruel little voice in
the back of her head that has been there since she arrived, insists that she is
weak, and that she will never be strong enough to stand up against men like
Hux—but then Kylo Ren reaches down, and takes her hands in his, pulling her to
her feet.
She gasps, and the cold leather of his gloves creaks beneath her fingertips.
“Stand up,” he says quietly, the mechanical hiss of the voice modulator a
little unsettling. “You are stronger than he is, and he knows it. This is a
test. Show him no weakness.”   
She grasps at his hands for another moment, staring hard at the mask, where she
knows his eyes are, before she nods shakily and lets go, straightening and
tossing her hair back as she lifts her chin. Snoke may value her rights and her
life, but he will clearly not treat her with gentler gloves because of her
gender either.
Snoke glares down upon her and Kylo Ren for another long, tense moment before
he addresses the small crowd gathered behind them. “You ask, undoubtedly, why I
have brought you out here today—why I would expose you to such harsh elements,
in the middle of a gathering blizzard. You ask, undoubtedly, why I have one of
your own tied up in a manner that is barely befit for the ugliest and most foul
of beasts.”
Rey swallows thickly, her eyes straying towards where Hux is kneeling, clad
only in trousers and a loose tunic, as she tries not to show her trepidation—or
her glee.
“I am certain,” Snoke continuous, “that you have heard many a rumor on the
matter—rumors that I will now put to rest. We are a civilized organization, and
we pride ourselves on treating all of our comrades equally, regardless of their
race, species or gender. Unlike the cowardly Resistance, we find no need or
pleasure in forcing a partner in the search for sexual gratification.”
Rey stiffens a little as murmurs break out between the officers that are
gathered behind the Knights.
“Such acts of cowardice and perversity will be punished,” Snoke thunders,
“mercilessly, as they always have been in our organization. The punishment will
be equal for each and every one of our members and supporters, no matter your
rank. Equality is no longer something to strive for—it is an achievement we
have met and succeeded at. And in the spirit of said achievement, Mr. William
Hux, I shall have no choice but to sentence you to a punishment befitting your
crimes.”
An ominous silence falls, and all gathered stiffen—she would almost think that
they are all holding their breaths, if she could not see the small white clouds
of breath escape from their lips.
“You have forced yourself upon Kylo Ren’s protected and valued Apprentice,”
Snoke hisses, and a strange feeling washes over her—gratitude and
appreciation—as he speaks. “You forced her to participate in sexual acts she
did not consent to; for these accusations, you have been found guilty, and you
will be sentenced to death.”   
Rey nearly chokes on her own spit when those words fall from Snoke’s lips, her
eyes widening as her mind whirs with a strange mix of horror and gratitude. She
swallows thickly and turns, carefully studying the ginger-haired man as he
kneels before her and Kylo.
She wonders why her life is so much more valuable than his.
What makes her so different?
The other Knights are arranged in a deliberate setup around her, Hux and Kylo,
so that the officers that are watching have an unobstructed view of the events
that are about to unfold.
“Before this sentence will be carried out,” Snoke booms, “the Knights of Ren
will be allowed an opportunity to satiate their need to avenge one of their
own.” The gigantic hologram turns to the Knights and states, “Proceed as you
desire—but do not kill him.”
The first Knight steps forward—Lumiya Ren, as she later realizes—and raises the
weapon she’d been holding; a Z6 baton. She inhales sharply at the sound of the
electrified baton hitting flesh, and the responding cry that falls from Hux’s
lips.
Immediately, Kylo’s fingers wrap around her elbow again, and he subtly nudges
her chin up with his free hand. “Look at him,” he tells her, keeping his voice
low enough so that only she can hear him, “this is for you. The Supreme Leader
is watching you carefully, and he is looking for weakness. Give him none—don’t
flinch, don’t blink and don’t look away.”
She swallows thickly and balls her hands into fists, grateful that her sleeves
are long enough to hide the small move.
“Take comfort in the knowledge that we are doing this for you, Rey,” Kylo adds,
without moving a single visible muscle. “This is for your safety and justice.”
It is a comforting thought, a little voice in her head whispers, to know that
they are willing to punish—even kill—a General for raping one little girl, who
had been at their base for less than a day when the crime had occurred. She
still finds it difficult to believe, despite the evidence that has been given
to the contrary, that agreeing to be Kylo Ren’s Apprentice holds quite so much
weight.
She doesn’t flinch when the second Knight steps forward and doles out his
version of punishment. She feels sick to her stomach at Hux’s continuous cries
and pleas for mercy, and she wonders if this is what she wanted—but then there
is a little voice in her head that reminds her of what Hux had done to her, and
that he deserves at least as much pain and suffering as he had caused her.
And she isn’t entirely sure that the little voice is wrong.
She spends the entire time in a daze, only blinking when her eyes are starting
to water, while two voices in her head argue over the necessity of this much
torture—over whether or not it is okay to like the sounds of his cries and the
sight of his broken form hunched over red-stained snow.
When Kylo steps forward, her heart leaps in her chest, and she is once again
surprised by his fervour to defend her—his rage on her behalf. The other
Knights had all used weapons to exact their vengeance, but Kylo, it seems, has
no patience or need to use such means, and simply plants his fist in the middle
of Hux’s face, and Rey refuses to flinch at the audible sound of bones
breaking.
Her breath escapes from between her clenched teeth in a hiss as Kylo kicks and
punches Hux a few more times before he turns, extending his hand to her.
It is only then that she realizes how Snoke means for this to end.
He wants her to deliver the final blow.
And suddenly, she is not so sure she wantsthe man dead anymore. Death seems
like an awfully harsh punishment in light of his crimes—and yes, she is well
aware of what he did to her, but…
She’s not sure she can live with this man’s death weighing on her conscience.
As she steps forward, hesitantly putting her hand in Kylo’s, there’s a small
voice in her head that suggests that yes, death may be too steep a punishment
for the man’s crimes—an escape from a life of suffering that he deserves.
Maybe death is not too steep, but too easy.
Maybe she would feel better if he had to live, every day, with the knowledge
that what he had done to her had ruined his career and his life. With the
knowledge that the filthy little Resistance slut had been the one to ruinhim.
Maybe she can live with that on her conscience.
Kylo presses a pistol into her hand, and guides her hand up, until the barrel
rests against Hux’s temple. She’s sure he can tell just how shaken she is, how
conflicted, because she still can’t look at Hux’s broken form without feeling
both pride and gratitude and absolute horror.
“Pull the trigger,” Kylo orders her calmly. “Slay your demons.”
And it makes so much sense.
All she has to do is pull the trigger, and she’ll have won—she’ll never be
bothered by the ginger-haired man ever again, and she’ll have proven to
everyone, including herself, that she is strong enough.
That she can stand up for herself.
Her finger curls around the trigger of its own accord, and she doesn’t realize
quite how much she’s shaking until Kylo drops his hand from hers and stands
back, falling into rank with the rest of his Knights—and she wants to make him
proud, wants to see him smile again beneath that infernal mask of his, but she
can’t do this.
“No.”
An eerie silence falls over those gathered, and she can feel all eyes—including
Hux’s, who’s managed to get to his knees again—on her as she turns to face
Snoke.
“This is too easy,” she tells him, reverently sinking down onto one knee again
as she lays the pistol near his feet. “I don’t want him to get off this
easily—I want him to suffer, and I want him alive.” She looks up, straight into
those cold eyes and says, “I want him to live with the knowledge that he is
only alive because the little Resistance slut decided to spare him. Strip him
of his rank, and punish him as you will—but let him live with the knowledge
that I won.”
No one speaks for a very long, tense moment, before Snoke leans back in his
throne and staples his fingers together as he regards her.
“So be it.”
***** Chapter VII - Resistance *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi everyone!
     Thanks to everyone for the well-wishes and the comments on the last
     chapter :D I'm home now, and while I'll be recovering from surgery
     for another five weeks (ugh.) I'll at least have time to write a lot
     :D Also, I'm totally okay, and I'm touched by your concern :)
     You're all the best!
     Here's another little chapter for this little story. There's three
     more chapters to go after this one, and after that, there will be a
     sequel. The sequel will not, however, be posted right away, since I
     want to outline it properly and write at least half of the chapters
     before I start uploading so I can keep a regular update schedule.
     Also, this story will be under revision before the sequel's posted
     too; chapters will be expanded and more details and extra scenes will
     be added. In essence, nothing should change plotwise, but there will
     be more details on things like Rey's time at the Resistance and such.
     If there are things you'd really like to see, please, let me know,
     and I'll definitely look into adding them :D
     In any case, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'll see you all on
     Wednesday for the next one!
     Please leave a little comment with your thoughts! :D
     Love,
     Annaelle
     PS Thank you to Juulna (Meaghan) for being the best beta ever! :D
See the end of the chapter for more notes
****** Chapter VII
Resistance ******
***** “The problem with comprehension is, it often comes too late.”
—Rasmenia Massoud *****
“Tell me about Rey.”
The way Finn poses the question—strongly, not-quite-a-question-at-all—unnerves
Poe for a short moment before he moves to sit down next to Finn, offering him a
swig from the bottle of Corellian Whiskey he’d nicked from the kitchens.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes that getting drunk with Finn is
hardly going to help him come to terms with having to postpone rescuing Rey,
but he honestly couldn’t care less.
There’s much he’s yet to come to terms with, most of it pertaining to Rey’s
life here on base, and he’s no closer to accepting that than he had been on the
day he found out. 
He is, admittedly, impressed when Finn downs the alcoholic liquid without so
much as a flinch.
He leans his head back against the wall and stretches his legs out before him,
accepting the bottle from Finn when he holds it out to him. “She’s amazing,” he
finally replies, turning to look at Finn with a sad smile. “I bet she could
kick my arse into the next solar system if she wanted to.”
Poe still vividly remembers the first time he’d met her.
She had stood in the middle of his quarters, her hair loose and curly, dressed
in flowing white robes, her eyes wide and profoundly sad. He knows now that she
had been forced into his bed that night; but at the time he’d just thought she
was nervous.
He wishes he’d known then—he’d never have gone through with it.
He would have found a way to keep her safe sooner.
Finn snaps him from his thoughts when he chuckles, bumping their shoulders
together unintentionally. “Yeah,” Finn grins, “I kind of got that vibe from her
too.”
Poe chuckles a little before chugging some of the whiskey again. “I didn’t
know,” he admits quietly, “that she was being forced to sleep with me, with…
everyone. I mean, I don’t ask for a girl a lot, but I… I thought she was like
the others—I had no idea she’d only just arrived, much less that they
practically blackmailed her into it. I took her virginity, for Force’s sake—she
was crying, and I just… How could I not have known?”
He winces when he feels his voice break, and he clutches the bottle of whiskey
against his chest.
Finn tosses an arm around his shoulders, and Poe tries not to notice the little
flutter in the pit of his stomach that flares up every time Finn touches him—he
knows himself, and he knows his own feelings, and he’s well aware what that
little flutter is trying to tell him—but it’s stronger this time, and Poe
doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or the horrible day he’s had, and he just
doesn’t want to move.
He leans his head back against Finn’s arm and looks up at the rapidly darkening
sky, wondering if Rey is somewhere safe—if she can still see the same stars he
can see.
“I wish I could take it back,” Poe whispers. “I wish I’d known earlier what
they were making her do.”
They’re both silent for a long, tense moment before Finn says, “Maybe she was
glad it was you.”
Poe frowns and sits up, turning to face Finn with a confused look on his face.
“What are you talking about?” He asks, a little bit of anger and frustration
creeping into his voice and he can’t help it.
“Well,” Finn sighs, sitting up a bit straighter as well, “she clearly cares
about you a lot—she nearly cried when I told her I thought you’d died during
the crash…” He trails off, and both men wince a little at the reminder of the
three days they’d spent thinking the other was gone. “I mean,” Finn continues,
“I don’t think she’d care that much if she hated you for sleeping with her.”
“Maybe she should,” Poe whispers. “Maybe I do.”
He doesn’t flinch when Finn lays a hand on his shoulder and takes another
swallow of his whiskey.
“So,” Finn says after a while, “who decided that girls are supposed to be
treated like this?” Poe can hear the confusion in the younger man’s voice, and
he’s a little unsure—surely it’s not like the First Order treats women any
different; that’s all he’s ever been told anyway.
“It’s always been this way,” Poe says quietly, “I think… Back in the Rebellion
days, it was normal—there were women who fought, like Princess Leia, and
others, who simply wanted to be close to the action, but not be a part of it.
I’m not sure who decided that women could only be there for us to blow off
steam with, but…” He shakes his head and shrugs, “I think the Council has
something to do with it.”
Finn wrinkles his nose in distaste—Poe can’t quite blame him either—and says,
“I can’t imagine treating a woman like that; not just because it’s wrong and
illegal and they could execute you for it, but just… That’s another person with
feelings and a life, and it’s just…”
“Wait,” Poe frowns when he nearly spills his whiskey all over Finn’s lap as he
turns around, “it’s illegalin the First Order?”
“Well yeah,” Finn nods, eyeing Poe’s precarious hold on the whiskey bottle
nervously, “there’s a whole bunch of punishments depending on what you did—I
remember once, they executed two Stormtroopers for raping and killing one of
the female recruits. It was terrible, what happened to her.” He shakes his head
and rubs his hand of his forehead. “Supreme Leader Snoke himself attended the
execution via hologram. He had them whipped and then shot.”
Poe feels a little nauseated at the thought, but nods anyway. “I had no idea,”
he says quietly, “I thought that the First Order didn’t care what happened
between their soldiers—I didn’t even know they had female soldiers at all.”
Finn snorts and shoves at Poe’s shoulder, and Poe can’t help but laugh at the
adorable expression on Finn’s face. He’s not even sure why they’re
laughing—their discussion had hardly been light or frivolous—but it feels so
good to just laugh that he doesn’t want to stop.
They end up lying on their backs, side by side, breathlessly staring up at the
now-dark and starry sky.
Poe’s thoughts stray to Rey once again, and he hopes that, despite being a
prisoner, she is being treated better than he had been. Despite Finn’s earlier
reassurances about the First Order’s treatment of women, he’s still wary of
them—he has not forgotten being on the receiving end of Kylo Ren’s brand of
questioning, and he still wishes he could spare her from that fate.
He’d promised himself, on the last night he’d spent with her, that he’d find a
way to keep her safe.
It’s a pledge he feels truly shamed to have failed at.
“We’ll get her back, you know?” Finn pipes up, rolling his head to the side so
he can look at Poe. “Tomorrow, after the meeting, we’ll have the details we
need, and once we figure out where Kylo Ren took her, we can go to get her
back. She’s going to be fine.”
Poe rolls his head to the side as well and offers Finn a small, weak smile. “I
hope so,” he replies quietly, heaving a deep, heavy sigh before looking up at
the stars again. “I really hope so.”
.
.
.
A DAY LATER
Poe sits, dejectedly, on his small bed in his quarters, head bent down to rest
on his hands as he attempts to reign in his disappointment and frustration.
The meeting had, despite his best efforts, been nothing short of an absolute
disaster.
He could tell that the generals had already made up their minds before they’d
even entered—they’d already decided that they weren’t going to waste any
resources on saving one, inconsequential, little girl that had gotten herself
captured by the most powerful Force-sensitive in the galaxy.
They seemed to think that the fact that Poe had every single pilot, several
technicians and two engineers backing him in his determination to save Rey from
being held by the First Order was also inconsequential and ridiculous.
The council had voted on the matter anyway and had—unanimously—decided that the
generals were correct in their analysis, despite Poe’s passionate pleas and
disagreements. 
He'd been shouting, he recalls, before Finn and Snap grabbed his arms and
dragged him from the room before he could do something really foolish, like
punching Admiral Ackbar in his stupid, arrogant face. He remembers turning to
shout at them too, before he'd realised he was making a fool of himself—and
he's smart enough to know the council might order him to remain at the base if
they suspected he was turning against them.
He'd let Finn take him back to their shared barracks and had promptly collapsed
onto his bunk, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair in
agitation while Finn watched from the doorway.
“We’ll find a way,” Finn tells him. “This is not the end of this—there’s still
plenty we can do. And there are plenty of people who agree with you, Poe.” He
knows that Finn means for the words to be comforting, but they really
aren’t—because Rey has been in the First Order’s hands for three days already.
Force knows what they’ve done to her already—for all he knows they’ve
killedher.
He can’t stand the thought of living in a universe where she doesn’t exist
anymore, though, so he refuses to think of that possibility until he has seen
evidence to the contrary.
He hopes he’ll never find that evidence.
“We might not have much longer,” he finally replies. “She’s been with them for
three days already. How long do they usually keep their prisoners before they—”
He breaks off, because he can barely stand to think the words, much less to
actually say them.
Finn heaves a sigh and shrugs. “It depends on Kylo Ren’s mood.” He wrinkles his
nose and adds, “Which is usually terrible, but when a prisoner somehow
impresses him, he likes to keep them around. And Rey…” He shakes his head, and
drops himself on the small bed next to Poe—and Poe can’t help but notice the
way Finn’s thigh is now pressing intimately against his, despite the terrible
situation—before he continues. “I know you weren’t there to see it, but he
carriedher aboard the ship.”
Poe frowns, unsure where Finn is trying to steer this conversation.
Finn rolls his eyes a little, clearly sensing that Poe isn’t quite grasping the
meaning of what he’s trying to say. “He doesn’t touch, okay? Like, seriously,
I’ve never seen him actually touch anything or anyone ever—everyone knows. He
just uses his saber to destroy things when he’s in a bad mood and he uses the
Force for everything else—but Poe,” Finn leans towards him—and Pfassk, but Poe
can’t help but realize that Finn’s eyes are absolutely perfect and
beautiful—and emphasizes, “he carried Rey. It’s got to mean something.”
Poe snorts and shakes his head, attempting to dispel that disturbing image,
before falling back onto his bed. “I just—I can’t stand waiting. I want to go
to her and get her out of there now.”
“I know,” Finn replies sadly, “but it’s not going to happen right away. And
we’ll get her out, I promise.”
It still doesn’t soothe his mind, but Poe nods nonetheless.
“I tried to make it stop, you know?” He says after a while, staring blankly at
the ceiling. “The whole prostitution thing—when I found out Rey had been forced
into it… I talked to the guys—the ones who don’t… you know—got them to request
her, so she could just…” He falls silent and swallows thickly. “It didn’t work.
I think Jessika figured it out almost immediately—shut us down before we even
got the chance to help her. So I just… I kept requesting her until they’d let
me see her again.”
Poe startles a little when Finn drops his hand onto his thigh, and he feels his
cheeks flush with an unexpected—and unwanted—blush.
“I’m sure she knows,” Finn offers kindly. “I’m sure she knows what you tried to
do for her. Hell, she nearly killed me when she thought I’d stolen your
jacket—that girl doesn’t hate you, Poe. And I don’t think she wants you to hate
yourself for what happened either.”
“M—maybe,” Poe chokes a little, sitting up and subtly shifting away from Finn a
little bit—he likes the former Stormtrooper, he really does, but he honestly
cannot let himself get distracted from rescuing Rey right now, and he’s sure
that giving into the sparking chemistry between him and Finn will prove to be
exactly that.
A distraction.
That, and he’s fairly certain the younger man has no idea what kind of effect
his casual and tactile gestures have on him. Finn seems fairly inexperienced
when it comes to things like this, and Poe has zero desire to ruin a good
friendship because of a one-sided crush.
Honestly, he’s not even sure Finn likes him like that at all.  
He’s not going to do anything to ruin their friendship.
He is keeping this strictly platonic.
.
.
.
TWO WEEKS LATER
Finn is trying to kill him.
Really, Poe groans internally, that is the only explanation that makes any
sense whatsoever.
He’d thought, at first, that Finn was completely oblivious to what his casual
touches invoked within the privacy of Poe’s—admittedly very dirty—mind, but the
touches are now so frequent and so deliberate that he just… He can’t quite
believe Finn doesn’t know what he’s doing.
Even now, as they’re standing around the map table, taking in the wireframe
hologram of a rolling view of the surface of Starkiller Base, attending an
emergency strategy mission, Finn is standing unnecessarily close to Poe. He is
practically plastered to Poe’s side, and Poe knows other people are starting to
notice; he’d already seen Princess Leia eye them suspiciously and Snap had
winked at him.
He’d winked.
“The scan data from Snap’s reconnaissance report confirms Finn’s report,” he
finally says, nodding towards both men. When General Solo had come to Finn to
ask him for any and all information he could give them regarding the First
Order and their weapons, Finn hadn’t hesitated to explain about the superweapon
they had built; a project that had been years in the making, apparently.
“They’ve somehow managed to create a hyper lightspeed weapon within the planet
itself.” Snap still sounds impressed and horrified at the same time, and Poe
can’t blame him either—a weapon of this scale is both terrifying and awe-
inspiring.
“A laser cannon?” Lieutenant Brance pipes up, his face scrunched into a mask of
horrified confusion.
Poe glances over towards Snap and shrugs—if only it were as simple as that.
“We’re not sure,” he begins, “how to describe a weapon of this scale.”
“Another Death Star then,” Leia sighs tiredly, rubbing her hand over her
forehead before giving into Han’s insistent attempts to tuck her into his side.
Poe shakes his head and chews on his lower lip—because no matter how angry he
is, Princess Leia has always been one of the people he’s looked up to, and he
hates to see her look so oldand tired—before gravely replying, “I wish that
were the case, ma’am.”
He leans forward—and a little away from Finn’s comforting, but distracting,
warmth—and hits a control, carefully studying everyone’s faces as a wireframe
of the Death Star appears. “This was the Death Star,” he starts before hitting
another control, watching as the wireframe shrinks further and further before
the wireframe from Starkiller Base is drawn into a larger image, revealing the
entire planetary base.
“This is Starkiller Base,” he finishes gravely, trying not to wince when Finn
steps forward again, pressing their arms together.
“So,” General Solo recovers first, though Poe can tell he’s still shaken, “it’s
big.”
Admiral Ackbar leans forward and, though Poe still holds a lot of animosity
towards the admiral, he has to admit the man always has brilliant strategic
insights—he hopes he has a few now. “How is it possible to power a weapon of
this size?” He demands, studying the wireframe carefully.
“It uses the power of the sun, any sun,” Finn speaks up from beside him. “As
the weapon’s charged, the sun is drained until it disappears.”
Poe manages not to visibly respond when Finn brushes his hand over his, and
returns his attention to General Solo, who is glaring at the wireframe so
intensely, Poe might almost assume he’s trying to telepathically destroy it.
“How do we blow it up?” Han finally speaks. “There’s always a way to do that.”
No one replies, and Poe bites his lip nervously, because he knows general Solo
is probably right, but he has no idea where to start to blow something like
this up. Poe also can’t help the flash of fear that darts through him; Rey is
almost certainly on Starkiller and the thought of it blowing up with her
trapped there… Finn had told him she’d either be on Starkiller or a ship called
the Finalizer, but it’s no use bringing up Rey at this meeting.
The Generals and Council had already made up their minds unequivocally on the
subject.
Perhaps he can come up with some way of getting her out of there during the
attack, he muses.
Finally, Admiral Statura leans forward and offers, “Well… In order for that
amount of power to be contained, that base would need some kind of thermal
oscillator.” Poe shakes himself out of his thoughts to pay attention to the
matter at hand once again.
“There is one.” Finn leans forward and pushes Poe’s hand off the control before
spinning it and punching in a random code. “There,” he zooms in on a large,
black hexagonal structure. “Precinct 47.”
Statura steps forward and studies the wireframe of the oscillator. “If we can
destroy that oscillator, it might de-stabilize the core and cripple the weapon…
Maybe even the planet.”
“So,” Poe says cheerily, in a desperate attempt to make everyone feel a little
less hopeless, “we need a plan. We can’t just go in, guns blazing—we need a
solid plan of attack before we hit that oscillator with everything we’ve got.”
Everyone just nods in agreement—finally a point they can all agree on—before
admiral Ackbar speaks up again. “They have defensive shields that our ships
can’t penetrate. If we can’t disable the shields, none of this will matter.”
Everyone falls silent, and Poe can feel Finn fidget beside him—he assumes Finn
feels a little uncomfortable because he can’t offer more help on the matter.
So, slowly, he moves his hand to cover Finn’s and gives it a short, hopefully
reassuring squeeze before he returns his attention to the argument that is
unfolding before them.
“Look,” Han interrupts, shaking his head. “Finn—can you disable the shields?”
Finn frowns and eyes the wireframe before he nods. “Yeah, I guess… But I’d have
to be there, on the planet—”
“But you could do it?” Han interrupts, leaning forward eagerly—and Poe has a
really bad feeling about this—“If we got you onto that planet, you could
disable the shields so we could get in?”
“Finn,” Poe says quietly—because he does not like the idea of sending another
person he cares about into the lion’s den.  He can’t stand the idea of losing
Finn to the First Order as well. Finn offers him a timid, hesitant smile—and
Poe hates that smile, because he’s seen Finn’s real smile, and he hates that
the Resistance still thinks they can just order Finn around.
The only reason Finn’s even still here is because Poe asked him not to leave.
“I can do it,” Finn replies, never once taking his eyes off of Poe’s. “I can do
it.”
A short, tense silence falls between those gathered in the room, before Poe
tears his gaze from Finn and glances back towards the wireframe. “So we disable
the shields,” he says slowly, “take out the oscillator, and blow up their big
gun. Sounds like a plan.”
“We’ll commence planning the assault immediately,” Admiral Ackbar decides. “We
should be fully prepared for the attack within a week.”
And with that, the meeting is concluded, and everyone files out of the room,
the hologram shutting down—the room is suddenly really quiet, and Poe flounders
a little, unsure of what to do with himself now that everyone but him and Finn
have left the room.
Poe suddenly realizes that Finn is staring at him and he feels his cheeks
flush, wondering self-consciously if there is something on his face. "What are
you looking at?" he asks somewhat nervously, rubbing a hand over his nose and
cheeks quickly.
"You," Finn blurts, his already-dark skin darkening further when he realizes
what he said. "I mean—"
Poe cuts in with a smirk before Finn can continue. "Well, in that case, I hope
you enjoy the view."
Finn grins toothily and Poe is momentarily breathless—holy kriff, he’s so
fucked—before he shoots back, “Well, I usually do.” The words hang heavily
between them for a long moment—and Poe feels almost like his jaw has been
unhinged and is hanging down nearly to the floor as he stares at Finn—before
Finn, again, realizes what he’s said and flushes even deeper.
“I mean, I—well—it’s just—” Finn stutters, eyes wide and a little startled.
And Poe just… He can’t stand Finn’s awkward stuttering, and Force, didn’t Finn
just say what he’s been thinking about all along? He nearly lunges forward and
curls his fingers around the back of Finn’s neck, smashing their lips together
in a messy, breathless kiss.
It lasts less than thirty seconds, and really, Poe barely has the chance to
relish in the feel of Finn’s deliciously soft lips on his before the latter has
pulled away, his eyes wide and confused—andsithspit.
“I thought,” Poe stammers, “I thought you wanted—”
Finn blinks at him, opening and closing his mouth several times before he
actually manages to say something. “I didn’t—” he stutters, “I mean, I do—but…”
Poe watches as Finn shakes his head and turns away, and he wants to pretend
that it doesn’t sting, but it does, and he hates that. “But what?” He asks,
softly and quietly, taking care to ensure that his voice doesn’t sound too
demanding.
“Rey,” Finn whispers when he turns back, and Poe is stunned by the look of
agonized guilt in Finn’s eyes. “You love her, right? I mean—you have to.
Everything you’ve been trying to do, to get her back—so the two of you could be
together, right?” Finn’s babbling at this point, and Poe is staring, speechless
as Finn continues. “I don’t want to be in the way of that.”
“Finn,” Poe breathes, taking another step forward, “I’m not—Rey means a lot to
me, and, yeah, I want her back, but I’m not in love with her. Never have been.”
He watches as Finn stills, his eyes shining with something new—something
hopeful—and he can’t help but smile a little. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I
felt something like that for Rey.”
“I thought you were into girls,” Finn whispers unsteadily, taking a step
towards Poe.
Poe smirks a little and leans in, his lips only a hair’s breadth from Finn’s,
as he says, “I am. I also happen to be into guys—and specifically into this one
guy.” He grins when Finn puts his hands on his hips and draws their bodies
closer together.
“Yeah?” Finn breathes. “What’s so special about him?”
“Oh, you’d like him,” Poe smirks, bumping his nose against Finn’s playfully.
“He saved my life. And he’s handsome and kind—”
“Poe?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and kiss me already.”
He does—and he really doesn’t want to stop kissing Finn once he’s started.
Chapter End Notes
     For those interested, here's a list of the seven other Knights of Ren
     and their respective species :D
     - Lumiya Ren (Mirialan)
     - Jacen Ren (human)
     - Dota Ny Ren (Togruta)
     - Venamis Ren (human)
     - Bo-Ro-Tara Ren (Cerean)
     - Hoolidan Ren (Duros)
     - Aalad’zaja (Zaja) Ren (Twi’lek)
***** Chapter VIII - Moraband *****
Chapter Notes
     Just for the record, this chapter takes place during the third week
     after Rey has been kidnapped from Takodana. In the last chapter, with
     Finn and Poe, I mentioned that two weeks had passed, and that they
     needed another week to plan an assault on Starkiller Base.
     This chapter takes place during that week.
     Thank you to everyone for the support and comments! You guys are
     amazing.
     Love, Annaelle
     PS Thanks to Juulna (MeaghanM) for beta'ing and dragging me through
     the more difficult chapters :D You're the best, darling!
     PPS I am taking requests for prompts in this universe--I'll be
     posting Deleted Scenes after I finish this part, and I can definitely
     look into scenes you guys would like to see too :-)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Chapter VIII
Moraband
"There is scarcely any passion without struggle."
—Albert Camus
Rey does not like Moraband at all.
Upon their arrival on the desolate planet and the ruins of what was once a Sith
Academy—mere hours after Hux's public punishment and demotion—Kylo had shoved
her into a darkened cave and told her to fight her way out; to prove she was
worthy of being his Apprentice. She had wandered through the cave for hours,
clutching the blaster pistol that Kylo had given her tightly, without meeting
anyone or anything that would classify as moderately threatening, and she had
just begun to wonder what Kylo expected her to find in here when the first one
swooped down.
The winged monster had managed to claw a large tear into her arm, and she had
been blinded by the sudden pain for only a split-second—it had been long enough
for the second thing to knock her to the ground and send her blaster pistol
skidding over the rocky floor, out of her reach.
She scarcely remembers the fight that ensued, only that there had been many of
the winged creatures, and that they all seemed under the distinct impression
that killing her was the perfect way to spend the day. She had, luckily,
managed to wrap the Force around herself, like Kylo had explained, much like a
security blanket while she searched for her pistol.
The winged monsters had not, thank the Force, been immune to blaster bolts.
She had, also, finally experienced the kind of sheer power that rage and fear
could give her—and how intoxicating using said power was. Using the Force,
she'd been able to knock out most of the creatures that had attacked her, and
she was able to shoot the others.
She'd not been prepared for the rush of giddiness when she emerged from the
caves, victorious and unharmed but for the deep scratch on her arm. Kylo had
been waiting for her, his helmet lying in the dust by his feet, and an
expression of something akin to pride on his face. His lips had been curled up
into a small smile, and she had most definitely not been prepared for the way
her stomach clenched when she saw him.
After her stint in the caves of the Shyrack—which was what the monsters were
called, apparently—Kylo had taken her to the Valley of the Dark Lords, where
there had once been a Sith Academy. The Valley itself was a massive rift in an
outcropping of stone, with steep and sheer stone walls and rocky mountain
ledges.
The Academy itself, while dilapidated and clearly abandoned, was a pyramid-like
structure at the rear of the valley, towering over the rest of the valley. It
was constructed entirely out of stone and durasteel, and she remembers being
completely dumbstruck by the way the sun's bright light was reflected and
framed at the apex of the awe-inspiring building. Unfortunately, Kylo had not
been in a mood to linger and stare, and had dragged her to the entrance, atop a
wide staircase framed by two crumbling statues.
He had then pointed her towards the Sith Archives, where he expected her to
study up on their history and delve into everything the scrolls, holocrons,
holobooks and datapads could teach her about the Dark Side and its many uses.
And so, their real training had begun.
In the three weeks that had followed, their days had taken on a specific,
predictable routine—one that she had, rather reluctantly, grown fond of. She'd
found that she quite likes living by a routine; enjoys the predictability,
even; when it has nothing to do with sex and mandatory 'service' in exchange
for food.
She wakes early, only an hour after the sun has risen, and spends the first
three hours of her day in the Archives with her morning rations, reading and
researching, before she joins Kylo for their noon meal. After that, they spend
the afternoon meditating—she attempts to, anyway—before they end their day with
physical exercises and saber sequences.
There's a great many things they do in the evenings though, and it usually
varies day by day.
Sometimes Rey will attempt to meditate on her own; sometimes she'll join Kylo
for a drink in the room he had claimed as his and talk to him for hours about
her life on Jakku and later the Resistance, and sometimes she reads until she
is so tired that she can't see straight anymore.
One thing she has learned since their arrival on Moraband though is that Kylo,
despite clearly enjoying her company when she does join him, does not enjoy
hearing too much about her time at the Resistance Base—it sends him into a
near-uncontrollable rage every time—and much prefers it when she asks questions
about the First Order and their vision for a unified and peaceful universe.
She's found he's very passionate about that, too.
Observing him has also made her wonder—a lot—about passion in general. It is
something that is clearly important in former Sith and Dark Side training; it's
even cited in the Code of the Sith in several of the scrolls and holobooks
she's read so far.
"Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Through passion, I gain strength.
Through strength, I gain power.
Through power, I gain victory.
Through victory, my chains are broken.
The Force shall free me."
It seems like something that is so important to force-sensitives everywhere;
even to people who don't use the Force.
Even Poe had told her, once, of his first love—a passionate whirlwind romance
if there ever was one. He'd been with the Resistance for less than a year when
he'd met Malik, and from that point on it had taken them less than twenty-four
hours to tumble into bed together. She'd never heard Poe talk about someone
like that before, with a certain kind of twinkle in his eye that had almost
made her feel jealous.
Not of Malik and the way he clearly still holds a special place in Poe's heart,
but of the way Poe spoke of their time together—there was a kind of passion in
the memory that she still has not experienced herself. She is still worried
about what that means for her future as an Apprentice of the Dark Side; does
she not need to experience passion to gain more power and strength?
What if her lack of passion keeps her from ever reaching her full potential?
What if Kylo's faith in her runs out?
If there is another thing she's learned during her time on Moraband, it is that
she should save these kinds of contemplations for her evening hours—she should
most definitely not be pondering on the matter while attempting to meditate.
The fact that meditation really isn't for her has little to do with it, she
knows.
Her mind tends to drift when she is forced to sit still for long periods of
time, and despite her best efforts, she has not been able to sink into the
deeper meditational trance which Kylo had described.
Even now, her mind wanders from passion—or her lack thereof—to her silent,
brooding, handsome Master. She has found, over the past few weeks, that she is
acutely aware of how handsome her Master is, and it makes her wonder about his
personal life—one she is not even sure he really has.
"Clear your mind, Rey," Kylo tells her reproachfully, clearly having picked up
on her wandering attention.
She forces her breathing to remain even, refusing to sigh in exasperation at
her millionth failed attempt to enter into meditation—he had offered to try
something called shared meditation, but the description he had given her had
sounded terrifyingly intimate, requiring them to practically meld their minds
together to achieve the trance, and the thought of having him in her head,
catching glimpses of her very inappropriate and conflicting thoughts towards
him makes her feel slightly queasy.
"Yes, Master," she replies evenly, keeping her eyes shut, "I am trying."
"Try harder," he orders her through clearly clenched teeth—and she doesn't even
have to look at him to know he is on the verge of another temper tantrum. The
first time he had lost his temper in front of her was the first time she had
felt genuinely afraid of him—but she has quickly come to recognize those
moments as nothing more than an outlet for his apparently overwhelming
emotions.
"I can't," she grouses, clenching her hands into fists where they rest on her
knees.
She hears him heave a sigh before his hand suddenly lands on her shoulder, and
she jumps violently, snapping her eyes open to glare at him. He does this,
sometimes, and she absolutely hates being surprised like that. She doesn't like
to be touched as it is, and she has noticed he seems somewhat reluctant to
initiate any kind of physical contact too, but he does startle her out of
meditation all the time.
"Perhaps it is time we move onto your lightsaber sequences," he tells her, not
unkindly. "Get your training saber and get ready."
She stares at him for a long, tense moment before she manages to conceal her
surprise and nods. "Yes, Master," she replies, scrambling to her feet and
crossing the room to the slim, tall wooden cupboard where they keep their
training sabers.
She vividly remembers the first time they had trained using the sabers—it had
been the closest thing to an actual lightsaber she had ever held, and she had
been positively giddy with anticipation and pride—and the memory fills her with
both amusement and shame. She had been a bit overzealous and neglected to heed
Kylo's warning that a single hit with the training saber would temporarily
paralyze the area she got hit in.
Within the first three minutes of their duel, he had managed to paralyze her
left arm and both legs.
She wrinkles her nose in distaste at her own earlier haughtiness and retrieves
both Kylo's and her training sabers, eyeing the durasteel blades with
admiration. It is a stellar piece of technology, and if Kylo would have let
her, she would most definitely have taken them apart to see how they worked;
she knows about the toxin-filled barbs—Kylo told her—but there has to be more
to it.
"Rey," he speaks from behind her, "is there something wrong?"
She quickly shakes her head to clear it from any and all distractions before
turning back to Kylo, clutching her saber in her left hand and his in her right
hand. She bows her head and offers him the training saber, keeping her eyes on
the floor as she does so; the way he stands on ceremony even though there is no
one here but them irritates her and grates on her nerves, but she knows it is
necessary to know these things, even if she does not like them.
He had explained to her, at length, how her behaviour as his Apprentice would
reflect on him and his Knights, and she has to admit that it does make sense.
He takes the saber from her hand, and she takes his continued silence as
permission to proceed with their usual exercises. She straightens and nods
towards her Master before flowing from move to move fluidly, finding a kind of
peace and tranquillity in the predictability of her sequences that she could
never find in meditation.
"Faster," Kylo orders, his voice shattering through the ferocious haze she had
worked herself into.
She grits her teeth in annoyance, but does as he tells her, and speeds up as
she goes through the sequences again. She loses count of how many times Kylo
tells her to repeat the sequences, going a little faster each time, but she
doesn't complain, even when the muscles in her arms and torso begin to burn.
"Enough."
She spins into the final turn and eases into a stop, holding her tense stance
for a long moment before she lowers her training saber and turns to face Kylo
again.
He has taken to not wearing his mask here on Moraband, and though she enjoys
being able to read his expression he is also infuriatingly good at masking his
emotions and keeping a straight face. "You did well," he tells her—and stang
him, would it kill him to show a little bit of pride or approval? "Soon, you
will be good enough to add new sequences."
She bites her lip to hide her grin and bows her head. "Thank you, Master."
"Now," he tells her. "We will spar—try to last longer than ten minutes this
time."
She fumes a little at that dig—he has years of experience with this kind of
thing, of course he's better at it than she is—but doesn't say anything.
Instead she focuses the raw energy and strength that that anger provides her
with as she raises her saber.
Kylo does the same, facing off across from her, his saber held loosely as he
waits for her to make the first move, as he always does. There is, as usual, a
little voice in the back of her head that tries to undermine her—tries to
convince her that she will never be able to beat Kylo in a fight.
She refuses to let that little voice rattle her though, and springs towards
him, slashing the saber towards his unprotected ribs, hoping to catch him by
surprise—but it is exceptionally hard to actually catch him by surprise. Not
only does he seem to anticipate every move she makes before she's even decided
she's going to make it, but he's fast.
He halts her attack with ease, parrying her move with one of his own—one that
she barely manages to avoid. She pays little attention to it, and keeps her
eyes solely trained on him. They've been training together for several hours a
day, every day, for three weeks—he may have taught her everything she knows,
but she knows him as well.
All she needs to do is learn to anticipate him the same way he seems to be
anticipating her—using a mix of the Force and his personal knowledge of the way
she had been trained.
She reaches out for the Force and revels in the way it flows around and through
her and Kylo—and suddenly she understands. The new knowledge and her use of it
makes the fight tricky, and she can tell he is surprised by her sudden turn-
around, and she surprises herself with how well-matched her using the Force to
fight him makes them.
But, despite her improvements to her technique, she quickly begins to tire. Her
heart thumps heavily in her chest, and sweat coats her skin, and her limbs grow
more tired with every move she makes—Kylo senses this and moves in, pushing
forth with the full force of his—admittedly, rather large and muscled—body.
She stumbles at the impact, and he takes advantage of that, tackling her to the
floor. The wind is knocked from her lungs at the impact of her body slamming
against the floor, and her training saber scatters away. She barely has the
chance to take a breath and regain her bearings when Kylo crashes into her
again, pinning her to the floor with his entire body.
"Fight, Rey," he whispers, his breath warm against her ear. "Show me how you
can get out of this situation without weapons."
Her heartbeat is loud in her own ears, and her chest is heaving, brushing
against his chest with every breath she takes, and the way his body is pressed
against hers is… She doesn't have a word for what it feels like, but it is
frightening and delightful and she—she can't breathe.
The air between them is warm and heady, and though a little voice in her head
tells her it would be okay to lean up and kiss him—just to distract him, of
course—she cannot bring herself to do it.
She cannot bring herself to move at all.
Suddenly his warm body pressed along hers isn't comforting but stifling and too
much, too familiar, and she struggles fruitlessly against him, gasping for
breath that never seems to make it to her lungs, desperately hoping that the
tears that are burning in her eyes won't roll down her cheeks—she doesn't want
to be seen as weak anymore, she doesn't want to give Hux or any of them power
over her life anymore, but she can't help it.
"Let me go," she gasps, "Kylo, get off me—I need—please—I need—"
She sees the moment he realizes what is happening, and she can see the horror
in his eyes—and she can't stand it. He rolls off of her, and offers her his
hand to help her up, but all she can do is scurry away—away from Kylo and his
all-too-knowing gaze—away from the memories and the embarrassment—just away.
She ignores Kylo as he calls after her and storms out of the practice area,
wiping at her eyes furiously.
She will not be weak.
.
.
.
The lower levels of what was once a great Sith Academy are now permanently
shrouded in darkness and silence. Rey realizes that wandering through abandoned
and dilapidated dormitories, conference rooms, empty chambers with no obvious
purpose, and even ritual chambers might be frightening to other people, but she
finds a strange kind of comfort in the solitude it provides.
She is hardly put off by the occasional body she encounters down here—on Jakku,
she had quickly become desensitised to seeing death—and she revels in exploring
the many chambers and tunnels beneath the Academy. She loves imagining what
these halls may have looked like when there were hundreds of students and
acolytes—when this place had been glorious and new.
She likes exploring the way she feels more connected to the Force here.
She feels safe down here.
She supposes she should not have been surprised that her feet led her down
wide, spiralling staircases and slim, rickety wooden steps until she stands,
once again, in the dormitories after running from Kylo and his suddenly
stifling presence. The Force is nearly tangible down here, and she likes that
she can almost touch it—it gives her strength like nothing else ever has, and
she is loath to think of the day she and Kylo will have to leave this place and
its uncanny connection to the Force.
She's aware she has been down in the Academy's bowels for hours now, but the
only indication of passing time has been her stomach—it's been growling and
churning for an hour now, reminding her that she has yet to eat properly today.
With a resigned sigh, she wipes off some of the dust and dirt that had gathered
on her clothes and climbs the creaky wooden steps that lead her to the first
lower level, where the generic chambers and dormitories are situated. The level
is not as large and widespread as the ones that lie even deeper beneath the old
Academy, but she had found a nice little collection of treasures down here. A
few scrolls on meditation and levitation, a bracelet that was made out of some
kind of soft metal she had never seen before and something that looked like the
beginnings of a lightsaber hilt.
She does not linger in the dormitories this time and proceeds to climb the
large spiralling staircase that leads to the large entrance hall. She briefly
wonders if she could get away with eating by herself in her small room, but
quickly discards that thought—avoiding her Master will not make facing him any
less awkward later on.
And, much as she is loath to admit it, she does enjoy his company and
conversation when he is not being an insufferable, arrogant prat.
She sets off towards his chambers with an annoyed huff, pondering on how she
could avoid talking about how she freaked out when he had tried to teach her
more about self-defence and fighting. She has had a lot of time to reflect
while she strolled down the dusty halls below the Academy, and she realizes
that she had completely overreacted to what was no more than a teaching
situation—and what was worse, she had run away from Kylo.
She had not explained what had happened and, though she is certain he knows,
she feels slightly ashamed of her own erratic behaviour.
She reaches the double doors that lead to his chambers, and lets her hand hover
over the panel for a long moment before she enters the code and opens the door
with a hiss. "Master?" She calls tentatively as she enters the chamber, unsure
of what emotional state he would be in—she has long since learned that it is
best to leave him to his devices when he is feeling particularly emotional in
any way.
"Rey."
She jumps and turns, surprised to find him standing in the doorway that leads
to the bedchamber and the 'fresher, looking far less put together than she has
ever seen him look before. He is wearing simple, soft lounge pants and a black
shirt that does delightful things for his muscular form, and his hair is damp
and adorably curled around his ears.
"I apologize," she offers, bowing her head so that he will not notice the way
her cheeks flamed at the sight of him. "I did not mean to—"
"No," he interrupts, padding forward, his bare feet making odd slapping sounds
against the cool, stone floor. "No, do not apologize. You did nothing wrong—I
am sorry I put you in that position to begin with. Forgive me, Rey. I did not
think."
His apology resonates within her mind, and she can tell he's attempting to
communicate his genuine regret for causing her distress through the Force as
well, but it rubs her the wrong way because he shouldn't be apologizing.
"Don't apologize," she spits at him, steadily ignoring that her eyes are, yet
again, burning with tears. "You've done nothing wrong. You were doing what you
promised me, and I took it the wrong way. I'll make sure it doesn't happen
again. Can we please leave it at that and not discuss the matter any further?"
His eyes are dark and his expression is twisted into a mask of concern and
regret before it shutters and she can't read him at all anymore. "Of course,"
he nods. "Shall we have dinner?"
She nods in silence before following him into the adjacent room, where he has
two comfortable chairs set up next to a small table. Two plates have been
filled with steaming vegetables and a slice of deep purple meat that she's
never seen or tasted before.
She hardly cares what it is, though—she's hungry enough to eat him.
"Sit," he orders her. "Eat."
Normally it irks her when he speaks to her like this, but she is too tired and
too worn down to argue with him, and simply curls up in her designated chair
before attacking the food on her plate—and she swears, nothing has ever tasted
this good before.
They eat in silence for a while, but where the silence is usually comfortable
and companionable, all Rey feels now is awkwardness—and she hates that.
"Where did you go?" He finally asks after setting down his cutlery, his eyes
dark and hooded as he studies her. "I could barely sense you—it was…
disconcerting, to say the least."
She stares at him in confusion, setting down her own utensils before leaning
back in her seat. "I didn't really go anywhere," she replies honestly. "I was
in the lower levels—near the dormitories and the old ritual chambers. I
didn't—I wasn't trying to hide myself… I don't know why—"
"Those chambers are dangerous," he cuts her off, leaning forward in his seat.
"Dark Force spirits linger in those tunnels—the Force is stronger down there,
but so are those that linger. If they are what mask your presence from me when
you are down there, I may not be able to get to you in time when you need help.
Be careful."
She wants to refute his statement, wants to tell him that she feels safe down
in the tunnels, safer than she's ever felt before in her entire life—but then
she recalls the barely-there whispers.
The ghost of a touch that she had sworn she'd imagined.
"Okay," she nods slowly, "I'll be careful."
He nods, a satisfied smile turning the corner of his lips up, before he frowns
again, never once moving his eyes away from hers. "You are unhappy," he
observes, and she doesn't need to use the Force to know he is confused—it is
written plainly all over his face. "Why?"
She wrinkles her nose—sometimes the way he is able to read her is really
annoying—and sighs. She unties the three buns in her hair and shakes it out,
running her fingers through it as she attempts to find a way to explain the way
exploring the tunnels had made her feel that will make sense to him too. She
realizes that sometimes the way she thinks is difficult to understand for
others, and she doesn't want to create any misunderstandings between her and
Kylo.
"I liked the tunnels and dormitories and chambers," she finally shrugs. "I
liked being the first to walk through those halls in years, if not centuries.
It's dark and damp and infested with parasites and bugs, and there are dead
bodies down there, but…" She falls silent and leans her chin on her hand,
switching her gaze from Kylo to her plate and the half-finished pile of
vegetables on it.
"It made me feel safe," she admits. "I'd never felt that safe before—and the
Force was so tangible…" She trails off again and sighs. "I know it probably
doesn't make much sense, but—"
He cuts her off when he shakes his head and holds up his hand. "I understand,"
he tells her. "I was much the same when I was younger. My father—" He falls
silent abruptly, and she is both insatiably curious and fascinated by the
various emotions that flicker across his usually stoic face.
This is the first time he's spoken of a life before he wore the mask, and she
desperately hopes he'll say more.
"Suffice to say he was not the best parent," Kylo grouses eventually. "Even
before I was sent away to be trained by my uncle, he had little time for me and
my mother."
She is captivated by his tale; by the way his fingers tighten around his spoon
as he speaks, by the muscles that thicken in his jaw as he speaks of his
father, by him.
She realizes she should be more attentive to his words, but she is easily
distracted by the glint in his eye that speaks of good and bad memories alike,
and the way his lips curl around the words as he tells her how he can only
recall one instance in which his father showed actual interest in him, when he
tried to show him how to fly the Falcon with uncle Chew—
"The Millenium Falcon?" She blurts out when he falls silent, a soft blush
rising to her cheeks when he stares at her in apparent horror. "Han Solo's
ship," she continues, eyes wide with disbelief. "Ben Solo. Han and Leia's lost
son," she whispers, staring at her Master with both horror and confusion.
"They… Everyone thinks you died at Luke Skywalker's school when that… that
student turned against them and killed—oh."
She trails off and glowers at her plate, somewhat startled by the sudden burn
of tears in her eyes.
"Ben Solo did die that day," he finally speaks, his voice taut and gruff, after
a long, long silence. "You'd do well to remember that."
She nods shakily before turning to her plate and picking up her fork, awkwardly
stabbing at one of the yellow vegetables and shoving it into her mouth. She's
at a loss of what to say or do after Kylo's accidental revelation, and she's
not sure what to make of him now that she knows these things either.
It's not like she hadn't been aware he'd killed before—he would have killed Hux
if she hadn't stopped him—and she's well aware he is not always a very good
person, but…
She had seen so much of the grief and sorrow that had been caused by the loss
of all of Luke Skywalker's students… It feels so much more real because she
knows the people that suffered at his hand.
Some of them intimately.
His father was one of those men, and for all his faults, she'd never once
believed that Han Solo was a bad person or a bad man.
She doesn't want to doubt her Master—he has been nothing but kind to her and
protective of her since the day they met—but she honestly doesn't understand
why he would have turned against his family. Why he would have chosen to
destroy so many of the Resistance's families when he killed their Force-
sensitive children as he betrayed Luke Skywalker?
She just… She wants to understand.
"Can I ask you something?" She asks timidly, chewing on her lower lip as she
glances towards him from beneath her eyelashes.
"You may ask," he concedes after a brief pause.
"Is that why you still search for Luke Skywalker?" She bites her lip when he
looks up sharply, his eyes dark and intense as he studies her. "I heard you
talk about it," she offers. "Back on Starkiller Base—it's what BB-8 had, right?
Part of the map?"
"Yes," he replies carefully. "Fortunately, while losing the droid was a set-
back, we learned through several intelligence sources that the Resistance is no
closer to finding Skywalker than we are. If they were, neither one of us would
stand a chance against him. He is a powerful Jedi, and he has had more than a
decade since I destroyed the school to hone his skills even further."
Rey blanches at that little piece of information and swallows thickly, refusing
to acknowledge the fact that even thinking about losing Kylo now would destroy
her in a way she's too afraid to name. Her feelings towards him had been
confusing and conflicting even before his revelation of his true identity, but
now… Now she really has no idea how to classify the way his presence affects
her.
It is similar to what she used to feel when she saw Poe, knowing she'd be
spending the night with him again, but it is far more intense and far less
fearful and reluctant.
"Why did you do it?" She whispers, afraid to name all of the things that are
swirling through her mind.
He is silent for a long time—so long that she begins to think he won't answer
her at all—before he whispers, "I had no choice. Snoke said—and… They were…
They kill people, Rey. Innocents that never stood a chance—young girls, like
you, that will never receive justice if they win this war. I knew that even as
a teenager. I refuse to support people like that… Or to just ignore it, like
Luke Skywalker did. They needed to pay for what they'd done. I made sure they
paid for their crime when I destroyed the school."
He shakes his head and her heart squeezes painfully at the raw emotion in his
voice—and she knows there is still more to it than what he is telling her. "It
is late," he rasps finally, getting to his feet awkwardly. "Go get some sleep."
With that, he turns and stomps out of the room, leaving her to her thoughts and
her half-finished plate of food.
Rey heaves a deep sigh and leans back in the comfortable chair, closing her
eyes briefly.
She supposes that could have gone worse.
She finishes her food, deliberately choosing not to think about anything even
remotely related to Kylo Ren or the Resistance, and returns to her room, hoping
that sleep won't evade her like it usually does when she has this much to think
about.
Luckily, her head has barely touched the pillow before she falls asleep.
She feels like she has only just fallen asleep when Kylo suddenly storms into
her room—which is, incidentally, much smaller than his, thus making it seem
like he takes up the entire space—and tosses a duffel bag onto her bed. "Get
dressed and pack," he orders, his expression cold and closed-off. "We are
leaving for Starkiller Base right away."
"What?" She mumbles sleepily, rubbing her knuckles over her eyelids. "What is
going on, Master?"
He pauses in her doorway, shooting her a glance over his shoulder as he
replies. "The Resistance is planning an attack on Starkiller within the next
three days. Our assistance is required. We are leaving in one hour. Get your
things together now."
He leaves, and she is left staring at the durasteel door in disbelief.
What the Pfassk is going on?
Chapter End Notes
     For those interested, here's a list of the seven other Knights of Ren
     and their respective species :D
     - Lumiya Ren (Mirialan)
     - Jacen Ren (human)
     - Dota Ny Ren (Togruta)
     - Venamis Ren (human)
     - Bo-Ro-Tara Ren (Cerean)
     - Hoolidan Ren (Duros)
     - Aalad'zaja (Zaja) Ren (Twi'lek)
***** Chapter IX - Starkiller Base *****
Chapter Notes
     Part II for this story has been outlined, and I will begin writing it
     shortly.
     The first chapter will be uploaded in a few weeks, I think, depending
     on how quickly I manage to get the chapters written and edited. I'll
     not be updating until the majority of the story is written, in any
     case.
     I will be uploading another story that will contain deleted scenes
     from PI and its sequels-I'll upload the first chapter of that story
     next Friday, after PI's final chapter has been uploaded. The first
     chapter will be Rey's first night with Poe-the story will, therefore,
     be rated E.
     Also, I'll take requests; any scene you're really curious about, let
     me know, and I'll see what I can do :D
     Thank you to everyone for the support and comments! You guys are
     amazing.
     Love, Annaelle
     PS Thanks to Juulna (MeaghanM) for beta'ing and dragging me through
     the more difficult chapters :D You're the best, darling!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
****** Chapter IX
Starkiller Base ******
***** “Those who do not move, do not notice their chains.”
—Rosa Luxemburg *****
Kylo Ren finds that he much prefers the serene solitude of Moraband to the
crowded beehive of activity that is Starkiller Base. They have not even landed
on the Base yet and he can already sense that whatever peace he had found
during his lessons with Rey will be gone the moment they touch down. It
infuriates and frustrates him.
He glares at Starkiller Base as it comes into view, and winces when he
immediately feels an intense pressure on his mind—a persistent tug that will
soon evolve into crippling pain if left unanswered.
“The Supreme Leader is calling for me,” he tells Rey, reaching for his mask and
tugging it on. “Once we land, I will be expected to go to him immediately. You
will return your belongings to your quarters, and drop mine in my chambers—your
fingerprints should let you into my private quarters. After, I expect you to go
to the training facilities for the Knights of Ren and train with the recruits.
Focus on sparring and your sequences.”
He’s briefly overwhelmed by a flash of annoyance—that almost certainly
originated in his little scavenger’s mind—before she shuts him out again and
nods tersely. “Yes, Master,” she replies, not once taking her eyes from the
control panels before her.
He nearly chuckles—she amuses him greatly when she is torn between wanting to
slap him and wanting to respect him—but manages to quell the urge and fastens
the clasp on the back of his mask.
Rey has, in the weeks they had spent on Moraband, grown immensely—both in
strength and maturity.
No longer does she challenge him on every order he gives her, and no longer
does she fight him every step of the way. Something in her mind has shifted
during the time they had spent in solitude, and he can only applaud whatever it
was.
He is certain the Supreme Leader will approve of her learning curve, and he is
hopeful to earn his own Master’s approval—if he succeeds in training Rey, Kylo
is almost certain Snoke will allow him to take the trials to finish his own
training as well.
He does wonder, worriedly, what the Supreme Leader will say of the fledgling
Force-bond that has developed between him and Rey on Moraband. It had been
rather unexpected—one he had not foreseen at all, though he supposes he should
have been prepared for the eventuality. Force-bonds, while rare, have been
known to form between Masters and their Padawans.
He has already meditated on the matter, to determine when the Bond took root
within their minds, and has found that the first seed was planted when
he—accidentally—opened her mind to the Force. The time he has spent training
with her on Moraband has only furthered the connection, and while he fears the
Supreme Leader may see it as a weakness, he is certain that it will prove to be
an immeasurable asset.
It will undoubtedly help Rey grow stronger much faster, and it will keep her
safe in battle as well. She will be able to draw upon his experience and
knowledge, and he knows that that will likely save both of their lives one day.
Of course, he is concerned about the things she may see in his mind, one
day—but fortunately he has years left to prepare for that eventuality. Their
Bond is still very much in its infantile stages, and it will take many years to
develop into the kind of Bond where she would be able to see into his mind
without him being able to shield his thoughts from her.
His mind quietens slightly when Rey lands their battered old C-wing on the
landing platform.
He finds himself unable to move for a long moment, and he senses that Rey is
reluctant to stand up and break the peaceful sphere they had created for
themselves as well. “Be safe,” he tells her stiffly, quite uncomfortable to be
exposing his worry for her safety to her. “Call for me if anyone causes you any
sort of trouble or discomfort.”
She studies him carefully, and he has to consciously stop himself from
fidgeting beneath her scrutiny. “I will,” she finally replies, a soft smile
tugging up the corners of her lips.
He nods tersely, wilfully ignoring his bodily and emotional response to his
Apprentice’s kind smile, before standing and exiting the shuttle as fast as he
can without making a fool of himself. He finds he’s allowed himself to grow far
too fond of Rey already, and that he tends to share things with her that he
shares with no one else—things he never meant to share with anyone else.
He has not forgotten his foolish slip-up when he mentioned his father’s
ship—nor has he quite recovered from the way it had hurt to see the horror and
disgust in her eyes when she realized his true name and heritage.
He has not asked her much of her time in the Resistance, and the men she had
been forced to bed—but he has a terrible feeling that his father is one of the
men, despite the fact that Kylo knows his father hadn’t touched one of the
other girls in decades.
Not since Ben Solo had become Kylo Ren.
He had been careful to have their spies in the Resistance keep an eye on his
parents, and for a long time, it had looked like his parents, at least, had
learned their lesson after his so-called betrayal.
He hates to think that he may have been wrong after all—hates to think that
losing their son had not shown his parents the error of their ways—hates to
think that they will likely never change.
He is silently pleased that he is wearing his mask as he stalks past several
squadrons of Stormtroopers that all stare at him as he stomps past them—he is
not entirely certain he would be able to control his facial expression today,
after several weeks of simply being. He had been unworried and comfortable on
Moraband, well aware of the fact that his Apprentice would never judge him for
losing his temper—she had developed quite a temper of her own, though her
tantrums resulted in far less material damage and far more icy silences.
He stalks through the long hallway that leads to Snoke’s throne room,
deliberately ridding his mind of any and all fond memories of evenings spent
talking and bantering with Rey. Kylo has been the Supreme Leader’s Apprentice
long enough to know that the man tolerates little in terms of affection, and if
he, even for a second, suspected that Kylo’s loyalty may not be fully his
anymore, Kylo has no doubt that he would do whatever he could to dispose of the
distraction.
Fortunately, Kylo has also become rather adept at hiding certain things from
his Master.
He knows how to compartmentalize his thoughts and memories in such a way that
the Supreme Leader will never know unless Kylo willingly shows him the
memories.
His mind is therefore blissfully blank as he enters Snoke’s dark, spacious
chambers, and he feels little but carefully controlled anger and sadness, both
ready to be used as fuel for his powers if needed. He is unsure what to expect
of the Supreme Leader today—he is, honestly, not entirely sure what Snoke
expects of him during a Resistance attack.
He sincerely doubts there is much he and Rey could do in an attack that the
thousands of Stormtroopers could not—after all, no matter how powerful, he is
only one man, and Rey is only one barely-trained girl. Even with all of his
Knights, Kylo would not be much of an addition to a legion of Stormtroopers,
and he is well aware of this fact.
“Kylo Ren.” Snoke’s deep voice echoes through the large, empty room,
reverberating in his bones as he sinks into a reverent bow before his Master.
“You returned faster than I thought you would. Your promptness will be
remembered.”
“You spoke of an impending attack,” Kylo speaks evenly. “My Apprentice and I
rushed back as soon as we could to stand at your side, as you commanded.” He
senses Snoke’s acceptance of his words in his mind, and silently rises to his
feet again, clasping his hands behind his back as he stands before his Master.
“Have your Knights made progress in the search for the map to Skywalker?” Snoke
thunders, ringing loudly in Kylo’s ears—and he wishes he had more positive news
to report. Even their spies in the Resistance have yet to catch a glance of the
map, despite Bo Ro Tara’s persuasive talents.
“No, Master,” he replies, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach as he speaks.
“Fortunately, the Resistance has not made any further progress in locating the
rest of the map either.”
He can feel his Master’s disapproval and anger radiating from him, even through
the hologram.
“Your continuous failure is most disappointing, Kylo Ren,” Snoke hisses, and
Kylo bites his lower lip in an attempt to hide his flinch when Snoke
purposefully pushes a wave of near-crippling pain through his mind. “Tell me
your failure does not extend to your delightful Apprentice,” Snoke continues.
“I sensed her immense potential when she spared Hux’s life so as to prolong his
suffering.”
Kylo is surprised by the sudden flare of possessiveness that surges through him
at the mention of his young Apprentice, and he is certain Snoke sensed it as
well. “She is strong, Master,” he speaks proudly. “I have taught her sequences
from several lightsaber forms, and she has taken to them like a fish to water.
I believe you will be pleased with her progress.”
He waits with bated breath as Snoke considers his words, and dares not show his
relief—and dread—when Snoke announces, “Bring her to me at dawn tomorrow. I
will inspect her mind myself.”
Kylo swallows thickly before bowing his head in submission. “Of course,
Master.”
Before he or Supreme Leader Snoke can speak again, the doors swing open, and
Kylo is absolutely stunned to recognize the shorter man’s distinctive Force
signature. He whirls around to stare at Hux—Colonel Hux—who looks as healthy as
he ever has.
His blood boils when he realizes the man must have received excellent medical
care, and the demotion hardly deserves that name—a single rank is not an
appropriate punishment, in Kylo’s eyes. Of course, if he had been the one to
execute Hux’s punishment, the man would not have survived in the first
place—but he hadn’t been able to deny the brilliance in Rey’s plan.
It seems, however, that Hux had not even been imprisoned for his crimes.
He wonders why Snoke would allow a rapist to maintain such a high rank within
the Order he created to flush out pathetic men that enjoy forcing themselves on
innocent girls.
He wants to question Hux’s presence, and wants to toss him against the wall
until his skull splits open and leave him to die like the maggot he is. Before
he can, however, Snoke speaks, his voice thunderous and strong—in a tone that
brokers no argument.
“Colonel Hux. What news do you have for me?”
“Our spies in the Resistance have confirmed an attack on Starkiller Base is
planned within the next forty-eight hours,” Hux replies, coming to a slow stop
beside Kylo.
Hux’s mind is practically screaming his hatred at Kylo, and he has to
consciously stop himself from reaching out and strangling the horrible man with
his bare hands. He is thinking vile things about Rey, and Kylo is worried about
the barely-subdued rage in the man’s mind. He can scarcely believe Snoke has
not picked up on the animosity in Hux’s mind—much less that he has allowed the
man to walk about the Base freely.
“Then they must be destroyed before they can execute the attack,” Snoke says
decisively. 
“We have their location. We tracked their reconnaissance ship to the Ileenium
system,” Hux states pompously, and Kylo wants to crush him like the filthy
maggot he is.  
Snoke nods in approval, and a certain part in the back of Kylo’s mind marvels
at the fact that he is not at all repelled by the idea of his own flesh-and-
blood being destroyed in said attack—in fact, he is far more nauseated and
horrified at the inevitable prospect of having to feel an entire star system
filled with people die again, before he pulls himself together and listens to
his Master’s strong voice.
“Good. Then we will crush them once and for all. Prepare the weapon.”
“Master,” Kylo steps forward again, eyes downcast as he attempts to formulate
his next question respectfully. “Poe Dameron is almost certainly still on the
Resistance Base. What of our promise to not harm the man? How will I keep my
pledge to my Apprentice if we destroy the entire system?”
Snoke sneers at him, and Kylo barely resists the urge to flinch away from his
Master. “Surely she has gotten over her foolish attachment to the filthy pilot
that violated her. If not, I suggest you recondition her mind and tie her
loyalty only to me. Do not disappoint me again, Kylo Ren.” Kylo winces at the
thinly veiled threat, but manages to compose himself.
The command to tie Rey’s loyalty to Snoke rubs him the wrong way, sickens him
even, and he does not wish to admit it to the Supreme Leader, but he views Rey
as his. He cannot stand the idea of allowing Snoke to corrupt her mind as Kylo
knows he once did his.
He’d rather have Rey’s loyalty tied to him than to anyone else.
Unfortunately, this is not a concern he can verbalize in present company, and
this knowledge only infuriates him further. “As you command, Master,” he
replies curtly, before turning on his heel and leaving the room, barely
concealing the uncontrolled rage that simmers beneath the surface—his mood had
been terrible to begin with, and he cannot quite deal with seeing the man that
had harmed his Apprentice walking about freely.
And now he has to break the first promise he had ever made to her.
He does notlike thinking of it, but Snoke forcing his hand into breaking a
promise does make him wonder how many other promises the man will be willing to
forsake in the name of the greater good, especially after witnessing the
leniency Snoke had obviously granted Hux.
For the first time in years, he wonders if he has placed his faith and life in
the right man’s hands.
It is a disconcerting thought, and it only serves to enrage him further. 
He stalks past numerous squadrons of Stormtroopers—most of which cower against
the walls when he passes them—and a handful of officers, determined to get to
his chambers and to let it out. His emotions have always been exceedingly
difficult to control, and it has only become more difficult to do so as the
years passed and as his strength in the Dark Side grew.
He feels much like the Force itself is crawling beneath his skin, itching and
screaming to be freed and let out, before he bursts—Snoke had once told him
that his moods were not at all unlike the unstable volcanoes on Mustafar.
Unstable and prone to untimely and destructive outbursts, welling up from a
deep, limitless reservoir hidden in the dark recesses of his mind—it is a
description he has lived with for many years, and one he fears he will never be
able to shake.
He is unsurprised to feel Rey’s presence in his chambers when he enters
them—feels comforted by her familiar Force signature, even—and wonders briefly
if she will be insulted if he simply starts tossing things around without
speaking to her first.
She gives him no chance to do anything like that, however, and starts babbling
the moment he comes into view. She is curled up on the sofa—one of the only
physical comforts he has allowed himself—with a cup of hot caf, her cloak and
blaster in an untidy heap on the floor before her. He wonders vaguely if
telling her she could come into his chambers had been a good idea, before he
shakes the thought and attempts to focus on his little chatterbox of an
Apprentice.
The realization that the desire to throw a tantrum had all but disappeared when
he saw Rey vanishes instantly, too.
“…and then Zaja and Venamis showed me how to use a bowcaster! It’s insanely
powerful—I nearly fell over when I first shot it, but Venamis told me that’s
normal, because I’m not used to the backlash just yet. Oh, and then I sparred
with Jacen and Bo-Ro-Tara for a while, and they’re so fast! I don’t think I’ll
ever be able to defeat someone that fast, but I know I have to—”
“Rey,” he interrupts, doing his best not to sound exasperated as he removes his
mask. “Slow down.”
She stops talking abruptly, and her cheeks are stained with a lovely rosy color
as she looks up at him. “I apologize, Master,” she says bashfully, biting down
on her full lower lip—he needs to force himself to not respond to the
tantalizing sight. “I didn’t mean to speak so candidly. I hope I did not offend
you.”
“Think nothing of it,” he tells her tiredly as he sits down on the sofa beside
her, taking care to push away any and all treacherous thoughts that give him
reason to doubt the Supreme Leader and his wisdom. Kylo knows that difficult
choices have to be made at times, in order to succeed, and he has no doubt that
ordering the attack on the Ileenium system is one of those choices.
His Master would not senselessly kill thousands, if not millions, of people.
“What’s wrong?” Rey’s soft question snaps him from his thoughts, and he glowers
at her, feeling somewhat irritated with himself for allowing some of his
frustration and anger to bleed through his Bond with Rey.
“Nothing that should concern you,” he snaps, refusing to acknowledge his own
stricken response as she flinches away from him—his attachment to Rey is
already jeopardizing his good standing with Supreme Leader Snoke, and it has
caused him to doubt his Master, the man who had taken him in and cared for him,
trained him and helped him become stronger, as well.
He is extremely uncomfortable with the instability that his foolish attachment
is causing him, after years of dedicating his life to the Order. After years of
knowing right from wrong in his world, Rey came in and destroyed everything he
thought he knew.
He does not, however, enjoy the feeling of hurt that radiates from her. “I’m
sorry,” he sighs gruffly. “I did not mean to snap at you.”
She says nothing in reply, her lower lip pushed out into a small pout—and Force
help him suppress the sinful thoughts that arise within the relative privacy of
his mind at the mere sight of that pout—as she settles comfortably once more
against the arm of the sofa.
They sit in silence for a while as Kylo attempts to rein in the plethora of
thoughts that run rampant through his mind—eventually, he resorts to a
meditational technique his uncle had taught him, once upon a time. It is a
technique he has not truly utilized in years, but he cannot deny it is still
the only thing that truly allows him to settle his mind when it is at its
busiest.
It is only after he has successfully cleared his mind that he realizes Rey is
projecting intense fear and insecurity through their Bond, and it makes him
feel distinctly uncomfortable—he strongly dislikes the feel and taste of her
fear in his mind, and it takes him less than a minute to decide he will do
whatever he can to ensure she will never feel those things again.
She is chewing on her lower lip when he turns to her, her cheeks still flushed,
and staring straight ahead, obviously lost in thought.
“What’s on your mind, Rey?” He asks softly, gently brushing his mind past hers,
finding himself quite unwilling to startle her. She does jump a little when
their minds connect, and her eyes are wide and surprised as they meet his.
“Nothing,” she squeaks, though he knows she can tell he sees right through the
lie.
He simply raises an eyebrow and peers at her intently. He needs not say
anything, he knows—she will decide in her own time how to explain whatever
issue it is that plagues her mind. He senses it is something that has been on
her mind for quite some time, and he hopes he will be able to lay whatever it
is to rest, so that she may focus fully on her studies and training.
“It’s just…” she begins, hesitating for a long moment before continuing, “I
keep wondering about passion. It seems like something so inherently important
to my training, but I’ve never actually—” She stops speaking abruptly, a deep
red blush staining her cheeks as she looks down and away from him.
Kylo’s mind immediately provides him with some very inappropriate—but
exceedingly passionate—images of himself and Rey. He cannot help himself,
lingering on a scene painfully similar to the one he had found himself in with
Rey on Moraband—pinning her to the floor during a sparring match, but instead
of letting her go, kissing her absolutely senseless.
He can almost feel his hands exploring her soft skin, tugging on her clothes
until she’s gloriously bare before him, teeth-marks across her neck and
shoulders and chest marking her as his. He can nearly smell the scent of their
sweat-slicked skin as he buries himself deep inside of her; feel her fingers
tugging on his hair—
“Master?”
His head snaps up, and he feels simultaneously grateful that she cannot see
into his mind and horrified that he let his mind wander into such territory in
the first place.
He has no room in his life for such desires, least of all for his Apprentice.
Obviously Rey had not intended to imply any sort of sexual relationship between
them—she had likely spoken of anger and resentment and sadness; passion for the
things she believes in.
“What do you wish to know?” He manages to say, quite pleased with how normal
and unaffected his voice sounds. He discreetly adjusts his robes—he’s only
human, and even he is not immune to the effects of sexual desire—and subtly
shifts away from Rey, hoping she will not catch the movement.
“What if I never experience true passion?” She blurts out, leaning forward with
wide, beautiful—what in the name of the Force is happening to him?—eyes,
sincere curiosity and worry laced in her voice. “Will it limit me in my
abilities? What if—what if your faith in me is misplaced?”
He can tell this is something that truly bothers her, and his first instinct is
to reassure her that whatever she does, she will never disappoint him—but he
squashes that urge swiftly.
Such sentimentalities are below him.
“True passion is never beyond anyone’s reach,” he insists, leaning towards her
despite his most earnest intentions not to. “Passion takes on many forms, and
not everyone experiences it in the same ways—the way another may have
experienced true passion will not always be the way you might experience true
passion.”
He can tell he has struck a chord, and he hopes it’ll divert her attention from
his own very obvious distraction earlier.
She worries her teeth over her lower lip, eyes downcast, and he wonders what is
going on in that head of hers when she blurts, “But what about sex? I mean…”
She blushes a deep scarlet and looks away from him—which only plays to his
advantage, since he is most certainly not able to keep his expression calm and
composed—before she continues. “Poe told me once… of being so attracted to
someone that you couldn’t keep your hands off of them—of being so passionate
about… I—”
She falls silent once again, and he barely suppresses a wince at the pained
look on her face.
“What if I’m broken?” She whispers, her eyes hooded and suspiciously damp.
“What if they broke me and I can’t—I can barely stand being touched some days…
What if I become a liability? I don’t want to disappoint you, Master.” She
looks up at him with such trust and devotion that it takes his breath away, and
he is momentarily speechless.
“You won’t disappoint me,” he insists, leaning forward to take one of her hands
in his. “I am… uncomfortable with prolonged physical contact, as well… It
requires a kind of intimacy I am no longer capable of. It does not, however,
prove a liability. You are strong, Rey.”
He had not realized how little space was left between them until he looked into
her eyes once again. It is a heady feeling to breathe in the air Rey has just
exhaled, and his mind feels clouded, and he honestly cannot remember a valid
reason to not lean in and kiss her—her lips are so close, and it is almost as
though she is calling to him, and he is powerless to resist her call.
His fingers are still wrapped loosely around her wrist, and the touch does not
repulse him as it usually does—his skin does not even crawl, and it is an
exhilarating, unfamiliar feeling that he is loath to let go of.
“I could show you true passion,” he murmurs thoughtlessly, eyes fastened on her
full, undoubtedly soft, pink lips.
She gasps quietly, but doesn’t resist when he pulls her into a hungry kiss,
their lips sliding together erotically and stang it, he cannot resist her. His
hands and arms move of their own accord, an arm slipping around her waist, and
suddenly she’s in his lap, his hand tangling in her hair to hold her in place
as he kisses her absolutely senseless.
He growls against her lips when she tangles her fingers in his hair and tugs on
it hard, pressing her entire body into his and kriff. He honestly cannot recall
a moment when he had ever been this comfortable with physical contact—his sex
life has, naturally, been sorely lacking because of his aversion to touch—but
he can’t get enough of Rey.
Kissing her feels much like an electric shock, his skin burning deliciously
where she touches him, and a burning throb ignites somewhere deep in his
stomach. She’s kissing him back fiercely and hungrily, and a little voice in
the back of his head muses that she seems quite adept at passion, and he’s not
entirely sure why she seems to think she isn’t.
She moans quietly against his lips, a deep, wanton sound that sends flames of
hot lust straight down to his groin. It feels like a slow fire burning its way
through his veins; as though Rey’s lit a fire somewhere deep inside of him that
no one but her would be able to quench or satisfy.
Nothing else seems important anymore; nothing but his lips remaining on hers.
Slowly and very, very reluctantly, he leans back—because he’s feeling a little
lightheaded by the lack of air—groaning when Rey doesn’t stop her assault on
all of his senses. She just moves her lips—her soft, delicious lips—down his
cheek, onto his neck and collarbone. “Rey,” he manages to moan softly, tugging
on her hair lightly—because he doesn’t want her to stop, not truly; but he
knows he has to. Because if she continues, he might explode.
She complies, but remains pressed against him, her hips pressing down on his
and her breasts pressed up against his chest, her fingers tangled in his hair.
His mind is blissfully silent for another long moment before reality rudely
shoves its way to the forefront of his mind again, and he realizes the
impossibility and the immorality of his actions.
She is his student.
She has been violated and taken advantage of more times than either of them can
count already, and he does not want to be another name on that list of men. The
mere thought makes him sick, and he shoves her off of his lap before he jumps
to his feet, absolutely horrified by his own lack of decorum.
“Master,” Rey mutters, raising herself up onto her elbows as she stares at
him—and Force, she looks sinful—with wide blown pupils and mussed hair, her
tunic slipping off her shoulder to reveal creamy skin that he is aching to
touch—in the most delicious way he has ever seen. “Kylo, I—”
“I must go,” he interrupts curtly, schooling his features into a mask of
indifference, silently grateful for the way his robes obscure her view of his
suddenly uncomfortably tight trousers. “I expect you to meditate on the things
we spoke of earlier. The Supreme Leader wishes to meet you in the morning—see
to it that you are prepared.”
With that, he turns on his heel, clicking his mask back into place as he storms
out of the room and away from the temptation that Rey represents. He can hear
her calling after him, but he is certain she won’t follow him in her
dishevelled state, and ignores her—he cannot deal with this.
He is near the bridge when he feels a familiar Force-signature enter
Starkiller’s atmosphere, along with several dozens of others he does not
immediately recognize. He grits his teeth in frustration and feels the anger
that had been suppressed since the moment he had found Rey well back up again
as he stalks towards Colonel Hux.
The immense amount of residual lust and desire that still course through his
veins serve well to add to his frustration and anger, and he pushes aside the
infuriating human weaknesses that come along with his immense desire for his
Apprentice and focuses his mind, readying himself to enter a battle meditation
if necessary.
“I suggest you rally the troops and send out a fleet of TIE-fighters,” he
orders calmly, clasping his hands behind his back as he joins the infuriating
little slip of a man at the bridge. “The Resistance has begun its attack upon
Starkiller Base.”
Chapter End Notes
     For those interested, here's a list of the seven other Knights of Ren
     and their respective species :D
     - Lumiya Ren (Mirialan)
     - Jacen Ren (human)
     - Dota Ny Ren (Togruta)
     - Venamis Ren (human)
     - Bo-Ro-Tara Ren (Cerean)
     - Hoolidan Ren (Duros)
     - Aalad'zaja (Zaja) Ren (Twi'lek)
***** Chapter X - Starkiller Base *****
Chapter Notes
     THIS IS THE END.
     HOLD YOU BREATH AND COOOOOOUNT TO TEN :p
     Okay, sorry, couldn't resist. But yes, this is the final chapter for
     Psychedelic Inebriation. I hope you guys enjoy!
     I want to thank everyone who's read and commented and left kudos on
     this fic, and who's stuck with me throughout the entire thing (not
     that it's that long, lol), and who will likely read the upcoming
     sequel and the deleted scenes too :D You guys are amazing!
     I love all of you!
     And the most love goes to my amazing beta Meaghan, who has dragged my
     through this story--who is the reason I wrote the entire thing in the
     first place--and who took over writing the especially difficult parts
     that I simply couldn't put into words. Meaghan, I love you, darling,
     thank you SO much!
     Love, Annaelle
****** Chapter X
Starkiller Base ******
***** “Face your life, its pain, its pleasure, and leave no path untaken.”
—Neil Gaiman *****
POE
Poe is not unaccustomed to the toe-curling, gut-churning kind of nerves that
the moments before entering a battle bring about, nor is he unfamiliar with the
prospect of losing loved ones. This time, it feels different though—more
profound, and uniquely nerve-wracking.
He’s never had more to lose before.
He may only have known Finn for a few weeks, but he already knows that he will
never feel the way he does about Finn ever again, and he knows he’d likely not
deal very well if he should lose Finn today. They had discussed it, in the past
week; tentatively explored what maintaining a relationship would be like while
living lives as dangerous and unpredictable as theirs.
Of course, the pending attack on Starkiller Base had weighed a lot on both
their minds, and Poe had found it exceptionally difficult to enjoy the
undiluted exaltation that came with a new relationship with that dangerous
mission looming over their heads.
He cannot bear to think of losing Finn in this assault, but he does know
there’s a realistic chance.
Han Solo and Chewbacca had taken Finn onto the Millennium Falcon, with a very
vague plan to take a lightspeed landing approach to get onto Starkiller—and
Force, he hopes Finn’s okay. He knows the stories about Han Solo’s legendary
piloting skills and many daring escapes, and he knows Finn is in good hands
with the General… but despite all that knowledge, not being by Finn’s side
doesn’t sit well with him.
He and Finn had not told anyone else that Finn would be using his time on
Starkiller to look for Rey, too—Poe’s almost entirely sure that General Solo
would have scrapped the entire mission had he caught so much as a whiff of that
idea.
It is the feeling of hope that Finn will be able to find Rey—alive and
well—that kept Poe from refusing to take the mission. He had thought about it,
in the three weeks following the Council’s decision not to rescue Rey. He’d
thought about resigning from the Resistance, about leaving the eternal fight
between good and evil—Light and Dark—behind, and taking Finn to Yavin 4.
In the end though, he simply wants Rey back; wants her to be okay and unhurt
and happy—he was worried for her before Kylo Ren abducted her, and he's been
worried sick every single minute of the time she’s been gone. At this point, he
cares little for the circumstances or his orders from the Resistance—he just
wants to know that Rey is okay and safe.
He’s feeling more than a little disenchanted with the way the Resistance is
treating everyone, and he’s not sure it’s worth fighting for anymore.
“Black Leader, go to sub-lights. On your call.”
Poe exhales shakily as the command comes through, and briefly closes his eyes
as he leans his head back against the headrest.
Finn did it—he disabled the shields and he’s okay.
Poe’s not stupid or naïve, and he knows they still have a long way to go before
they’d all be safe—Poe still needs to bomb the oscillator and Finn still needs
to find Rey in the vast maze that is Starkiller Base—but he feels a little more
hopeful already. 
He begrudgingly shakes all thoughts of Finn and Rey when the order comes in and
focuses on getting onto that planet and blowing it up. Because, if nothing
else, Poe has always been immensely proud of the way he is able to focus on his
work.
“Roger, base,” he replies. “Red squad, blue squad, take my lead.” The distinct
affirmative murmurs of the other pilots makes him feel a little better, though
he still feels the weight of being responsible for their lives, as well, on his
shoulders.  
The drop from hyperspace to regular speed is jarring and disorienting for a
split-second, like it usually is, but Poe manages to shake the feeling rather
quickly and immediately locks in on their target—the black hexagonal oscillator
is unmistakable against the bright white of the snow, and he swallows thickly
as he waits for the telling beep that’ll let him know he can start firing.
“Almost in range!” He exclaims. “Hit the target dead center, guys; as many runs
as we can get!”
“Approaching target,” Snap adds, and Poe can hear the tension in his fellow
pilot’s voice—he can’t blame the man, either; he’s well aware of the stakes of
this mission.
He’d barely been able to follow the complicated explanation from one the
engineers that had spent hours studying the wireframe from Starkiller Base, but
he did gather that if there wasn’t enough residual energy left, the oscillator
would blow, and they’d still have damaged Starkiller, but it wouldn’t
implode—the First Order would be able to fix the damage, and that would not be
constructive to what the Resistance is trying to achieve with this airstrike at
all.
“Let’s light it up!” He exclaims, and his adrenaline spikes as he pushes the
yoke down and spirals into a nose-dive. He waits until the very last moment to
pull up, dropping three bombs in quick succession, hitting the oscillator dead
center each time.
His heart pounds loudly in his ears, and he whoops in elation—because kriff, he
really does love flying like this—as the other pilots confirm that their bombs
hit the oscillator too.
“There’s no damage,” Ello Atsy informs them worriedly, and Poe’s stomach
drops—but he will not give up; two of the people that mean the most to him in
the entire galaxy are on that kriffing Base, and he knows they’ll not be able
to get out if he doesn’t manage to blow this stupid thing up.
“We’ve got to keep hitting it,” he insists. “None of us thought this would be
easy, guys! Let’s do it! Another bombing run!” BB-8 demands his attention with
a long, furious beep, and dread pools in Poe’s stomach as he spots the dozens
of TIE-fighters on their tail, all of them, undoubtedly, armed to the teeth and
shooting to kill.
“Guys,” he gulps, chewing on his lower lip, “We got a lot of company!”
.
.
.
REY
Rey’s heart is pounding in her chest as she hurries through the halls, wincing
every time she hears a bomb explode—the ground doesn’t quite quake with the
force of the explosions, but the blasts and the subsequent panic that seems to
thrum in the air put her on edge in a way she can barely bear.
Her earlier encounter with Kylo had left her flushed and confused, and she had
been about to go out to find him—after ensuring she was dressed in a way
befitting of Kylo Ren’s Apprentice, rather than a common harlot with her
clothing ruffled and askew and messy hair that was falling out of its
braid—when she’d heard the explosions.
The hallways are eerily deserted as she hurries through them, and if she
weren’t so focused on finding Kylo, she might be more worried about the fact
that she has seen no Stormtroopers as of yet.
She’s tried to reach out to him through the Force—tried to feel for that
distinctive red hum that always resides in the back of her mind—but she can
only sense that he’s actively shutting her out, so she can still feel him, but
cannot find him.
Her fingers are curled tightly around her blaster pistol, and though she’s not
entirely certain she could actually kill one of the Resistance fighters she’d
known back on D’Qar, she’s sure she can muster enough anger towards them to at
least incapacitate them.
She mentally tells herself to remain vigilant and to pay attention when she
hears a noise. She swoops around and points her blaster at—
“Finn?”
She can barely believe her eyes and lowers her blaster immediately, staring at
him wide-eyed. “What are you doing here?” She exclaims, a little taken aback by
the dazzling smile that spreads across his full lips when he realizes who she
is.
“Rey!” He exclaims happily, lowering his own blaster and drawing her into a
tight hug before she has the chance to protest or raise her pistol again. “I
knew it! I knew he wouldn’t have killed you! Poe’s going to be so happy to see
you!”
And she would have said something, would have pushed him away—but then he
mentions Poe, and she is too stunned to respond. “You found Poe?” she questions
shakily, momentarily completely struck out of left field. “Is he okay? Did
he—the crash—I know he’s alive, but—”
Finn reels back at that, confusion clearly written all over his features. “How?
Ididn’t know until—” He shakes himself before he can finish the sentence and
grabs her hand in his, and she doesn’t even have time to flinch away before he
starts dragging her down the hall. “That can wait until later; we’ve got to get
out of here now.”
“Wait, no,” she exclaims, struggling against Finn’s surprisingly strong hold on
her wrist. “Finn, let me go.” She manages to yank her wrist from his grasp and
takes a step back, clenching her fingers around her blaster pistol as Finn
turns to stare at her in confusion.
“Rey,” he mutters, and she can see the moment he realizes she is not, in fact,
a prisoner. She doesn’t know if it’s the fact that she’s wearing the same kind
of robes the other Knights wear, or the blaster pistol, or the fact that she
isn’t at all afraid to get caught wandering in the halls—which she’s sure he’s
noticed—but she can see the moment he realizes she has shifted her allegiance.
“I’m not going with you,” she whispers, blinking away the burning tears that
well up in her eyes at the thought of never getting to see Poe or Finn again.
“I can’t go back there, Finn. I can’t.” Her voice is unsteady and she’s on the
verge of bursting into tears, because the look in Finn’s eyes is confusion
mixed with disgust, and she cannot bear the thought of the same emotion filling
Poe’s eyes.
“Do you have any idea of how afraid he was?” Finn spits, taking a step forward,
crowding her towards the wall with his muscular form—and she can barely
breathe, barely think—as he pokes his finger into her shoulder angrily. “Of how
many nights he spent wide awake feeling guilty because he couldn’t come to save
you right away? It’s been killinghim, Rey!”
“I did this for him!” She cries, shoving Finn back as hard as she can without
actually hurting him. “I did this so he could be safe—away from all of this!”
She can feel tears slipping down her cheeks and she hates the weakness her
attachment to Poe causes her, but she can’t stop. “I made him untouchable—they
can’t hurt him anymore, Finn.”
Finn looks stricken by her words and stumbles back until his back is pressed up
against the opposite wall. He stares at her, and though she doesn’t quite know
what to make of his now softer expression, she remains vigilant and raises the
blaster a little so the tip is pointing in Finn’s direction.
Neither of them speaks, and Rey uses the moment of silence to regroup and
regain control over herself. Kylo had taught her better than to let her
emotions get the upper hand—she is stronger than her base impulses.
“You can still come with me…” Finn says quietly, his gaze steady and intense as
he eyes her from his spot against the opposite wall. “Poe will take you
anywhere you want to go—Rey, you don’t have to stay with these people. I know
what they’re like—the First Order isn’t your only option anymore—please come
with me.”
She looks at him for a long time, and she knows she could take him up on his
offer. While she may realize that what she felt for Poe isn’t love, she cares
for him a great deal, and she knows the feeling is entirely mutual.
She also knows Finn is right.
She could escape Starkiller Base with him, and Poe would take her wherever she
wanted to go—but she is already right where she wants to be.  “I don’t want to
go, Finn,” she whispers, shaking her head lightly. “They—they’re good to me,
Finn. Heis good to me.”
Finn stares at her, long and hard, and she bites her lip, fidgeting under his
scrutiny.
“I suppose that’s all that matters,” Finn replies hesitantly, and she can see
the doubt and disbelief in his eyes. “Just… Be careful, okay? And get out of
here—this place is going to blow. Just… Get out. I’ll tell Poe—I’ll tell him
you’re safe.”
With those words, Finn nods shakily and pushes off the wall, heading back in
the direction he came.
“Finn?”
She isn’t sure what she’s going to say—but she knows this might be the only
chance she’ll ever get to find some kind of closure for that part of her life.
“Tell Poe… Tell him thank you for everything and that…”
There are tears burning in her eyes again as she remembers snippets of the time
she’d spent with Poe over the past year—of all the times he’d held her and
provided her with a safe haven—and swallows thickly. “…Tell him that spending
time with him was the only reason I stayed for as long as I did. He’s the only
reason I survived.”
Finn’s eyes look suspiciously watery too, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead,
he simply nods curtly before turning and disappearing around the corner.
The second he disappears, she slumps back against the durasteel wall, exhaling
shakily. Seeing Finn and knowing that Poe is out there in his X-wing had taken
a lot more out of her than she had expected when she first ran into
Finn—especially combined with everything that had happened earlier that day.
She honestly doesn’t know how to process everything that life had thrown at her
in the span of seven hours, from the most passionate kiss she’d ever
experienced—one of her only kisses, to be honest—to a Resistance attack, and
learning that Poe had never given up on trying to save her.
Her head feels too full, and she can’t—
She doesn’t know what to do.
She leans her head back against the wall and closes her eyes in exasperation.
She does know what to do—she knows her place in the galaxy, which was the very
reason she turned down Finn’s offer to come with him and Poe. Now if only she
could find that kriffing laser brain so she can actually take her place by his
side.
She doesn’t hear the tell-tale synchronised stomp of Stormtrooper feet until
they are already standing before her, with Captain Phasma leading them. The
Captain’s otherwise pristinely polished chrome armour is stained with grease
stains and what looks like mud—at least she hopes that’s mud—and Rey wonders
what in the name of the Force happened to her.
“Lady Rey,” Captain Phasma greets her with a polite nod.
“Captain,” Rey acknowledges, pushing herself off the wall and straightening her
back. Kylo had advised her to never show any kind of weakness in front of any
of the Stormtroopers or commanding officers, and it is advice she intends to
follow—she has never been particularly comfortable around Captain Phasma in the
first place, and after Kylo’s warning, she is even less so.
“Do you know where Master Ren is?” She asks nonetheless, because she really
doesn’t know where Kylo is, and this base is so large that simply wandering
around until she finds him is not an option.
Phasma tilts her head to the side slightly, almost like a cat studying her
prey, before she nods. “Of course. He has taken a squadron of Stormtroopers to
the Oscillator to secure it from within. He sensed it was the Resistance’s true
target—soon they’ll realize its shields are strong enough to withstand their
bombs from the outside, and attempt to cause damage from the inside.”
The words make Rey feel a little nauseous, and Finn’s earlier warning echoes
through her mind.
‘Get out of here. This place is going to blow. Just… Get out.’
She thanks Phasma, infinitely grateful for the way Kylo had taught her to
school her features into a cool mask of indifference, and hurries towards the
oscillator, praying to whatever deity there is—if there are any—that she will
be able to get to Kylo before something bad happens.
She has taken only a couple of steps when she’s nearly knocked off her feet by
a strong wave of emotion from Kylo’s end of the Bond, and it’s stronger than
anything she’s ever felt from him before.
He’s angry and frustrated and confused, and that scares her.
She has never seen her Master as anything less than perfectly in control, and
what he is sending to her now—subconsciously, she’s certain—feels completely
out of control.
It takes her another long three minutes to run the last few hundred meters to
the entrance of the oscillator, and another wave of nausea hits her when she
expands her mind through the Force and senses three more distinct Force
signatures—and she may not have actually sensed their signatures before, but
she recognizes Finn, Han, and Chewbacca immediately.
“Oh, Sithspit,” she curses, running out onto a catwalk and taking in the sight
of her Master facing his father for the first time in more than a decade. She
can scarcely imagine how he must be feeling, even with a direct line tapped
into his mind. There’s so much going on in that head of his, she can't really
distinguish a single emotion or thought.
Her heart is still pounding, adrenaline pumping through her veins, and she can
feel the ghost of Kylo’s emotional turmoil through their linked minds.
She’s unsure of how she’s supposed to help him, though.
She watches, stunned, as Kylo takes off his mask when Han bids him to do
so—she’s fairly certain Kylo hasn’t removed his mask around anyone but her in
years—and bites her lip as she waits to see how the scene before her would play
out.
“Snoke is just using you for your power,” Han pleads, stepping forward towards
Kylo, and she doesn’t have to see his face to feel the conflicted agony in his
mind and heart. “When he gets what he wants from you, he’ll crush you—you know
it’s true.”
Rey is, after everything she has seen in the First Order, not particularly
inclined to agree, but she can sense a kind of awareness within the agony
coming from Kylo that makes her pause. She moves forward a few
steps—unintentionally and completely unaware that she is actually moving—her
hand reaching out towards her Master, to touch him, to comforthim.
And then Han spots her, standing a few steps behind his son—and Force, it’s one
thing to know, but another to actually see the familial likeness between the
two—and completely blows his lid.
“What is she doing here?” Han spits, haphazardly pointing the tip of his
blaster towards her.
Kylo doesn’t look around, but Rey knows that he knows she is there. She closes
the remaining distance between them, pausing a step behind him, fingers still
clenched around the grip of her pistol—she would step up to his side, but the
catwalk is too narrow. Rey isn’t sure why Han is looking at her as though she
is Darth Bane incarnated, but she has a feeling that much has changed in the
month she has been away from the Resistance—and not all of the changes seem to
have been good for the great General Solo.
“I saved her from your Resistance,” Kylo responds coldly, drawing his
lightsaber from his belt. “She is now my Apprentice.” Rey can hear the
condescension and smug pride in his voice when he adds, “I’m certain it will be
devastating for mother to realize she had the means to resurrect the Jedi Order
in her grasp for an entire year—before you drove her into the First Order’s
welcoming arms as well.”
“She’s nothingmore than a little slut,” Han spits, and though Rey never truly
cared about Han, there had once been a time, before she left Jakku, that she
idolized him, and the words cut her deeper than she’d like to admit—if she is a
slut, it is only because he made her one.
The choice between being a slut and being starved to death really hadn’t been a
difficult one, but it still raises her hackles to have it thrown back in her
face as though it had been nothing.  
Kylo stiffens, and Rey jumps a little when he ignites his crackling red saber.
“Don’t talk about her like that.” Whereas his feelings had been a jumbled mess
earlier, she can only sense pure and undiluted rage from his mind now, and it
terrifies her.
She has felt many things from him already—more than he realizes, she's sure—but
never rage quite like this, and it scares her.
“Why?” Han sneers, an ugly, angry expression twisting his features. “Afraid to
hear the truth, son? I bet she didn’t even last a day here before spreading her
legs for the first high ranking officer that approached her.”
Rey gasps in response, struck by the venom that falls from Han’s lips—even in
the worst of circumstances, she had never once seen him raise his voice or yell
at anyone. She’s never seen him like this before, and she can tell it’s
throwing Kylo off, too. Han’s shouting now, spouting profanities and lies that
she knows aren’t true—that don’t even make sense—and he looks positively
unhinged.
“Shut up!”Kylo bellows suddenly, and Rey gasps with the sudden onslaught of
emotion that he projects through the Bond, and even Han looks rattled for a
split-second.
Unfortunately, the man bounces back quickly enough, and he sneers, “That’s it,
isn’t it, son? The little whore is spreading her legs for you—she’s got you
wrapped around her little finger.” Han’s face is contorted into an ugly mask of
anger and disgust, and his skin is red and splotchy, and for a moment, he
reminds her of Hux—the memory makes her nauseated and makes her knees feel
weak, and she curls her fingers into the back of Kylo’s robes to remain on her
feet.
Kylo growls menacingly, drawing his saber and igniting it—the crackle ominous
and terrifyingeven though she knows he’s not going to turn on her—but Han
continues, seemingly oblivious to Kylo’s rapidly worsening temper. “You’re not
the first, son—you’re not going to be the last. She did it to Dameron. She
fucked him until he couldn’t think straight anymore, and now he’s nothing more
than a nuisance—don’t be as foolish as him, son.”
“I’m no fool,” Kylo hisses, and Rey can hear the leather of his gloves creaking
as he tightens his grip on his lightsaber. “Your son was, so I killed him.” She
senses his intention less than a second before he moves to do it, and she
barely catches his arm before he attempts to shove his lightsaber through his
father’s chest.
She’s felt Darkness in his mind already, and she knows he is still a good
man—but she senses that letting him kill his father will send him into a spiral
so dark and so deep, he’ll never be able to recover from it. And while she
doesn’t think she’ll ever truly be able to love another person—not after
everything she had been through in her life—she does know that she cares about
Kylo far more deeply and passionately than she’s ever cared about anyone, and
she refuses to let him destroy himself by killing his father.
She tightens her grip on his arm, ignoring his furious attempts to break
free—she’s not letting go.
“You’ve chosen your side, then,” Han says in a grave tone that sounds wholly
unlike him. “So be it.”
And before she realizes what’s happening, Han has raised his blaster and fired
a shot at her—a shot that never hits its intended target.
It happens so fast, Rey barely has time to process what is going on before Kylo
staggers back into her arms, and a burning phantom pain sears through her
chest. “Kylo!” She cries, sinking to her knees with him—and she doesn’t care
that Han is still standing there, the tip of his blaster smoking, his eyes wide
and horrified in a way that doesn’t fit with the man that just tried to kill
her—pressing her hand to his chest desperately, as though she could heal the
wound with no more than sheer will power.
His end of the Bond is fading rapidly, and she doesn’t know what to do to keep
him from slipping away. “What did you do?” She screeches, glaring up at Han,
who is still standing dumbstruck before her, his expression somewhere between
shock and downright panic.
Kylo jerks in her arms, a bubble of blood forming in the corner of his lips,
and she gasps in pain, clutching at her own chest as the ghost of his pain
tears through her mind again, returning her full attention to him. “No, no,
no,” she breathes shakily, pushing his hair from his face with trembling hands.
“You’re going to be okay—I’ll get you out if here.”
And suddenly there’s someone else’s hands on Kylo’s body, pushing hers aside,
and her vision tints red. “No!” She cries, shoving roughly at Han’s hands. “No,
get away from him!”
“No, wait, I can help,” Han pleads desperately, his blaster forgotten on the
bridge behind him. “I can use the Falcon—I’ll help you get him out of here, we
can take him back to—” And if she were to look closer; if she would just care
enough to look, she would have noticed the difference in his expression—the
same desperation that is rapidly taking over her entire consciousness.
But she doesn’tcare.
She doesn’t look.
All she cares about is getting Kylo out of here and to someone who will be able
to help him.
“Don’t touch him,” she spits, shoving Han away again, tears burning in her eyes
because he shot him—he may as well have murdered him, and she will not let him
anywhere near Kylo ever again. “If you ever touch him again, I will kill you.”
It’s like a switch is flipped in him, because suddenly Han cackles—an eerie,
unfamiliar sound that is unlike anything she's ever heard before—as he gets to
his feet. “That's rich, you little whore—you'rethe reason he's hurt at all!
This is all your fault! He's going to die because of you!” 
Rey feels like her blood is boiling, and with every word that falls from Han’s
lips, she feels more enraged and out of control because she doesn't have time
for this. Kylo’s blood pulses hotly against her fingers with his every
heartbeat, and she can feel him slipping further and further into territory she
can't follow and that frightens her.
“Shut up,” she whispers, because Han just won't stop talking and she needs to
think. “Shut up!”
“This is your fault,” Han continues, eyes wide and crazed as he inches forward,
his fingers clenched around his apparently new-found blaster. “You made him do
this, you little cunt—you did to him what you did to Dameron and I’m going to
make you pay!” She can feel the fury and anger and disgust rolling off of him
in waves, and it’s suffocating to be stuck between Han’s rage and Kylo’s
nothing—she can barely breathe or think, and all she knows is that he needs to
stop.
Rey looks down at Kylo’s increasingly pale form and finds her own emotions
mirroring Han’s projected emotional turmoil. She cannot wrap her mind around
the possibility of losing Kylo so soon after finding him—after he found her.
Her mind fills with white-hot fury and rage, welling up from a place deep down
inside of her that she never even knew existed before now—one that burns with
rage and coils with despair at the mere thought of losing Kylo.
And the only reason she even stands a chance of losing him is because of this
man.
General Solo.
Han.
Kylo’s father.
How darehe harm his own son like this? What kind of monster is he?
His earlier panic—his desperation and his apologies—were likely nothing more
than an underhanded trick to get close enough to murder his wayward son. Close
enough to erase Ben Solo from the galaxy once and for all, so that there will
be no evidence left of the son that dared defy him.
His current vitriol was more like the monster Rey had always seen, lurking
beneath the façade of Han Solo; more like the true him he’d shown himself to be
to her over and over again.
And then her mind is filled with nothing but rage and despair—anger at the
unfair treatment she had received at his hands—filling her with a kind of dark
power she had only accessed once before. Her entire body hums when she embraces
the rush of power and she revels in it, fuels it with memories of the pain and
humiliation Han Solo has put her through, with fear of what he’s attempting to
take from her.
Han takes another, threatening, step towards where Rey is hovering over Kylo’s
prone body, and her control vanishes. She will not allow him another chance to
take away the person she has come to cherish most—she will not allow him
another step closer.
Instinctively, she draws upon that endless well of power and raises her hand,
screaming as she unleashes the strongest wave of power she can towards Han,
doing the only thing she can to ensure Kylo’s permanent safety from the man—to
give him a fighting chance of survival—and shoves Han off the walkway with the
Force.
She barely hears his screams as he falls to his death, her attention drawn back
to Kylo, whose breathing halted momentarily when Han fell. For a charged, tense
moment or two, she can reassure herself, feel his pulse throbbing in his wrist
and sense his Force signature, albeit weak and wavering.
After that moment—that long, tense heartbeat—everyone leaps into action,
despite the shock of seeing Solo’s measly existence being snuffed out.
She moves on complete instinct, shielding herself and Kylo from Chewbacca’s
precisely aimed bowcaster blasts with a Force trick she hadn’t even known she
could use until now, and refuses to allow herself the time to process what she
just did—she needs to get Kylo out of here and to a medic.
That’s her only priority, and as she feels the ground shake beneath her feet,
an ear-splittingly loud explosion temporarily deafening her as she hurries
towards the hangar as fast as she can while dragging a man twice her size, she
knows that Finn and Poe succeeded in their mission, and all she wishes for is
that they will make it out, too.
The winds are icy cold as she finally makes it to the hangar, Kylo’s body heavy
against hers, and she shivers at the sight of the now-abandoned airstrip.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Rey chokes, using the Force to drag Kylo forward
another few steps, into their battered old C-wing—one of the only spacecrafts
left in the hangar—while she desperately attempts not to panic at the peculiar
and dreadful feeling of his unique Force signature becoming weaker and weaker,
despite the fact that he is right here beside her.
The wound on his chest—that he got because of her, kriff him, taking a kriffing
blaster bolt that was meant for her—is still bleeding profusely, and the
complete absence of his presence in their Bond feels like a gaping, crippling
wound in her mind.
“Don’t die,” she mutters under her breath, manoeuvring him onto the small cot
in the back of the shuttle. “Please don’t die—I’m going to get us out of here
and you’re going to live, stang it.” Her hands are shaking and she feels like
she can barely breathe—and Force, she doesn’t want to leave him for even a
second—as she presses his bundled up cloak against the wound.
“Don’t die, you stupid laser brain,” she orders him, even though she knows he
probably can’t hear her, before she pulls her hands off of him and rushes to
the pilot’s seat, ignoring the fact that her hands are stained with Kylo’s
blood and that her eyes are watering with unshed, fearful tears.
She forces the C-wing to its limits as she pilots it off the surface of the
collapsing planet, jumping into hyperspace as soon as she can—she sets the
course to the Unknown Regions, which is far enough to require a seven-hour
flight in hyperspace, because honestly, she doesn’t care about a course or
finding the others right now—and setting the autopilot before she sprints back
to the cot she’d left Kylo on.
He is deathly pale by the time she reaches him, and she can barely sense him in
the Force anymore. Their Bond is aching because of his absence, and she can’t
stop tears from rolling down her cheeks as she drops to her knees next to his
prone body. “No, no, no,” she cries, dragging the blood-soaked cloak away from
the wound on his chest. “No, you can’t do this to me.” She presses her hands to
his chest, reaching out towards the Force instinctively.
She knows, abstractly, that he will become one with the Force if he dies, and
that he will have peace that he could never truly find in life—but she’s not
ready to let him go yet.
“You can’t have him,” she sobs, “I need him—you can’t have him.” Her hands glow
hot with blue light, and she feels sick and tired and powerful—fuck the Force;
she is notletting go of him. “Come on,” she whispers, leaning forward to press
her lips to his forehead. “Don’t die on me. Please don’t die on me.”
And as suddenly as the surge of power had rushed through her veins, it’s gone,
and she collapses forward onto his chest. It takes her a long moment to realize
that she can feel him. Not just breathing beneath her hands, but in her
mind—his Force signature is stronger and brighter and it’s surrounding her.
“Kylo?” Her voice is shaking and soft, and she knows he would dislike the
concern she is showing, but she can’t help it. “Kylo, please wake up.” He is
completely still for another split-second—and then he gasps, his entire body
arching up as his eyes snap open and his lips part into a perfectly round ‘o’.
Rey gasps, grasping at his shirt and torso fruitlessly, tears still rolling
down her cheeks.
“Ow,” he chokes, falling back onto the cot heavily while she grasps the front
of his tunic in her fists. “That hurt.” He lies on his back for a long moment,
breathing in and out steadily—and she wants to hug him and slap him and then
kiss the hell out of him—before turning to look at her. “What did you do?”
There is a tinge of worry in his voice, and she can sense worry and a touch of
panic in his mind.
“I don’t know,” she replies shakily, releasing her hold on his tunic only to
realize that her hands are still trembling terribly and she thinks she might
throw up if she moves too much. “I just—you were dying—I couldn’t—I had to—”
And then she’s crying again, and she wants to stop—she really does—but she
can’t.
She thought she was going to lose him.
He is everything to her—he’s taken her in and taken care of her and punished
those that sought to exploit and hurt her—and she can’t bear the thought of
having to create an entire new life without him in it. Kylo had shown her power
and strength and he’s made her strong enough to stand up for herself.
She’s crying too hard to see, but she can feel his concern—not to mention his
bewilderment—as he leans forward and pats her shoulder awkwardly. “Rey, don’t
cry—I’m okay—we’ll be—”
And then she lunges forward—and she doesn’t care about his weird thing with
touch—and wraps her arms around his neck as she crawls onto his lap. “I’m
sorry,” she sobs, “I can’t stop—I just—I thought I was too late…”
It takes him nearly thirty seconds to respond, and then his arms are around her
and she can breathe again.
“It’s okay,” he whispers “I’m here, Rey. I’m here.”
.
.
.
It’s not until a few hours later, when she and Kylo are both seated in the
cockpit, in the pilot and co-pilot’s seat respectively, that Rey realizes she
may have overreacted a little bit. “What do we do now?” She asks him, chewing
on her lower lip uncertainly. “Is there a… back-up? Somewhere we need to
converge, to regroup?”
“Of course,” Kylo replies, rubbing his hand through his hair. “I don’t think
you and I should go back there, though.” There is a sense of tension in his
voice, and she can feel his energy buzzing in the back of her mind, though he
is clearly shielding himself from her in their much stronger connection.
“Oh,” she replies with a frown. “Is there a different meeting spot for the
Knights, then?”
“There is,” he nods, leaning back in his seat. “That’s not where you and I are
going either.” His silence is frustrating and annoying and she wants to slap
him—but she is too relieved that he’s alive to actually damage him now.
“Where are we going then?” She asks, attempting not to show just how
exasperated she is with him.
He sighs—a weary, heavy sound that resonates through the small cockpit—and
shrugs. “I don’t know—but we are not going back. We need to go somewhere Snoke
cannot find us, or sense us.”
She stares at him in shock, her jaw hanging open. “What?” She breathes, eyes
wide and unsure. “Kylo, what are y—why wouldn’t we—”
“They set you up,” he spits, disgust and anger rolling off of him in waves.
“With Hux. Snoke planned it.”
She feels like the shuttle has been ripped away from beneath her, and she is
having some trouble comprehending what he’s trying to tell her because… It
can’t be true, can it?
“No,” she murmurs. “No, that can’t be right.” 
Kylo looks away and bites his full lower lip. “I wish it weren’t true, Rey. I
saw it in Hux’s mind—when he was fleeing Starkiller… Snoke’s control over him
broke for a short moment, but it was long enough. I saw all that he had been
hiding. He orchestrated Hux’s assault on you to ensure you would feel as though
you were valued and appreciated here as you aren’t anywhere else.”
“I can’t—” Rey chokes, staring ahead that the stars that surround them. “I
thought—”
“Yes,” Kylo mutters bitterly, “as did I.”
They sit in silence for a long moment as Rey attempts to grasp the weight of
what Kylo just revealed to her. Everything she had come to believe, everything
she had learned to appreciate about the First Order and its fair treatment of
all genders and species feels like a lie, and she no longer knows what to
believe. Her thoughts are too fast and fleeting to make sense of, and she
doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry over the fact that Kylo is willing to
leave behind the organisation he had dedicated his life to for her.
“Moraband,” she says after a while, her voice raw and cracked. “We can hide on
Moraband. If you couldn’t sense me in the lower levels of the Academy with our
Bond while you were on the same planet—”
“—Snoke won’t be able to sense either of us,” he finishes, nodding along. “It
is a good idea. No one will think to search for us there either—and if the
Force be with us, they will assume we perished on Starkiller Base.”
It is strange to think that people might think her dead—but it also doesn’t
matter so much.
“Moraband it is,” she sighs, leaning forward to punch in the coordinates. “And
what is your plan in the long run, Master? I assume we can’t hide on Moraband
forever.”
“No,” he replies with a sigh. “No, we can’t. We have to become stronger.
Better. We have to get rid of Snoke eventually, before he finds another child
like you or I and rips them from their family as well.”
She swallows thickly, unsure of how to respond to Kylo’s implication of Snoke’s
manipulations. “So what do we do?” She demands, setting the shuttle to
autopilot before turning her seat to face him. She wants to look at him, see
that he means this, that he’ll stand by her side as they prepare to face the
storm together.
“We train,” he says seriously, his expression determined and stoic. “We train
in the Dark Side until we know all that we can—” She makes a face, but he
ignores her and continues, “—and then we find a teacher to show us how to use
the Light Side of the Force.”
“What?” Rey exclaims, eyes wide and shocked—because this doesn’t make sense,
what in the name of the Force is he trying to pull? “We can’t use both sides,”
she shakes her head, “Can we?” She doesn’t let him answer, because her mind is
providing her with somany questions and she just—too much has happened in the
past twenty-four hours. “Besides,” she adds, “Where would we find a Jedi
willing to teach us?”
The moment she says the words out loud, she realizes what Kylo has in mind, and
she wants to tell him no, because there is no way that it is going to work out
the way he hopes—it’s an asinine idea that will only serve to put them both
right back into danger—but she finds herself strangely tongue-tied.
“It will work,” Kylo leans forward, reaching for both her hands with his. “We
will become strong and powerful on Moraband. I will teach you all that I know.
And then I will take you to Luke Skywalker, so that he may teach you all that
he knows. And we will be ready.”
===============================================================================
 
                    To Be Continued in ‘Absolute Magnetism’
***** AUTHOR'S NOTE *****
The first chapter of the sequel is up, guys! :D
 
Absolute_Magnetism_Chapter_One
End Notes
     I don't know where this came from! Like seriously, I was writing
     something else, and then suddenly this came out :D Anyway, leave me a
     quick note, tell me what you thought of my little dive into the trash
     heap--will likely be updated once a week or something.
     Not too sure yet.
     Thanks to Meaghan (Juulna on A03) for beta'ing, listening to me
     rambling and being absolutely stupid about this little piece of crap
     :D
     Thanks for reading! I love you guys! :D
     Love, Annaelle
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