Kylo Ren always gets what he wants.

The words echo in her head because that's what he promised, threatened, pledged, teased and in the pit of her belly she believed him because after all, who wouldn't believe him? The monster who somehow isn't anymore.

This pretty, dangerous boy with long raven curls and the deepest brown eyes she'd ever seen and when he ghosted his palm over her skin he sighed just so with anticipation, fear, longing, sympathy she doesn't know what but it's something and Rey had never had something before, so.

So when she wakes covered in sweat and tears and maybe blood and he's watching her with those eyes and she thinks maybe that some of these tears are his, she can't find it in herself to fight it.

She's been waiting, too.

He's dark and shiny and pretty and new and she thinks perhaps if she treats him like a toy he won't be able to hurt her but she's not really much for toys, so how to deal with this one?

She trembles because there's no getting out of this one, is there? The hero always makes it out but Rey is starting to think that maybe she's not the hero after all. What is a tragic past and a mysterious gift if she can't get out of this ridiculous situation and she huffs because does she even want to get out of this one?

It would be easier.

She's scraped and struggled her whole life. Never had enough to silence the shrieking in her bones. This boy fixes her in his stare like a promise and maybe just maybe it could be easier. He could help her make it easier.

Either way, she doesn't run when he removes her bonds.

Lets his gloved hand rest on her shoulder.

Offers no resistance as he enters her mind. She watches him through the discomfort of having her memories rifled through and doesn't miss a second of his reactions. There is nothing left to hide. She doesn't know what he's looking for. The Resistance has fallen. Master Skywalker is gone. There are no more secrets to protect.

He hisses in pleasure, anger, pain, relief she doesn't know which at some memory, she doesn't know.

Her eyes wander when his become unfocused, lost in some memory or another, and she takes in the sparseness of the room. Not one for material belongings, she muses.

He draws in a breath and her eyes snap back to his. For half an instant she sees his thoughts, sees a flash of memories and then he's done in her mind and although he speaks calmly and clearly he's full of turmoil.

Telling her he wants everything.

So full of fear, so full of anger, he murmurs. Give it all to me.

He stands, turns on his heel, and begins to make his exit.

She, not trusting her voice, speaks into his mind.

Wait, she demands, implores, entices.

She feels something. Maybe it's the Force, maybe hunger, maybe lust, and maybe it's just her starvation for human contact, but it's something. She wants it. Never wants to let it go. She's never had something.

She thinks, fleetingly, that maybe she could capture this something with Kylo Ren and then she's laughing harshly at herself because perhaps she's being a fool but trying to be smart never got her anywhere, now did it?

The thought makes her smile. They're two broken pieces of something that have somehow been crushed together. They didn't fit, and now they do.

She decides, and she thinks he already knows, that she can't let him leave or abandon or free her or whatever word he might use to describe the action, the thought of which leaves a gasping ache in her chest. She's had quite enough of that.

He pauses, halfway turns, one eyebrow arches and lips parted, she thinks in amusement but also maybe surprise.

She stands, surprised when she doesn't fall, walks to him. Asks him plainly what he intends to do with everything.

He startles and his lips curl up into somewhat of a smile. I want to know you, scavenger, he mutters against her cheek.

She leans back, fixes him with a hard stare. My name is Rey.

He reaches out with one hand but can't bring himself to touch her, so it just hovers in midair.

She averts her eyes as she leans her face into his gloved hand and whispers I am so tired of fighting and she wasn't going to look at his face but it's everywhere and the look in his eyes when she finally meets them is the same burning one she knows is in her own.

He nods, once. We've played this game for too long. Offers her a crooked smile. No more games.

She stands on her toes to press the lightest of kisses against his cheek and she could swear he blushes.

It isn't love. Not now. It's a truce. It's a whisper of a possibility, a statement or a challenge or perhaps an opportunity but it's something.

They're two halves of the same and too tired to fight anymore, so together that means something, right?