This story literally came to me in a dream, one of those where you wish you could go back to sleep and keep having it, and I knew I had to write it. Short chapter to start, but others will be longer.

This is an AU, but still science-fiction and strong parallels to the new trilogy's plot throughout. Kylo/Rey and Poe/Rey. Rated M for sensitive themes, discussions of the nature of humanity, violence, and tasteful smut.

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.001 We're Still Human

A.T. 7

Siuslaw National Forest, Oregon Coast, U.S.A.

The grey-blue sea beat itself against jagged outcroppings of unforgiving rock, sprinkling the air with glittering, silver mist that sank through flesh to the bone. The wind tasted and smelled of salt, and it was heavy with the warnings of an approaching storm. Overhead, gulls hung in place and cawed in defiance of everything gravity wanted them to do. All over the treacherous shoreline, the water found cracks and holes in the rock, created from centuries upon centuries of a relentless ocean, and shot up towards the sky like geysers. Night loomed, and the colors of sunset were suffocated by dense fog and clouds, and within every shadow was danger.

In the distance there was a tiny blip on the landscape that didn't belong: a tall, gangly girl crouched down beside a tidepool. She used her cracked nails to scrape out scraggly plantlife, which she deposited in an old paint bucket, and she studied the tiny fish and crustaceans that had become trapped there. The real prizes, however, were the clams, and there were plenty, but none were good for eating. Too many showed signs of mutation and it turned the smarter scavengers off from taking a chance on any of them. Clams had a far more valuable purpose than food anyway.

A seagull landed on the opposite side of the pool and turned its head to look down at the milky white shrimp crawling around the bottom of the pool. It squawked and tried to figure out its new puzzle.

For a brief second, the roar of the ocean was blocked out by the single blast of a gun. The seagull collapsed before it ever had the chance to take flight. A feather wafted to the water's surface and one of the shrimp investigated it with its antennae. The tall, gangly girl fished the used shell out of the tidepool and pocketed it.

Grabbing the bird, mangled from a shot so close, the girl moved onto the next pool.

And such was the life in the forests of Siuslaw. At one time it was the perfect family retreat with hiking trails, adorable little cabins, and beach combing, and now the hiking trails were overgrown, the adorable little cabins had shattered windows and busted-in doors, and beach combing was how you survived.

The girl moved over the slippery shore with practiced ease. Her canvas boots protected her feet from the rocks that were like razors, but they were well worn and soaked through, and the shoelaces didn't match. They did nothing to keep her warm. Beyond that, she wore tight jeans that were once white but now stained a yellowish brown, and a baggy grey sweater that hung to mid-thigh, and the sleeves had been rolled up to her elbows. It looked a little newer than the rest of her clothing. Her skin, at one time warm and sunkissed and freckled, was pale and ghostly from a life of hardship. Brown hair was twisted into a messy bun that had fallen to the base of her neck and stray pieces had come loose and framed her soft face, but her hazel eyes were sharp and calculating and ready.

There was a small, blue backpack that had been used as an artist's canvas sitting atop a rock. Beside it was a walking stick and another paint can filled with water. The girl threaded her arms through the straps of the backpack, balanced the cans on either end of the stick, and set it over her shoulders. Tired and displeased, she crossed the shore and disappeared into the forest. Combing had not gone well today, but at least there would be protein that was marginally safe.

Her home was a few miles in, hidden among dense undergrowth that whispered memories of a prehistoric time. She stopped at a stream to refill a canteen from her backpack, but didn't drink it, and continued on.

A rundown collection of tents and plastic tarps, stretched across giant boughs, appeared out of nowhere like the sails of a ship in the dark. There were a handful of people there, all working on something, but none looked up as the girl made her way between the tents. She stopped beneath a black tarp where there was a large fire licking at the underside of a tall pot. She handed the mutilated seagull to a man stoking the flames, then left without a word.

The next stop was a shed, the only permanent building in the camp. There she left both paint cans by the door, knocked, and again turned away.

Finally, she entered a tent that was strung over a rope between two trees. It was sparsely appointed, with only a large bedroll and a few blankets, a lantern, a locked box, and another two changes of clothes. There were no personal items of note. After stripping off her wet clothes and hanging them over the rope, she curled up under the blankets and shut her eyes. Time to rest and warm up.

The girl was awoken only an hour later when a warm body slid in beside her. Large hands found her waist, and her own found a smooth chest where she could feel the steady heartbeat of her lover. The man smelled like rainwater and peat, but then they all did nowadays, though his scent was uniquely him somehow. Perhaps it was the mingling of their scents together that made it special. The man tucked his nose beneath her chin and took a deep breath, indulging in her scent as she did his, and then pressed a kiss to her throat. She hummed in appreciation. He rubbed his thumb in a small circle over the point of her hip bone, and she appreciated that as well.

The kiss moved from her neck to her lips, and she tangled her fingers in the dark mass of his hair, slick and tangled from the rain. They both drew breath together and gazed into one another's dark eyes. His asked a question he already knew the answer to, but she gave one to him anyway.

"No," She murmured, and her voice was sad.

"Why not?"

"It's not safe."

"You won't get pregnant."

"You don't know that."

They kissed each other again. This wasn't a new conversation. The first time it was spoken, there had been conflict, but now it was as routine as saying goodnight. A daily reminder of how life had changed beyond recognition, how even the most base of needs had become a luxury. To make up for the cruelties of fate, the girl instead satisfied him with her mouth around him, and he repaid the favor with his fingers between her legs. It was a poor substitute, but it helped them forget, just for a while, what had been left behind.

After they had finished, both settled back in close to each other for warmth. He idly twirled her hair around his finger.

"Rey."

"Yea?"

"We're still human, right?"

The girl opened her eyes and nodded once, and like the night before and every night before that, she said, "We're still human."

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you, too."

And then, finally, they slept.

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Interesting, no? Let me know what you think! And if any of you happen to be from this region, feel free to reach out to me with some local quirks or neat places I should know about!

Manwathiel