Chapter 19: Turncoats Commiserate
"Uhhhhhhh..."
Her vision came back slowly, by degrees. The muscles in her neck ached as she tried to turn her head, feeling something soft framing it underneath. A pillow?
Lashes fluttering open, she took in the white, sterilized environment - white walls, white gurney, white fluids stantion and packs of syringes feeding nutrients into her right arm.
Turning her head fully to the right, she quickly picked out the one thing in this strange version of heaven that wasn't white - a dark-skinned man, broad-shouldered and wearing a creamy tunic. His back was currently to her, checking some monitors and a table stocked with vials.
He had ripping muscles, Tazla noted. Long hair. And when he turned back to face her (he must have sensed her staring), she was struck by how handsome his face appeared. The kindness in his eyes.
"W...Where am I?" Tazla quietly murmured.
"You're our guest," the man shrugged simply. "Welcome to the Resistance, Tazla Ren."
Blinking, Tazla tried to sit up. A sharp pain in her abdomen caused her to wince and lie back down.
"How long was I out?" she muttered.
"Don't know," the man replied, pulling up a chair near her bed and sitting astride it backwards. "You'd have to ask Rey that."
Tazla's brows furrowed. "The... Jedi girl?" The last thing she remembered, that Jedi had managed to electrocute her with her own weapon, while her Master turned against her and gave her what should have been a fatal stab wound.
"Now, I don't know much of the details," the man was prattling on, "but apparently, Rey didn't want to just leave you for dead. You held out longer, compared to your other buddies. Even then, it was touch and go - the med cot on the Millennium Falcon helped you hang on until you got here."
The Falcon? Oh no...
Tazla's head flopped into the pillows. Tilting her head to glance at him resignedly, she despaired. "They're going to imprison me, aren't they?" She couldn't believe it. She was a prisoner-of-war. She wished she had just died on that catwalk.
"Well, Poe hasn't made an arrest for you yet. But there are guards stationed outside your room around the clock. And there's also me - by order of Jedi Master Rey Solo."
Peering at him, Tazla suddenly recognized who this man was. "You're the turncoat trooper. FN-2187."
"I go by Finn now," Finn chuckled. "Turncoat trooper... never heard that one before. Traitor is much more common..." He seemed almost amused by this.
Tazla blinked. "I'm sorry... Finn." Her own voice shocked her. She had never felt beehoved to apologize for anything in years.
Finn turned back to monitoring Tazla's vitals. But every so often, he found himself sneaking glances at her. He had been watching her plenty while she was asleep, but could find a whole new appreciation in her features now that she was awake.
She was pretty, with a heart-shaped face. Hair rusty auburn in color. Full lips. Her eyes were the most piercing, ice-blue. Skin white and unblemished as snow.
Rummaging through the cupboards, Finn continued to busy himself before finally crossing back to the bed with a tray, carrying a mug of tea. Wordlessly, he held the drink out to Tazla.
"Think you can hold it on your own?"
Tazla tried to lift her hands, but she found they were numb. She sadly shook her head. Slowly, Finn scooped a calloused, strong hand underneath her head, lifting it from the pillow as he brought the rim of the mug to Tazla's lips. She sipped tentatively. The cafe burned her tongue and she cringed back, coughing a little.
"That's all right. It's hot." Finn's voice was still so unusually gentle. She eyed him warily, confused.
"Why are you being so kind to me?" Her voice was somewhere between a whisper and a croak.
Finn regarded her almost sadly, with sympathy. "Because someone was kind to me once. It's not easy to place your life in the hands of people you don't know if you trust."
Tazla gulped. "But I didn't," she continued to whisper. "I didn't have a say in the matter." She peered at him probingly. "But you did."
Finn nodded, pursing his mouth in a grim line. "That is true. I was able to make that choice. You weren't. But we're not gonna hurt you."
Tazla barely had enough strength to cock an eyebrow. "Not yet," she murmured darkly. She was almost satisfied when Finn didn't answer, but a chill overtook her body nonetheless. He squinted.
"Are you cold?"
She shook her head. Finding a threadbare blanket, he draped it over her anyway, before retaking his seat, once again backwards, muscular arms draped on the headrest.
"So: where are you from?"
Tazla eyed him mistrustfully. Finn shrugged. "You don't have to answer. It's just a simple question."
He'd all but given up that she would answer, until she finally got out:
"Ithor."
Finn cocked an eyebrow, gave her an encouraging smile. "Really? I've never been there."
She just scoffed. "What does it matter? It's not like I'm ever gonna see my homeworld again."
"It's still your homeworld. And it matters to you," Finn pointed out. "Ithor... what's it like?"
Another long silence before she answered.
"Green. Forests filled with tall redwoods as far as the eye can see. It's in the Ottega system, out in the Mid-Rim..." A wistful smile came over her face. Finn found he rather liked her smile. "The woods were beautiful in the spring time. Plants bloomed everywhere..." Her voice trailed off, fell. "At least, they did, until the First Order occupied the place." Tazla blinked back tears. "The few reservations on the planet, where I grew up... they were carpet-bombed. And the trees were logged and cut down to feed the Order's war machine. Most of my people had to relocate to nearby Borao. I had to watch it all happen... and I hadn't even been back there in years."
"How come?" Finn almost crooned.
Tazla smiled ruefully. "I was recruited to Luke Skywalker's Jedi training academy when I was very young. That's where I met Kylo... though I suppose he goes by Ben now."
"And what would you go by, if not Tazla?" Finn queried.
She stared at him, pretty lips agape. Again, Finn shrugged, as if the question didn't mean so much to him... though, really, it did.
Tazla gulped. "Emmary," she murmured quietly. The sounds and syllables felt foreign on her tongue after being dormant for so long. A single tear leaked from her eye. "My name is Emmary."
Finn cracked the smallest of smiles. "Beautiful."
Emmary couldn't help it. She blushed.
Finn spent the last several hours of his guard shift talking with Emmary. By the time Beaumont Kin had come to relieve him of his post, the ex-Stormtrooper didn't want to leave.
Something about her left Finn feeling very intrigued. An infamous Knight of Ren, one of Kylo's disciples... Rey hadn't told Finn much about what had happened on Mustafar, but he had to wager that Emmary was either very tough or very lucky to have made it out of there alive.
He supposed that every instinct in him should hate her, for the clusterfuck that had gone down on Bonadan alone. But even this was outweighed by the fact that she... had been one of Luke Skywalker's Jedi students. Was reared in the forests of Ithor... A truly fascinating background, indeed.
This, and the fact that she was the most striking woman Finn had ever seen. And she seemed so tired, so lonely... Filled with such hopelessness...
No doubt about it, her situation was grim, no matter how you looked at it. Emmary was under no delusions about that, or what would be her likely fate. All the same... Finn's heart clenched to think of it.
Somehow, his feet carried him in the direction of the Resistance base library. Commander D'Acy glanced up and smiled a greeting from where she was manning the front desk.
"Ah, Commander Finn! Can I do something for you?"
"Yes, I..." Finn cleared his throat. "Would you happen to have any texts on Ithor? Forest planet, Ottegga sector, Mid-Rim?"
D'Acy crinkily smiled. "I should hope so. Let me just dig around here..."
