Notes: This work is complete and will be updated every Wednesday / Sunday until posted in full. Thank you to Phoenix and Melodee for helping me come up with this fic and for being my betas. Many kudos and thanks to you both.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any of its characters. I am not profiting from this fic other than my own validation and writing pleasure.
One: Curiosity Stings
His body hurtles through the air like an insect swatted away by a giant hand. The air around him vibrates with the twang of broken tension, a snapped cord resonating with waves of sound. He can still hear the kyber crystal's mournful wail in his mind, its lamentation boring into his bones.
Discord. Disgrace. Dishonor.
The cries are silenced when he hits the floor, tumbling to a stop halfway across the room. If the concussive force of the detonation is enough to send him careening this distance, he can only imagine how far it's flung her slim body.
Rey's body.
Shaking off the jar of the impact, Kylo presses to his knees. Every muscle trembles. Sweat plasters his hair across his forehead, curtains it in front of his eyes. Even with the obstruction, he sees Rey across the throne room, dangerously close to the edge of the platform. Her limbs rest at odd angles, unmoving.
Before he can stand, a roaring white light tears across the red ceiling, cleaving it apart like meat from bone. Momentarily blinded, he gropes the air for stability, seeking balance.
There isn't time to hypothesize the cause of the disturbance or estimate the damage. Cosmic forces scream with catastrophe as he wobbles to a standing position, keeping his knees bent to brace against the roll of chain explosions rumbling beneath his feet.
Whatever has happened, the Supremacy is doomed. Only the airlock keeps the throne room from bleeding oxygen in a geyser, though Kylo knows it's siphoning off in alarming streams.
He can't stay, but there's something he won't leave without.
His feet pick their way over carnage and rubble, gravitating toward Rey's body without thought. A few feet from her, he sees the broken saber and retrieves it. Debris falls in a metallic, fiery shower. A piece of unidentifiable shrapnel - double the scavenger's size and ten times her weight - plummets toward her prone form. Hardly blinking, Kylo raises his hand and pushes against the waves of energy streaking around the object, shoving it away to slam against the far wall.
He slides to her on his knees, hunching over her unconscious body in a protective umbrella. A sweeping glance catalogues her visible injuries - blood on her forehead, a burn on her arm - both minor, thank the Force.
His relief shocks him like icy water. Why should I care?
He should want her dead, at the very least in chains and awaiting an execution for crimes against the First Order. She rejected his plea to join him, refused his offer to rule over something new and grand. He should want to be the cause of her destruction. Not her salvation.
It ends here.
"Not like this," he declares to the vicious voice inside his mind, an echo of his dead master's ingrained training.
Kylo carefully worms his arms beneath her warm, pliant body, drawing her into his chest. Her slight weight is familiar, and he hefts her up with ease, keeping her cradled snuggly against him.
Now it's a question of escape. He prays Snoke's shuttle survived as he strides toward the hangar.
From the outside, everything appears intact. He boards the craft and places Rey on a bunk in the main cabin before making his way to the cockpit to check that all of the systems are operational. A black, spherical astromech meets him at the door, scanning his face to run against its facial recognition protocol.
Even as Kylo awaits approval, he delivers his orders: "See to the girl. Scan for biomalfunctions. Repair what you can."
He knows the droid has limited capabilities when it comes to human injuries; its primary purpose is maintenance and security of the shuttle. Still, it scoots off to satisfy the command with a low, affirmative whistle.
Kylo races through the launch sequence, scrambling to lift off before the hangar crumbles around them. He manages to steer the ship through the debris field with only mild interference and a few alarm indicators blinking to life on the control board. Once he's past the wreckage, he jets off into empty space, creating as much distance as he can from the battleground and the rebel planet beyond.
Before engaging the autopilot, Kylo disables the onboard tracker. It should have been the first thing he did, and he swears under his breath for his lack of forethought.
Rey is still unconscious when he exits the cockpit and perches on the side of the bunk to look her over. To his pleasure, the droid managed to close the small cut above her brow bone. The blood there is still damp to the touch, the skin beneath it marbling in shades of blue and purple.
Leaning over her, he encounters the strangely-shaped laceration she suffered during their battle with the Praetorian guards on her right arm. With all that happened after the melee ended, the fight for their lives feels more like a memory than the reason his pulse hasn't quieted or why the salt of sweat stings his eyes.
She'd fought well. Perhaps Rey hadn't emerged unscathed, but she'd held her own - for someone who lacked proper training, at least.
She saved your life, a stern voice reminds him. It's softer than the echo, familiar somehow - a voice from his past.
"Only because she thought I would turn," he murmurs as his gloved fingers brush against the area below the cauterized wound. "As if it were easy."
Maybe it is.
Kylo dismisses the nagging voice and distracts himself by fingering the untucked end of her arm wrap. He means to secure it in place, but his curiosity tugs at the linen instead. The top coils give way, sliding down to expose her bicep.
He doesn't expect the dark marks lurking beneath, inked into her skin.
Nor does he expect her eyes to snap open.
He's inches from her face when they widen on an inhale. She finishes the same breath with narrowed eyes and a fist curving between them, headed for his face. Kylo flinches enough for her to miss his jaw, but his nose takes the full force of her punch.
He feels the pop of cracking cartilage, then the rush of hot blood gushing from his nostrils. Kylo whips his head back, clutching at the bleeding orifice while emitting a string of snarled kriffs.
Reviews, including gentle concrit, are appreciated. Thank you for reading!