Chapter Twelve: A Flicker
Kylo had originally put in coordinates for the Unknown Regions, intending to bring Rey to his master. Somehow, during her recovery, he'd found himself altering course, heading instead to an early Order shipyard no longer in use on Rakata Prime. It had been commissioned in the regime's infancy, before Hux, and abandoned for years due to the planet's exhausted resources.
He would need to manually pilot the shuttle soon – space anomalies were prevalent in the area – but Rey had to be moved somewhere more secure first.
She had already attempted to fashion herself a welding torch from spare parts she'd torn off the med-bay walls, and he'd caught her gaze lingering on the sharp appendages of the medical droids in appraising calculation she couldn't quite hide.
She didn't seem overly prone to sentimentality where her freedom was concerned. How very unJedi-like. Promising.
Kylo stood before the bay door now, checking the window to be sure she wasn't going to lunge at him again with some new, cobbled-together armament. He didn't fully grasp what he was doing – his intentions for her were murky at best – but he knew being stabbed in the stomach wasn't part of the yet-to-materialize picture.
Rey had her back to the hall, arms stretched overhead as she combed fingers through her scorched hair. The left side had taken the brunt of the explosions' heat, shored off at her chin, and errant curls of damage ringed her head in an asymmetrical bob. A slice of skin peeked from beneath her black shirt, and it widened as she leaned her weight on one foot, sending her hips askew.
It was obvious she thought herself alone, and Kylo determined sensing an enemies' presence was one of the first lessons he would teach her.
Only so her dread could gather and pool when he inevitably chose to end her, of course.
Rey continued inspecting the wreckage of her hair, separating a jagged lock of brown between two digits and pulling it to her face.
Kylo opened himself to her thoughts, a gentle listening markedly different from his normal onslaughts.
What would Finn say? He heard her muse. Probably wouldn't ask me to join him now.
She brimmed with misery and self-consciousness, overflowing castigations of 'ugly' and 'scrawny' he knew would never leave her lips aloud sloshing in her skull.
Who the hell is Finn? He fumed. Why does she care what she looks like to him?
Kylo craned forward as her misery multiplied, unaware his eavesdropping was growing less discreet, and his own mind was beginning to broadcast.
Rey gave the hem of her top a slight tug, examining the healing skin at her stomach.
What if that monster hadn't grabbed me right when those charges went off? She wondered. I'd be dead, or in so much pain I'd wish I was. Maybe Kylo Ren isn't so bad.
He leaned until his helmet bumped the door.
I mean, he's a spying pervert who'd rather lurk in corners than confront me, but maybe under all that he's not such a twisted juvenile parading around in a costume.
Ah, Kylo straightened, too surprised to be angry. It was rare he let shock eclipse his temper, but her erratic abilities—amateur, yet uncanny—had him scrambling for strategy. She senses me now.
Damn right I do, Rey whirled around and stalked up to the window, tapping the glass as she caught sight of him. Stop staring and let me out of here.
He doubted she knew how prodigious it was to exchange silent sentences through the Force. It was one thing to discern emotions or coherent sentiments in the churning, rapid tumult of another's mind, but a nearly-lost aberrance to send intent as clearly as spoken words.
Have you scavenged another useless weapon? Kylo asked mentally.
The bite of my words seems to injure just as well, she returned. And you've been leering long enough to see I have nothing concealed on me.
His jaw locked. I was not leering—.
Your thoughts give you away, she interrupted. Your mask doesn't hide where your eyes fall, Rey yanked the last of her shirt down, obscuring any trace of her burns.
Kylo contemplated sending her flying against a far wall, or perhaps snapping the bones in her forearm. Hold your tongue, he warned. Idle curiosity doesn't mean I won't destroy you in the most drawn-out, torturous ways.
The start of a sneer pulled at her lips. I think it does actually.
Careful, he fed her images of the stationary equipment making up her impromptu cell being pried from their bolts and sent hurtling at her, crushing her in a buried pile of jagged metal and sparking, broken wires. I am not one to antagonize.
Her sneer stuttered and fell.