Rey wanted to help—she really did. But she figured she might just end up being more in the way.

Besides, she wanted to keep an eye on Finn herself. Every little dip in his vitals, every stunted breath, and she could feel her heart skip. But being there to hold his hand and see him stabilize once again was better medicine than any value she might feel for being temporarily useful.

It was a little quieter now than it had been twenty minutes ago, but the manic din of the evacuation persisted outside the walls of the infirmary.

Rey had, at the very least, helped the doctor—what was her name again? Kalunda? Calopa? —pack up the necessities of the medical wing. Even then, it hadn't taken very long: the room itself was small and, being an organization that had to be prepared for tight evacs such as this, things were already more or less prepped for transport. Still, she had felt useful and it had allowed her to keep one eye on Finn's condition at the same time. But now they were done, barring the manpower means to move Finn and some of the other patients, and Rey had nothing else to do.

So she sat, twisted the rough cloth of the new clothing she had been graciously given, and waited until another opportunity presented itself.

Han had popped his head in briefly to get an update from the good doctor, nothing but a quick nod of the head between them to establish that Rey was doing all right, before he vanished again. Rey was too wired to take it personally. Rebel, once-upon-a-time General, and infamous smuggler: Han Solo had probably been through an evacuation or two in his time and knew where he would be the most useful.

Rey started a little as she felt Finn's hand twitch, but he otherwise remained still. She squeezed it in return, fighting down a fresh wave of panic.

He had to survive—he just had to.

Han, Finn, Chewbacca, and Rey herself, had all thought themselves free and clear of First Order retribution once the charges had successfully gone off and the base had begun its collapse; they had thought themselves even more so once they'd reached the safety of the Millennium Falcon unhindered, not a trace of resistance to stop them. But they'd been wrong. Even as the old ship had lifted off, and even as Starkiller Base began to keen its death throes around them, one of the turbolaser towers had managed to land a shot near their port side. The Millennium Falcon's shields had barely managed to deflect most of the blast at that range, but the impact compensators hadn't yet enough time to reach full capacity—both Finn and Rey had been sent flying, literally and headfirst, down the port-side corridor to the communal area, into the dejarric table and the wall beyond.

Finn, like an idiot, had cushioned the fall for her with his own body and received a nasty blow to the head in payment.

Rey had come out of it with some scrapes and now-blackened bruises of her own—being strapped into the cockpit, Han and Chewie had escaped entirely—but she wasn't the one lying unconscious in the medical wing with severely swollen brain tissue and multiple broken ribs.

The doctor had examined Finn, given him a number of injections Rey couldn't hope to name, and said there was a good chance he would survive the swelling undamaged. The older woman had, however, not been entirely guarded in her observation that the drug given to reduce the inflammation wasn't working as fast as it should have been.

Rey didn't feel confident in that at all.

On Jakku, they didn't have doctors. Not in any traditional sense. If people had a problem or became ill they dealt with it themselves—or died. There had been the occasional off-worlder who would come by to trade medical supplies or advice, always at a price too high for most to dream of, but in Rey's experience they had been con men spinning the illusion of help with no real expertise. She'd never met a real, salt of the earth doctor, but the evacuation wasn't allowing her the space to form an opinion.

Rey got the sense the woman was genuine in intention, but Finn was the first person she'd found—or had found her—that she couldn't bare to lose. He had come back for her, so she would look after him herself, thank you very much.

She squeezed his hand again, gently mopping the sweat from his brow, and waited for the time when they would be evacuated as well.

It was Poe who finally came for them.

They had met only briefly, once over the comms as they'd all fled the dying killer-planet and once in passing as the pilot came to make sure Finn wasn't in immediate danger, but Rey had heard all about him and how he helped Finn escape the First Order. Her instincts told her Poe was good and trustworthy, and BB-8's clear adoration was all the validation she needed.

"Time to go," he said, a little out of breath. Without further ado, he grabbed the other side of Finn's anti-grav bed and helped her navigate it down the maze of corridors, into the open air, and toward one of the main transport ships. Between the buzzing mass of people and the noise of shouted orders, there wasn't much room for conversation.

Rey took a deep breath of the last fresh air that would be had for the next few days, and tried to focus on the commotion around her.

Amongst the green of D'Qar—so much of it, but not as much Takadona—Rey noticed the Falcon was already gone.

As they made it onto the transport and the daylight was swallowed up behind them, she felt a pinch of sadness.

Rey didn't know why she felt they should've waited for her—she didn't have any ownership or say on Han or Chewbacca or what they did—but a sense of panic was creeping in and she did her best to wrestle in down like a sand-striker. Yes, they had both been kinder to her than anyone besides Finn, and yes, they had offered her a job she had turned down, and yes, they had come for her on Starkiller Base…but they didn't owe her anything.

Besides, it had been pretty clear from the get-go that their little rescue team, minus Finn, hadn't been there just for her. It had been a mission for their war—now Rey's, she realized suddenly—and she was just a bonus. More than once she had gotten the sense that Han had been there for something more. He hadn't gotten it, whatever it was, but the way he had lingered, casting long glances back to the base as if he might go back had been enough to leave her curious. Han had definitely gone for something more, a something more that was definitely not her—

Rey shook her head furiously, blinking away the strands of thought.

Han was war-experienced; he couldn't waste precious evac time on her abandonment complex. Rey knew they would all see each other again, there were simply more pressing matters.

"You alright?' Poe asked.

"Hmm?" Rey mumbled a bit in confusion, realizing suddenly they had made it to the stern-section of the ship without her noticing, surrounded by boxes and other personnel from the infirmary. It took her a minute to register the question. "Yes! I'm fine."

Poe raised a brow. He wasn't convinced. He didn't know if anyone had bothered to ask her about her time on Starkiller Base, but he'd been treated to the First Orders' hospitality himself and knew she probably wasn't 'fine'. Especially not if she'd been victim to Be—Kylo Ren's brand of questioning.

"Really! I'm alright," she started out in a rush, no indication she was following his particular line of thought, "You go on, I'll take care of Finn."

"I don't doubt he's in safe hands," Poe agreed with a small smile, just a brief turn of the lips amid the grim reality. There was too much going on right now to press the matter; he would do what he could to get her help if she needed it once they were all settled at the new base.

He mustered what enthusiasm he could to put her at ease and said, "Refresher's down the hall to the left," he gestured directionally as he spoke, "and there's a caf distiller and conservator some way farther down on the right." Now he pointed at one of the medical staff in the corner, pouring over a datapad. "That's Rovus—" at the sound of his name the man looked up and waved in their direction, "—and he'll be keeping on eye on our buddy when Doctor Kalonia can't, alright? If you have any questions, or if you need anything, just go ahead and ask him and he'll take of it." He hesitated a little at the last part and Rey could guess the unspoken words: Just don't expect too much, we're not exactly swimming in resources.

Rey nodded. She had never needed much.

Poe lingered a moment more as if he was expecting a question, or maybe some sign from Finn, some minor indication that their friend would indeed be okay. With the urgency of their mutual departures at hand, Rey said, "Thank you, Poe. Really. We'll be fine, and, uh…I guess we'll see you in a few days?"

She clung to the meaning of 'we' like it was a lifeline.

"A few days," he repeated with a nod. His squadron was assigned to hang back for another hour or two to protect and escort the last of the fleet. The new base had already been cleared and was being prepped for arrival.

"Hey," Poe started again, smiling a real smile this time, "nice flying on Jakku, by the way. Going through the engines of a Super Star Destroyer? I wish I could've seen it myself!"

Rey gaped a little and felt her face flush with the compliment—these past few days had to be something out of a dream. "Finn told you?"

He gave her one of those crinkly-eyed, charming grins she assumed hotshot pilots became known for. "'Course he did. He's a good guy, Finn. I'd like to keep him around." They both looked at him fondly, watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as the monitor beeped steadily. "We could use someone like you around here, too."

Rey was surprised at the words; it seemed a lot of people were finding something in her more than her value for scavenging good parts lately. She didn't mind it. It felt—well, it felt nice, but she didn't want that to settle. Not yet, anyways. A lot of things were taken from you on Jakku: hope, compassion, expectation, faith. She'd maintained her grip on those she had left because she didn't allow herself to become accustomed to the rare nicety or false promise—and she'd learned that the hard way.

But…to be needed…

She shook off the line of thought. It wasn't something she felt like dealing with now.

"Poe!" A shout from the entrance of the room drew their attention to a short, multi-limbed species Rey couldn't put a name to. "Control says we're up in four," it said. "You might want to get off while you still can."

Poe waved a gesture of acknowledgment and turned to Rey, an apologetic smile painting his face. "Gotta' go," he said, "Don't be afraid to ask if you need anything, you hear?"

She nodded, and the pilot held up a closed fist to her, waiting. Rey was confused by the gesture—some sort of departing ritual? —but reciprocated it with a slight tap between them for lack of any better ideas. Poe beamed, tossed a final 'See ya' at the rendezvous' over his shoulder, and was gone. Not five minutes later and the transport trembled slightly as it went through its takeoff sequence, and then they were off the ground, through atmo, and into the clear brink of space.

It wasn't until the starlines visible through the sole viewport turned into the mottled array of hyperspace that Rey realized just how tired she was.

There had been so much going on, too much, to pay any attention to the physical and mental needs of her own, but now a heaviness descended over her like a blanket of sand and all she could register was how exhausted she felt. She dimly registered the strain of her muscles in keeping her upright, the slight shaking in her knees and the trembling in her hands. She was burnt out at both ends, her senses shot, and she wanted nothing more to curl up beside Finn and take a nice, long nap.

But Rey promised she'd watch over Finn, so with desert-hardened determination, she chose the softest-looking steel crate she could find, dragged it over to his bed in spite of her aching limbs, and plopped down to wait.

Not ten minutes in and it was taking everything she had to keep her eyes open. The melodic beeping of Finn's now-stable biomonitor was as comforting as it was sedative, wafting around her like a cloud coaxing her to submission; between that, her body which had surrendered without even the pretense of a fight, and the relative quiet of the other patients and staff around her, she wasn't surprised to find her eyes drifting ever-closer together, taking so long to force back open, so long…

Rey was surprised when she woke up a day and a half later, jolted out of a dreamless sleep by a sharp CLANG that set her heart racing, senses frantically pulling themselves from slumber to find the source—where was it—of the disturbance, of any attacker, the cold-hard vision of Kylo Ren slamming his helmet down onto—

But there was no attacker. She was safe and sound in the medical wing of the Resistance transport, right where she'd last been, and what had woken her was nothing more than a fallen datapad. In the dim light, the one who'd dropped it had the decency to look sheepish.

Rey took a deep breath to calm the pounding against her ribs, and took a longer look around her.

Besides the brief commotion, the room was calm in general, the lighting faint for the patients' comfort. Two medical personnel roamed between the dozen or so patients checking vitals, administering routine meds, and updating charts; along the wall opposite her, Rey could see another two staffers resting on a padded bench, presumably taking what sleep they could before it was time for their rounds. The marbled glow of hyperspace was still visible through the tiny viewport, and aside from occasional light chatter between those patients able to speak, there wasn't much to take in that hadn't been there before.

Finn was just as he'd been before, too, monitor stable and beeping out a methodical rhythm. Rey wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse: his condition hadn't worsened since she'd dropped the ball and fallen asleep on him, but it hadn't improved, either.

It certainly didn't help to find she'd drooled all over the sleeve of Finn's tunic in her unconscious state. She felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

"Don't worry," came an easy-going voice from somewhere behind her, "I won't tell anyone."

Rey turned to find a girl, probably just a little older than herself, sitting cross-legged on a low crate against the wall behind her, a datapad in her lap. She wore the orange-red flight suit of a Resistance pilot, the sleeves tied around her waist to make room for the plasto-cast on her left arm; her dark hair was pulled into a lazy half-knot at the top of her head. She smiled easily at Rey.

"If it makes you feel any better, at least you didn't snore," she said, flicking her useable wrist at another of the patients, "Big Buster over there was liable to knock us out of hyperspace with his racket— 'm impressed you managed to sleep through it."

"Ho—How long was I out?" Longer than she'd thought, if the hoarseness of her voice was anything to go by. Rey swallowed a few times, desperate for something to wash away the dry.

"A while," the girl said. "You've been asleep as long as I've been here…though I was out myself for a few hours so I can't say for sure." She gave an apologetic shrug, the shifting light from her datapad flashing briefly across her round face.

Rey nodded a little, slightly uncomfortable. She had never slept so long in an unfamiliar place.

The other girl seemed to sense her discomfort. She held up a canteen by her side and shook it a little. "You thirsty? I just refilled it."

Rey eyed her a bit with suspicion, and then consciously reminded herself that this was not Jakku. She was up and moving toward the girl with the water in no time.

Even with the promise to quench Rey's thirst, it was harder to make her body work than she'd thought. Every part of her ached and screamed at the cramped way she'd been resting, feet shuffling awkwardly as they tried to remember how to do the walking thing. Rey was also surprised when a blanket, that she guessed had at some point been draped over her shoulders, fell to the ground with the movement. It took a great deal of effort just to bend over to pick it up.

The girl moved over to make room for Rey on the crate, and held out her hand. "I'm Jess, by the way. Jessika Pava. But everyone jus' calls me Jess."

Rey eyed the hand before shaking it cautiously. "Rey." She had the distinct impression the other already knew that, but she sat nonetheless.

She took and downed the canteen presented to her with great earnest. It wasn't water, as she'd presumed, but it was cool, slightly sweet, and all sorts of refreshing. She finished every last drop in record time and stared at the empty rim with regret.

Jess stared at her, mouth slightly open.

"Sorry," Rey said sheepishly. Finishing the drinking supply of a stranger was probably not the best thing she could have done—scratch that, it definitely was not the best thing she could have done. Rey didn't know what the trade value on water or any other liquid with the Resistance was yet, and she didn't want to get chewed out.

Jess shook her head and smiled instead. "Don't be," she laughed in amazement, "there's plenty more where that came from."

"…Really?"

"Yeah, don't even worry about it," she said, "I'm just surprised you managed it all in one go. Most people can't stomach that much douva at a time."

Rey was surprised. Whatever douva was, it tasted delicious to her.

"You hungry too? Scratch that, you've gotta' be," Jess insisted as she moved her datapad to reach for a small bag hiding underneath. "I've got some protein nibs, if you want." She gestured the open bag at Rey. "Resistance ones aren't as good as the Termenis variety, but they'll fill you up just as well."

Rey reached for the bag eagerly, hunger pains superseding any desire for politeness, and popped three into her mouth at once. One second was all it took for it to hit her taste buds, and she melted. So good. They were chewy, more than a little grainy, and took some time to get down without more douva, but they were worth it.

She was working on her sixth and seventh of them, Jess watching her face in amusement, when Rey finally got a glance at the flashing on Jess' datapad—and almost dropped the bag.

"Is that—oh by the stars, is that Turncoat Blue?!" Rey didn't even wait for an answer before shoving her face as close to the screen as she could manage. "It is! By the gods, that's the Filvellian Race on Cordos Minor! Eleven-to-One odds, crossed the finish line in first place with—"

"—with two-point-three-seven standard hours to spare!" Jessika finished for her.

Rey was practically shaking, this time with excitement. "Turncoat Blue used the slip-stream maneuver around the Bright Lady to knock them out of the race, blew their navigation—"

"—and no one else even stood a chance! Once Blue made it past the polar field and through the Riveting Rings—"

"—it was just a matter of how much of the record Blue broke! And going through the Cordos Upper Flats?! Brilliant!"

"Absolutely brilliant!" Jess agreed with gusto, gripping the pad tightly in excitement. "Did you see Turncoat's race on Antion? Or the Serpents Spine? Or—"

"Shh!" Admonished one of the medics, coming toward them hastily. "Some of the patients are still sleeping. Keep it down a bit, Jess."

Jess looked far too excited to keep it down, but begrudgingly waved them off, seemingly used to being told to keep it down. "Alright, alright."

Rey in turn lowered her voice to a whisper, and watched the race on the screen in awe. "It's so clear," she said, "I've never seen a recording this defined before…oh, it's beautiful."

"Really?" Her companion seemed mildly shocked. "This is pretty standard, although I'm sure you could find an even better one out there—" Jess went off on a slight rant, something about knowing a guy who knew a guy who might be able to hook someone up with a direct rendering, but Rey couldn't hear it over the beating of her own heart.

One of the traders who occasionally dropped by for parts used to bring holo-recordings of the races to sell to Unkar Plutt's engineers; in turn, the engineers would let scavengers like Rey trade portions for the chance to watch them. They were always poor quality: at best, the judges commentary would cut out, barely discernible, and more often than not whole sections would be fuzzy or cut out, but they were something. They were the rare treat, the phenomena you could replay in your head during the long trek to the Graveyard of Ships, the something more you could dream of seeing in person if someone was lucky enough to escape the junkyard planet. They had provided a rare bit of fun, a rare sampling of dreams.

And this…this was one of her favorite races of Turncoat Blue's, one of her favorite racers period. She knew every move by heart, and had more than once programmed her flight-simulator back on Jakku to recreate it—just so she could imagine what it was like to be in the copilots seat. To see it with such clarity…

"—more if you want to see them."

"Sorry?" Rey said, rather flushed she had missed something.

Jess smiled, though, not at all put off. Rey got the feeling the Resistance pilot understood exactly the kind of wonder she felt. "I said I have more, if you want to see them. In fact," she said thoughtfully, "I'm sure I have all of them—the known ones, anyways. Some smuggler on Pantos IV once tried to tell me there had been a secret run of Turncoat's for some private financers elite game, tried to sell me a copy, but I never got the chance to see if he was right."

The datapad trembled in Rey's hand, handful of protein nibs in the other. "You have…all of them?" The aches in her muscles seemed to all but vanish.

Jess smiled conspiratorially. "Mm-hmm. And we've got plenty of time. Captain says we aren't due at the rendezvous for another fifty-one hours."

Did she want to watch all of Turncoat Blue's races?

That wasn't even a question for Rey. It probably wasn't a question for any sane individual in the galaxy. There was nothing much she could do here, everything seemed to be running smoothly, and Finn was her only concern. There was Rovus and the other medics if she needed them. She had food to eat and douva to drink.

Not even bothering with a verbal answer, Rey jumped to her feet, ignored her complaining muscles, and bodily hauled Finn's bed that much closer—she at least wanted him to feel in on the action.

Jess pulled up her Serpent's Spine recording, and Rey settled in for the long haul.

Norra Wexley was running late—really late. She hustled as fast as she could through the streets, still in disbelief at the damage around her.

It certainly wasn't damage that had been there two days ago.

She huffed in annoyance as a traffic droid pointed her in another direction—again—with a handful of similarly delayed pedestrians. Another access way closed off. Great. That made fourteen. The destruction couldn't possibly be that widespread—the local news had claimed it the result of a minor incident involving a malfunctioning lift droid. Judging by the pattern in the chaos, Norra didn't quite buy that.

But it was also none of her business, so she kept her nose out of it and roughly pushed past a pair of slow-moving Thoxans. She couldn't miss her window.

Once she saw the dismal, dull grey of the New Republic command station she quickened her steps. Norra honed in on the entrance, close behind two officers returning from lunch—a lunch spent drowning their sorrows, if their breath was anything to go by—before veering quickly to the left and circling her way around the building, sticking tight to the walls and keeping an eye out for unwanted visitors. This was an old building, with old surveillance tech, but she wasn't about to be sloppy regardless. She moved quickly but silently, years as a soldier coming in handy, before she approached an old maintenance exit.

Norra scoped her surroundings once more for good measure. Confident she went unnoticed, she leaned close to the rusty door and knocked—three quick taps, a pause, another tap followed by an extended pause, then followed by five more raps in quick succession.

The door opened immediately to reveal one very fidgety Lieutenant Teesha Nyeura, partially blocking the entrance into a long, dark hallway.

Waiting for her.

"Finally. I was beginning to get worried."

"Hey," Norra greeted back, quickly shouldering her way past the anxious lieutenant who shut the door promptly. The dull yellow light of the pod-sensors illuminated their faces. "Sorry I'm late. Ah, unforeseen circumstances." She opened the front of her coat to let in the warmth of the building while she sent an apologetic smile the younger woman's way.

She received a smile right back in response as Teesha gestured to follow her deeper into the corridor. "Nah, don't worry about it. Things have been crazy around here—I was scared I might not make it myself," she said tiredly as they made their way up a flight of lazily lit stairs.

Norra laughed lowly, eyes keen as a hawk so as not to stumble on the dark steps. "Lieutenant Nyeura, late? I'll drink to the day."

The girl rolled her eyes. "I'm not that much of a stick in the mud, Wexley. I can…relax."

"Mmhmm."

"I can," she insisted, pout evident even in the dark.

Norra reached through the dark to pat her reassuringly on the shoulder. Teesha swatted her hand away, slowing her ascent as they approached the entrance to the fifth floor offices.

"The command staff is in a briefing right now, we've only got about 15 more minutes," Teesha explained, cracking the door slightly and peaking through, "and the support staff's all down on level three."

Norra raised a brow.

Teesha shrugged. "Told them I had a fella sneakin' in for some private time—none of us have had time off in days so they bought it—and that I wanted their nosy butts outta my hair. The Systren cake sweetened the deal."

Norra shrugged. As long as they wouldn't be caught.

Once she was sure the coast was clear, Teesha ushered her into the brightly lit corridor of the office level and they carried on. The lighting in the hallway afforded her a clearer look at the younger woman's face. She looked like she hadn't had a good nights sleep in a week, but Norra could hardly blame her. After what had happened to the Hosnian System…well, quite frankly Norra judged anyone who had been able to sleep soundly in the days since. But the unhealthy pallor to the girls cheeks, combined with the dark rings around her eyes, was more indicative of caffeinating oneself through all-nighters rather than the result of restlessness.

The New Republic had just lost its foremost leadership and the majority of its military protection, so she supposed all-nighters were to be expected. Especially when Kuat was a prime target for the next First Order attack.

They spent the rest of the walk in comfortable silence, Norra still on the lookout for any possible strays as they finally made their way to the lieutenant's small, tucked-away office. It was a tiny little thing, crammed tight with a desk, two chairs, and a caf machine—there was barely room to breathe. Dozens upon dozens of flimsi's littered the desktop and threatened to spill onto the floor, and a holoboard alive with running data was flickering on the side wall. The lieutenant gestured at one of the chairs kindly before she set to filling a mug—that quite frankly looked like it hadn't been washed in days—with steaming hot caf. Norra sat immediately, eager to give her feet a rest.

Teesha took a sip then pointed at the caf machine. "Want some? I'm not gonna' lie and say its fresh, but its sure as hell strong."

She nodded gratefully, knowing she needed it and eager to chase away the last vestiges of cold lingering in her fingertips. The lieutenant pulled out a spare mug and filled that one to the brim as well, before passing it to her thankful companion.

Norra took one swig and grimaced. "Blast! You weren't lying. This stuff could curl anyone's choobies."

Teesha smiled half-heartedly, downing the entirety of her own mug in a few gulps before immediately going for a refill, then starting on that one too.

"Damn, kid, take it easy," Norra urged, motherly concern kicking in. "Must be some case you're working that's got you like this."

"Ha! You can say that again," she started, crossing behind the desk and making herself as comfortable as possible in her the-budget-doesn't-go-towards-comfort chair. "Someone broke into the Archives the day before yesterday. Made it through security, even managed to start loading some of the encrypted files before she was made. Gave security one hell of a nexu chase, too, almost gave 'em the slip for good. But our guys are the best of the best for a reason—she didn't stand a chance."

Teesha took a deep breath and rubbed at her face in frustration, words spilling from her mouth as her better judgment to maybe not reveal classified intel was clouded.

Gods she needed sleep.

She let her eyes droop briefly, so tired, before snapping back to partial-wakefulness when her companion cleared her throat, purpose of Norra's visit returned to her.

"Right," she said urgently, jumping to attention and starting to thumb through the stack of chaos on her desk. "I transferred all I could from Commander Rike's files, but some of it still requires his clearance code for access—mainly the purchase records from most of the cruiser and support vessels. I got you what I could though."

"Anything is something to go on. The Resistance is desperate for all the info they can get, Teesha, so I appreciate it," Norra assured, smiling.

The lieutenant nodded absently, sifting through the mess of her desk fruitlessly for the datachip and coming up with two handfuls of diddly and squat. "Ugh! I swear I had it right here!" She groaned in frustration at the world, mumbling to herself bitterly. "…Stupid, selfish thief. Creating messes for me to clean up. Work load so high I can't find a simple datachip." Teesha pointed at the desk determinedly. "Don't worry though, it's here somewhere."

The older woman took a moment to process her words, curiosity getting the better of her. "That thief have anything to do with the mess in the Kareyiss District? 'S part of the reason I'm so late."

"Mm-hmm," she huffed, "one and the same, they are."

Norra took another swig from her cup. "What the hell kinda person would break into the Archives at a time like this?"

Teesha shrugged, still annoyed with said thief. "An opportunist, most likely. I don't know. Boss is having an absolute field day trying to get it outta' her. She's not talking."

Norra paid attention with rapt interest—you never knew what kind of intel could be beneficial in war—and started to help filter through the pile. "Any leads?" If there were possible ties to First Order business, she didn't want to be surprised.

"None whatsoever. She's not local, and surveillance footage from the landing platforms hasn't revealed anything so far, but we still have hours more to filter through. We've been passing around her image, but not a single one of our security officers has claimed to recognize her. It's like she appeared out of thin air."

Huh. "What was she after? In the Archives?"

"Eh, the Arrivals and Departures manifest from 16 and 17 ABY. Cruiser vessels, I think?"

Norra scrunched her nose. "Can't imagine there's a big market for that information. She seem dangerous?" Norra handed the lieutenant a neatly stacked pile of flimsi to get it out of the way. Datachip wasn't hiding in there.

Teesha took the pile and placed it on top of the caf machine. "I'm not sure," she said, still digging. "I've never really been the best judge of character with these sorts of things. Besides, I've only been in the room with her once—brought her dinner that she didn't want. Thief had the gall to request ration bars instead. Do I look like a servo-droid to you?" She huffed in indignation. "Besides, it might not be made for the most seasoned of palettes, but even our food tastes better than ration bars."

Norra smiled. She was close to the bottom of the pile, just a few flat-holos remaining after they'd unearthed most of the flimsi, when she crowed in victory. "Aha! Found it!" She held the chip aloft in success. "Slippery little bastard."

Turning the tiny thing slowly in front of her, the chip no bigger than her small toe, she hoped there was something useful on it. Any clues the Resistance could glean. Any trail they could follow.

With any hope there'd be something to get from this.

Norra was just about to call the trip a success when something, like a flash of steel in a meadow, caught her attention.

Occupying the next layer of the pile was a flat-holo of a face—a human female. Partially obscured, it was sticking out enough that Norra could recognize the series of digits and letters along one side as a prisoner indictment number. But that wasn't what got her attention.

What got her attention was the tiny sliver of blue edging out from what could be seen of the persons eye.

A familiar blue.

Without quite commanding it, her hands moved to yank the image out in full, moving to flip it right side up. She needed a closer look at that blue.

She had only a fleeting glance of sandy, messed hair and cobalt eyes when Teesha took it from her hands just a moment later, slipping it onto a new pile she was creating.

Norra reached for the flat-holo blindly, fingers clenching desperately at air to have it returned.

It couldn't be.

Norra stuttered around the words, any words, trying to get them out. "W-Who…w-who is the that?"

Teesha looked her over with a mix of concern and mild curiosity. The way Norra eyed the flimsi with such intense focus…she almost felt like she had missed something.

"…This is the girl," she said slowly, "the thief who broke into the Archives." She kept her voice low, but it hesitated enough that Norra knew she was approaching territory that might be out of bounds. Confidentiality and all that. Norra understood that, but the information Teesha was handing over on the datachip wasn't exactly legal either, so to speak. And she really needed to get a better look at that photo.

She reached out and snatched the flimsi with the girl's custody image from the pile before Teesha could hide it. The older woman turned it back toward her and looked.

And looked. And looked, and looked, and looked.

"Why?" Teesha asked, interest piqued. "You recognize her?"

Norra's hands were trembling. Her whole body was trembling.

It couldn't be.

"Wha…What did you say this girls name was, again?"

Teesha was hesitant, and if she were honest with herself she was a little scared, too. She tried to shake herself out of it. "I, uh, didn't. She said her name was Ina Ihms, but it's most likely fake."

Norra just stared at the image.

Truth be told, she could have focused on it for hours—traced every minute detail, followed the gentle slope of her nose and the graceful curve of her jaw to that familiar, razor sharp mouth.

Comparing. Adjusting.

But it wasn't necessary.

It was the eyes. It was always the eyes—deep set and serious, achingly stormy and sheltered by the fierce set of her brow, vicious and utterly unrelenting in their exposure of one's self…no one had eyes like hers.

None even came close.

She felt a stinging sensation well to life in her own.

Teesha tried to take the flimsi back. Norra wouldn't let it go.

"Where is she right now?" Her voice was stronger this time. She didn't feel in complete control of what came out, but it was strong nonetheless.

The lieutenant just stared at her, concern marring her features.

"Where is she, Teesha? I need you to tell me."

The girl shifted from one foot to the next, uncomfortable. "In the detainment center, a few buildings down…she's to be transported to Chandrila first thing in the morning. They want to question her more closely for any First Order ties, because I mean of course they would, the Hosnian System blows up then the next thing you know we have someone breaking into one of the most high secu—"

"—I need you to stall," Norra interjected. There was no argument to be broached in her voice. Realizing how harsh she sounded, she finally made eye contact with the curious Lieutenant and softened her approach. "Please. Please. Her transfer, I need you to stall it as long as you can—two or three days, if you can manage it." Teesha looked more than hesitant. This wasn't part of their deal. Norra reached out, desperate, to clasp the girls hand in her own. "Please," she begged. "It's important."

She was getting that, but still she said nothing.

How on earth was she supposed to stall? And why would she want to, when this crazy getting-hit-by-speeders-and-walking-it-off-psycho had made a mess of her beloved city.

Teesha didn't actually have to contemplate long over the logistics of whether or not she could do it, when she realized it really all came to how much she trusted the woman before her. She trusted Norra Wexley, and she would help her if she could. Even if she didn't have a clue what was going on.

Still. "Just…just answer me one thing: is she dangerous? Is she a threat?"

"No," the other woman answered firmly, if not a little too quickly for Teesha's taste. Norra paused, then relented, "I—I don't think so. Not to you, anyways. Probably."

That didn't exactly make the lieutenant feel any way on the side of reassured.

Norra'd have to pay her back big time.

"You owe me a Daynar Cruise Speeder for this one."

Norra tried for a smile, still dazed, but more grateful in this moment than the lieutenant would ever know. "I'll bully Temmin into making you one."

They shook hands on it, sharing a brief hug that caught Teesha off surprise—Norra might've been a fantastic lady but she wasn't one for overt signs of gratitude—before said grateful lady swept up the holo image and stumbled out of the room, confident enough to find her way out. She had to tell Wedge.

The lieutenant noticed Norra completely forgot the datachip.

Rey quickly found herself learning a lot while they were in hyperspace.

For starters, she'd learned that her new favorite drink douva was a sort of nutrition-laden concoction with a grass-like base: it was designed for the body to more easily absorb its many vitamins and minerals, and was favored among parents galaxy-wide to force upon their children when ill. Jess said most adults had a mild dislike for it—probably because most people linked it with a time of sickness, she'd guessed, and there was only so much you could stomach from such an association. It wasn't uncommon to see it in many a medic's stash, and for guerilla-type war parties with limited supply means it was almost a staple.

Without the negative association, Rey found she loved it.

She learned why Jessika Pava was here, on board the medical transport, instead of flying escort duty with Poe and the others: her X-Wing had blown one of its starboard pressure regulators during the escape from Starkiller Base and flooded the cockpit with gas, leaving her with some nasty burns on her left arm and a rather light head from the toxic inhalation. 'Deemed unfit to fly', she had said moodily, despite the fact her ship probably wouldn't have made the flight without a tow, anyways.

She learned that the fighter pilot had indeed known who she was when Rey introduced herself, tipped off by Poe on the way out, asking for a favor to keep an eye out.

She learned the names of all the staff and the patients and some of the crew, she learned that the medical frigate they were on had been in use for forty-two years, she learned that Han and Chewbacca had gone out to find and bring back some "old friends" who might be of use, and she learned the few astromechs on board reallyyyy did not like Jess. She learned about some of Jess' friends and fellow fighter-pilots, her loyalty and admiration clear, she learned that Jess had joined the Resistance four years ago, and she learned that Jess could not wait to get back in the fight, and that if 'she had to clear herself for combat she would damn well clear herself'.

She learned many other things, too.

But most importantly of all, Rey learned that Finn seemed to like the races—or at least the way she talked about them. Every time she wasn't using her hands to snack on protein nibs or down her sixth helping of douva, she was holding his hand and telling him excitedly about all the ones she planned to show him anyways once he woke up. He didn't wake up—not quite time yet, Rovus said—but every now and then he would respond to the events she described for him, his vitals hiking just a notch and staying there like piling sand. Every uptick, every minor twitch of his hand or extra-high rise of his chest, and Rey's hope would grow that much further.

In the silence that reigned when Jess dozed off here and there, Rey told Finn about what she didn't know…and what she hoped they could maybe find out, together.

Having Jess and Poe and Han and all of the others they'd met help them out was nice, very much so, but it left a hole and made her feel more than a little out of her depth. Finn was just as new to all of this Resistance stuff as she was, but at least they wouldn't be discovering their place among them alone. She'd run and fought and almost died beside him, now Rey was eager for a time to learn beside him, too.

Which left the matter of Jakku…

It was a strange feeling, stubborn in its perseverance, that she might now be choosing not to go back.

Maz Kanata had said Rey already knew no one was coming back for her. She hadn't been able to muster the strength to respond, with all the weight and dread and pain just beyond the horizon at such an acknowledgment.

Rey wasn't sure she was even acknowledging it now.

But whether she was or she wasn't, there was so much more for her now, too. She had Finn. She had others also, like Han and Chewie and Poe and Jess, she would like to keep if she could. She had them, she had Finn, right there in front of her. Concrete. Graspable. Not some vague impression of a voice and a promise and something she'd never been able to hold.

Here. Now.

She wanted to keep this.

But…

She wanted to keep her hope that she'd meant something, too. Meant something as more than what people were seeing in her now—that whoever had left her with Unkar Plutt had done so for reasons she couldn't comprehend. There had been someone, and they had promised to come back for her. She knew it.

And just as happened every time Rey tried to reach further within herself, to search for a face or a motive or anything more substantial, it all slipped through her fingers and left her grasping desperately at air. Nothing.

Wait…

Wait.

Not…nothing, precisely.

A peculiar absence of nothing, blocked by a very potent source of something. Was that what it had been? Was that what Kylo Ren had encountered inside her mind? He had been overpowering her will when he searched her mind for the map to Luke Skywalker, when he told her about the island. He had been overpowering her, she had tried to stop him, and then the something, some barrier deepest within her had stopped him dead in his tracks and she'd found herself in his mind, and there been something or someone else there that had eluded her, like the barrier, she had to find—

And Rey found herself coming up short.

What had she just been thinking about? Had she been thinking about anything?

As Jessika Pava stirred back to consciousness behind her, Rey decided it couldn't be all that important.

Norra twisted and turned the holo-image in her hands, knuckles white as the knot in her belly tightened, tightened, tightened with each passing second.

Her husband was oblivious to her presence at the door, hunched as he was over the worktable in their modest, yet temporary, living quarters. Parts scattered about him in that I-know-exactly-where-everything-is-even-if-it-doesn't-look-like-like-it way, Wedge was fiddling with some kind of power modulator, taking it apart or putting it back together she couldn't tell. A still-luminescent holopad sat at the far end of the table, data still running across the screen—he must've been taking a break to clear his head of all the noise. She was loathe to disturb his brief peace.

It was funny. They had been sent here months ago to keep a covert eye on the system and its developments, to get word out to the necessary parties should the need arise. Both her and Wedge were getting up there in age—still useful, still capable in a fight if need be, but they were slowing down, eager for a bit of rest now and again. Taking up stations at Kuat had been the perfect task for them: they could provide potentially viable intelligence without necessarily sacrificing their safety, lives, or time with each other.

It had been nice, while it lasted.

With the item in her hands, things were about to change…and she wasn't sure for the better or worse.

Either way, their modest life here was at an end.

Norra took a steadying breath, strength for what battles might be before them, and cleared her throat to draw her husband from his project.

Wedge glanced up, gentle smile seeping its way across the whole of his face and a 'welcome home' ready to leave his lips. The words died when he took her in—features taut, mournful, her shoulders rigid—and fell to the flimsi she had clenched in her grasp. Something had happened.

He stood up slowly, gently setting down his tools to give her his undivided attention. "What's happened?"

Norra gave him a long, sad look, and summoned the strength to start toward him. "I was at the precinct today," she began, "Teesha said she'd found something possibly curious." She paused a step before her husband, reaching out to caress his cheek fondly.

Wedge Antilles wasn't swayed. "And what was it?" He pressed. "Did you two find something?"

"Not something." She grabbed at his hand desperately, squeezed it tight. "Someone."

She let the holo-flimsi hover between them a moment, angled the image away from his sight. 'Deep breaths, Norra,' she told herself, 'One at a time. Everything will work itself out'. She gave his hand one more squeeze.

"I need you tell me…I need you to tell me who you think this is. I know who I think it is—no, I'm positive it's who I think it is—but I want you to take a look." Wedge was looking nervous, about to open his mouth in question. Norra cut him off. "Don't ask me who, and don't ask me why or how or when. Just…take a look."

Norra released a breath and flipped the image, the soft light from the pad illuminating her husbands face.

She watched him.

She studied his face carefully, a peculiar kind of déjà vu reflected on his face for his own tumultuous process of dawning realization, occurring to her that this must have been what Teesha had seen from her. No wonder the girl had been so put off.

Norra watched, and waited. She waited until he had collected enough of himself to straighten to his full height.

Wedge looked at her. There was pain in his eyes, and an uncertain brand of expectation—maybe even a touch of hope. But mostly there was disbelief drowning in what she might describe as the emotional personification of whiplash.

He opened his mouth, tried to speak. He found there were no words.

That was okay. Norra spoke for him.

"We need to contact Leia."