Author note: I'm not sure if anyone's still reading this, but... I'm sorry this chapter has taken such an incredibly long time to come out. I've been sitting on this for... How long has it been since I posted last? Actually, I don't want to know. Anyway, I've been in a funk. And hectically busy with life/family/work/study juggle. In fact, I'm withdrawing from the study because I'm ridiculously lousy at juggling. It's been a long time since I've been near fanfic, or tumblr, or any kind of fandom stuff. Is Reylo even still a thing? (Serious question. I'm really out of the loop.)

One last thing! Any semblance between the eating habits of the Chiss child and Baby Yoda are entirely accidental - this chapter was sitting in my draft folder long before The Mandalorian came out! (Yes, it's been that long. Blimin heck.)

The Enemy - Chapter Eight

The refuge is well placed. Beyond the great tree, the forest's lower canopy is dense enough to prevent an airspeeder from cutting through. Sparse sunlight filters through vines that dangle like tasseled curtains from the great twisting boughs of native trees, while a network of thick roots run across the forest floor like raised arteries before plunging back into the earth.

It's a good place, Rey thinks, to lay low for a while. To plan their next move- before the hunters make theirs.

Taking a seat upon an exposed root wide enough to form a bench, she watches the Mirialan shimmy up a nearby tree to take up his sentry position amidst the upper canopy. Nearby, the Chiss child chases an insect as large as her dark-blue palm. Rey smiles, warmed for a moment by the young girl's game. Until the child pops the insect into her mouth, bracing herself as it tries to escape between her teeth, before stilling the creature with a popping crunch.

Blanching, Rey looks away; reminded in that moment of the green milk Luke drank from the Thala-sirens of Ahch-To. She's certain that even in her most extreme of hunger, she could never eat live bugs. But then her stomach rumbles with an audible gurgle; calling her a liar. She tells herself it was the fleeting memory of polystarch bread that caused the hunger pang.

Kylo's appearance, when he stalks into her side-vision, is preceded by a surging roll of agitation. Rey almost feels the need to brace herself - as the child did once the insect was in her mouth - as he closes in.

"Something wrong?" She shoots him a sidelong glance as he seats himself beside her with far more grace than his large frame would suggest him capable of.

"Is that a joke?" Kylo stops at the withering look she gives him before answering the question himself. "Of course it is."

Rey quells the retort forming in her head and turns away. It's unsettling, she thinks, how quickly she's adjusted to his presence. In search of a distraction, she leans forward to curl her fingers into the soft damp soil at her feet. "What do you make of the child?"

"The Chiss girl?" Kylo asks, as if there could be any other. "What is there to make of her?"

"How do you think she ended up here? Alone? She must be what, eight? Nine?" Rey flounders. She's never met enough children to know the first thing about determining their age. "Young enough to need her parents, at least?"

"Does it matter?" Kylo leans back, stretching out his legs before him. "She's Chiss."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rey bites her lip as irritation wells within her. Why did she ever attempt to strike up any kind of discussion? Of course he would find a way to be argumentative.

"I mean the Chiss separate Force-sensitive girls from their parents when very young to serve as Navigators for their fleet."

"Navigators?" she frowns, further irritated by the way he speaks as if he expects she should know. "I don't understand."

"The Chiss are an enigma. But I know that Force sensitivity amongst them is rare," Kylo's agitation eases as he warms to the chance to pass on his knowledge of the mysterious race. "Those few born with Abilities are exclusively female and tend to possess either precognition or, rarer yet, telepathy. Precognitives are used by the Chiss defence fleet to navigate the Unknown Regions."

"Because the Unknown Regions are unpredictable to all but those who can see the dangers ahead of time." Rey nods, understanding.

"Precisely."

"So how could Trandoshans capture a Force-sensitive Chiss child, if they're so highly-coveted? Surely they'd be kept safe on their ships?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you should ask the Trandoshans, the next time we meet them?"

Rey rolls her eyes, "how do you know so much of the Chiss, anyway? I'd never even heard of them before today."

"Well it's not surprising -" Kylo begins. And then seeing Rey's scowl deepen, he holds up a placating hand, "I'm not trying to insult you, but the Chiss are a mystery to most. Besides," he pauses for a moment, jaw working as he considers his words, "how much could someone such as yourself know of other races - having grown up alone on a dusty rock in the backwater of the galaxy?"

Eyes narrowing to hard flints, Rey silently contemplates his arrogance as a flush of indignation sends heat to her cheeks. Kylo holds his expression still and solemn; as if he hasn't recognised his insult. Finally, she grinds beneath clenched teeth, "ret kebbur less be a shabuir bal get brokar kar'taylir droten?"

For a moment she gleans some amusement from the way Kylo's mouth drops in astonishment.

"What was that?"

"Oh, you don't know?" Arching an eyebrow, she bites back a bitter smile, "but I thought you knew everything? What, with you being so cultured, so educated…"

"Alright you've made your point," he says tersely, "I'm a jerk."

Rey stares, mouth agape. "I'm sorry, what did you just say? I don't think I heard you properly?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Kylo jerks his head away, dark locks covering whatever dark scowl his face holds.

"No, no, I need to hear that again. Please. I'm not quite sure I heard it right the first time..."

"Seriously, stop it."

Rey throws her head back then, a peal of laughter bubbling up from within her like some long pent up thing in need of release. It feels good, to lose herself in a moment.

"Are you actually daring to laugh at me?"

"Yes, I am," she gasps, collecting herself enough to add, "and you can't do anything about it because we're in a relationship, remember?"

The mortification on the Supreme Leader's face gives the Jedi free reign to laugh harder.

"Stars, I wish you two would shut up."

The command snaps through the air. Rey looks up to see Tarsh striding towards them, all sharp teeth and bone-white limbs as she stands over them with the skiv clasped once again in her hands.

"Your braying can be heard across the forest. Are you trying to bring the hunters down upon us?"

"Braying?" Sobering, Rey glances to Kylo who has already reset his expression into one of mild distaste as he eyes the woman, "I don't bray do I?"

"That depends," he says evenly, not taking his gaze from the Umbaran.

"On what ?"

"On how hard you'll hit me if I say yes." His lip twitches, and for an astonishing moment, it almost seems as if he might allow a smile - before he bites his cheek to stifle it and the carefully-schooled veneer falls into place once more.

"You're a real piece of work," Rey begins, "not that I expect anything less -"

"Perhaps you could do something useful," Tarsh interrupts again, "like check the traps. Prove you're good for something other than bait."

"Perhaps you might like to get out of our space," Kylo returns, his voice cool and even, "before traps and Trandoshans become the least of your concerns?"

It's only when the woman flicks her eyes to Kylo's glove-clad hand, that Rey realises he's placed it atop of her own. She braces against the urge to flinch away, and levels her gaze at the woman, fingers curling beneath the sudden press of Kylo's hand. The Umbaran holds her position over them for a moment longer before turning on her heel and striding back across the camp.

Once the woman is out of earshot, Rey snaps her hand out from beneath Kylo's own. "I didn't need you to stand up for me. I'm not helpless - I chose not to engage."

Kylo says nothing, but returns his hand to his lap; expression inscrutable as he watches the Umbaran resume her previous position at the base of a tree. "That was wise of you," he says quietly, turning to meet her eyes with his solemn doe-brown gaze. "As a Force-user, you're the strongest person I've ever met. But just as you called me Ben to prevent them from knowing who I am, consider it best that they believe you helpless. For now."

"I think I've already proved to Tarsh that I'm anything but." She returns hotly, thinking of the attack the woman tried to launch on her earlier.

"So, your former life made you skilled in self-defence," he shrugs, "let her think nothing more than that. Let them think I'm the Force-sensitive the Trandoshans were hunting for, and you were taken by-proxy."

"Why should you get to be the Force-sensitive one?" She can hear the childish ring in her tone, but in the heat of the moment, she doesn't care. "Aren't you the one who should be hiding any trace of Force-ability, least they figure out who you really are?"

Kylo doesn't answer straight away. Instead, he takes the time to consider his words; chewing them as if they've taken solid form within his mouth. "I suspect Tarsh already knows I wield the darkside."

"Why? Just because you look like some Lord of Darkness, doesn't mean you ar-" Rey stops, her lips twisting in an ironic smile. "Well, I suppose it does, come to think of it."

"It's not about how I look. It's about how we tend to sense our own kind."

"Huh." Rey thinks for a moment of the darkness she felt when Luke first taught her of the Force. Of how it pulled to her. And how she let it. She wonders how much of that darkness Kylo has sensed in her. And then understanding dawns. "Wait, you're saying Tarsh is a darksider?"

By way of answer, Kylo turns his attention back to the Umbaran, who has settled herself cross-legged on the ground; fingers tightening around the scrap of metal in her hands. Rey follows his gaze and starts in surprise to see blood bloom around her palm as the edge cuts into her hand. Still, the woman's knuckles pale further as her pressure upon the weapon increases.

"Why is she…"

"It's a darkside tactic," he murmurs. "Inflicting pain upon oneself strengthens one's connection with the dark side of the Force. We can't trust any of these people. And we certainly can't trust her."

Rey turns slowly to face him. "Are you hearing yourself right now?"

Kylo meets her look with a droll, unflinching stare.

For a moment Rey recalls the forest of Starkiller Base and the brutality Kylo inflicted upon himself when he slammed his fist into the bowcaster wound in his side. His reason for doing so makes sense now, she realises. It enhanced his rage - and his strength. She winces at the memory. But not before an image of Han in his final moments, raising his palm to his son's face, flickers through her mind.

"I'm nothing like either of you," the words slip whisper-thin between her teeth in an exhalation of air; her mind still on Han's fall. And the ferocious twist of Kylo's face as he slammed his fist into his side. The murder in his eyes as he seethed -

"Are you alright?"

Rey drags her eyes to meet Kylo's own. The contrast between then and now brings her back to the present. The look of murder he once wore has been replaced by something else. Something she doesn't want to give too much thought to. Swallowing hard, she brings her mind to the topic at hand. "You hit yourself when we fought."

"Which time?" he blinks, confusion furrowing his brow.

"Starkiller. When Chewie gave you this ," unthinking, she presses her fingertips to where she knows his bowcaster scar to be, "for killing your father."

Kylo flinches from the hand that rests against the fabric of his tunic. A sharp breath draws in through his lips with a hiss. "Yes, I did."

For a silent moment Rey searches his eyes. "Ky-"

"We find out what they know," he interrupts flatly, "and then we move on."

He leaves her then. As if by touching his wound she's reopened it afresh. And she supposes that she has. In a sense. Killing his father is a scar Kylo will always carry, Rey suspects. And one that may never be healed.

CHAPTER NOTES:

"Ret kebbur less be a shabuir bal get brokar kar'taylir droten?" - "Perhaps try being less of a jerk and start getting to know people?" (Rough translation of Mandalorian, thanks to /starwars)

Rey's knowledge of alien languages was documented in Rey's Survival Guide by Jason Fry. She had an old Y-Wing computer in her AT-AT through which she ran flight sims (this is why a scavenger who's never left Jakku can fly the Falcon like a boss), and learned a variety of alien and droid languages. I used creative license to decide Mandalorian could be one of those languages.