She watched his face carefully as he removed the bandages. They might have been playing cards for all his expression gave away, but she could see for herself when he unwrapped it, that her foot was not healing as it should.
"A few more days, and we should see some improvement," the medic nodded to himself.
Rey said nothing as he finished wrapping the clean dressing and tossed the soiled bandages into the waste chute. He went immediately to his desk and called up a map on the holodisplay. Although she did not recognize the system, she had figured out that he was using it to track ships moving across it. His face was easier to read during these times. There was definitely something worrying him.
"You always do that," she sighed.
"What?"
"Whenever you finish a dressing change, you call up that map and stare at it. What are you looking for?"
"Nothing… nothing—just a resupply ship. It isn't important," he lied.
Rey slowly shifted her legs so that they hung over the edge of the table, and slid off, making sure to bear the weight on her good foot. A makeshift crutch leaned against the wall, and she snatched it, jamming it under her arm so that she could hobble over to stand beside him.
"Is it running late?" she asked, glancing toward the small, dark planet that floated before them.
"What?"
"The resupply ship—is it overdue?"
"A little."
"And you're waiting for something that it's supposed to bring. Is that it?" she guessed.
His silence confirmed her suspicion.
"What is it?"
"Nothing important," he repeated, flicking off the display.
"Bacta," she realized, glancing down at her foot. "Its Bacta isn't it? You only had three units and you used them all on me."
"Supply ships are important for MANY reasons when you live on a rock in the middle of nowhere," he countered. "We could use more Bacta, certainly, but food and water are just as precious."
"Except that we have food and water—at least, as far as I know. It's my wound, isn't it? It isn't healing like it should."
"Another unit or two of Bacta would help," he shrugged.
"Where does your supply ship come from?" she asked, trying to make her voice sound off-hand, as though she were only attempting to make light conversation.
"A First Order stock-pile on an uncharted planet. Why?"
"Just curious, I guess. Do you sup-"
She was cut off by the flashing off a red light on the holodisplay console, and the sudden appearance of DD-13.
"Incoming transmission. Signal detected from Transport 009. Signal is HoloNet compatible," the droid informed them.
"If you don't mind…" MT-5927 said, jerking his head toward the door.
"I thought you weren't important enough to be told anything of interest," Rey said, quirking an eyebrow.
"I'm not. Really, it's just… it's probably nothing…but it's against protocol to… to…"
His voice trailed off uncertainly as she settled herself comfortably in his chair, far enough from the holodisplay to be out of view, and glanced expectantly at him. He seemed to struggle with something silently for a moment before squaring his jaw, and hitting the projector button on the console. He gave Rey a quick wink as the transmission flickered and sharpened into focus, and for a moment, he reminded her of someone she missed very much. It was strange that she had never noticed it before.
The mask of a storm trooper materialized on the screen, as MT-5927 cleared his throat.
"Eight-one," the medic greeted him. "It's been awhile."
"Not long enough to warrant 17 high priority status checks," the trooper snapped back. "We were stopped on Bespin for three days. The Resistance attacked the stronghold there—"
Rey's heart leapt in her chest. She wondered who among her friends had been on the raiding party. Had they been successful? What were they after? What was General Organa up to? It was hard to keep her mouth shut and stay in her seat. Sensing her reaction, the medic glanced warily in her direction.
"How bad was the damage to the stockpile?" he asked.
"Bad enough. You'll see for yourself when the supplies arrive. You should know ahead of time, that yours isn't the only post that'll see tightened rations."
"What about the Bacta?" 5927 asked.
"No one's getting Bacta. Not even the officers. I saw a commander's transport land a few hours after the attack. He demanded 20 units, but there wasn't anything left. All our medical stock was destroyed, and the weapons cache was pretty thoroughly looted too. They're still cleaning up the mess down there."
"Then why don't we order direct from Thyferra?"
"Do you really think we haven't tried? General Hux sent the order right after the attack. He asked for anything they had on hand on Thyferra to be sent to the Finalizer. They refused!"
"Wait a minute," 5927 rubbed his forehead as though it pained him. "You're saying that the Zaltin Corporation is refusing to fill orders for the First Order now? They've been under contract to us for years."
"Not anymore. Their factory was attacked shortly after the raid on Bespin. The rumor is that a force-user fought their way through twenty armed security droids, and a unit of clones, and destroyed half the facility in the process. All that and they only made off with maybe a dozen or so Bacta units."
"So why cut ties with the First Order?" 5927 demanded.
"They're saying that the thief boarded one of our ships. Not to worry, Five-nine. We'll send them a convincing reason to continue our agreement very soon. For now though, there's a hold on all Bacta units ordered. No one is getting any."
MT-5927 cursed under his breath. He did not make eye contact with Rey.
"We'll dock in a few hours," eight-one informed him.
"Right," the medic nodded, and hit the button which killed the transmission.
He turned to face Rey, though he still did not meet her eye.
"It seems your friends have made things harder on us," he sighed. There was no malice in his pronouncement. He merely sounded tired.
Rey watched him shrewdly as he put away his tools and hunted through his desk for the now familiar pack of cards.
"You remind me of someone," she said.
"Oh?"
"My friend, Finn. He was like you once."
"You're talking about the traitor, FN-2187."
"He was a Stormtrooper."
"You think I'm ready to turn traitor and fight the First Order?" the medic smirked. "Come on, now, all I did was allow you to sit in on a transport status check with a low level unit chief."
"And when he told you that they were attacked, you didn't ask why, or what the casualties were. All you cared about was the Bacta. You asked him about the damage to the stockpile, that was all."
"I'm still a soldier. I'm trained to think like one, to focus only on what I need."
"You're a soldier who doesn't believe in what he's fighting for," she decided.
"Maybe I don't believe that anything's worth fighting for," he scoffed, sitting down to shuffle the cards.
"You're wrong."
"Am I? What are you fighting for, and just whom are you fighting?"
"To defend the weak, to protect those that can't protect themselves, to bring order from chaos, to stop the First Order from destroying more life—"
"And to do that you'll fight the First Order, is that right?"
"When I must."
"Would it surprise you to learn that the goal of the First Order is to bring order to the Galaxy—to achieve peace among all the peoples in it?"
"That's a lie. They've destroyed entire planets—millions of lives, gone. You don't really believe their goal is peace. Whether you'll admit it or not, their goal is power over others."
MT-5927 frowned as he cut the deck and shuffled it together. He dealt the cards into two piles. Annoyed, Rey shoved her hand to the side without glancing at it.
"You don't have to rot here," she hissed, lowering her voice.
"Careful, what you say," he cautioned. "You can't trust me, after all."
"You could be free," she whispered, looking him directly in the eyes. "You could escape, and go so far from here that they'd never find you."
"I couldn't," he mumbled.
"Why? You know that what they do isn't right. You want out, I can sense it."
"To think about something—to dream about it even, is one thing. To act is something else entirely. I'm not a rebel. I'm not a fighter, not really. How do you think I ended up a medic? I'm a coward, of course," his last words were tinged with bitterness.
"You choose to save lives rather than take them. That's not cowardice, that's compassion."
His hand shook as he reached for the cards he'd dealt himself. She knew enough about Finn's past to guess what his own experiences had been like. Even if she had the use of her Jedi powers, she wouldn't have used them. He would have to decide for himself.
"I'm not a prisoner, or so I've been told. No one would stop us if we went to the hanger right now. If they did, you'd only have to say that you were going to meet the resupply ship. We could steal a-"
"There is no hanger. There are no transports even. Ships only land to deliver goods or people. The only ones who have permission to come and go at will are the Knights. Once an acolyte is dropped here, they stay until they become a Knight or die trying. Even a First Order medic like me would need a flightpass approved by a captain or better to board a transport, and the resupply ships have life support scanners that would alert them to anyone trying to stowaway. There's no escape from this planet."
Rey grinned and reached for her cards. It was a start, a confession that he'd thought about it at least.
"There's a way," she nodded. "There's always a way."
The opening of the sickbay door alerted them both to an unexpected presence. One of the ubiquitous black-robed acolytes entered, carrying a shapeless bundle which clinked as he walked. He dropped his parcel on the gurney and bowed his head quickly.
"Resupply order for medical unit," he informed them.
"Resupply order?" MT-5927 asked. "But I just spoke with the transport. They're hours from here. What do you mean?"
The acolyte bowed his head again and left without an answer.
Rey and the medic exchanged a long glance before he stood up to inspect the delivery. As he untied the fabric parcel, her breath caught in her throat. She recognized the material—its weave and frayed edges— she could almost feel the fabric against her cheek and the warmth of his back that radiated from it. Had he returned?
"It's Bacta," 5927 mumbled.
She wasn't sure how many hours had passed since his arrival, and still he had not come to the medical unit. MT-5927 had wasted no time in submerging her foot in a makeshift Bacta bath—even injecting the site of the injury before doing so. 20 units had been delivered in total, which suggested that the First Order had indeed been involved in the attack of the Zaltin Corporation, though neither of them acknowledged it out loud.
When the resupply ship arrived, MT-5927 took his leave, and Rey returned to her room, minus her crutch. The Bacta had healed her foot almost entirely. Dinner came with DD-13—another weak broth with rehydrated vegetables, which she took her time eating.
And still he had not come. Yet she did not doubt that he was near. She could feel him there—that beat, faint but insistent, a cadence that matched the rhythm of her own heart. Could he not feel it as well? Did he ignore it?
Rey realized that her foot tapped unconsciously against the floor, matching it. She stood and paced the floor of her small room. Her foot still tingled from the Bacta injection, but the pain was gone. She should go for a walk! Certainly, she should. After all, she had been cooped up within the sick bay for days with her injury and had never gotten the lay of the place. It would be good to stretch her legs, and to familiarize herself with her prison.
But upon reaching the outer corridor, the faint beat of his presence grew stronger, and she followed it, knowing that truly it had been her intention from the start, and soon she had reached a somewhat familiar hall and found herself outside a somewhat familiar door. She had been to these rooms before.
She stood outside that door for some time, feeling his presence, and knew that she was waiting for him to acknowledge her there. At any moment she expected the door to open—but it did not, and that made her angry.
She reached for the access pad, expecting it to be encoded, and when the door actually opened at her touch, she gasped and almost fled. It was the sight of tall, black boots, empty and placed beside the doorway which kept her rooted to the spot. Another piece of his façade abandoned, perhaps, a reminder that Kylo Ren actually was human.
Though his empty boots suggested his presence inside, she could not see him from where she stood, and so, nervously, she stepped inside.
His long, black tunic lay discarded on the bed—not folded neatly or laid out, but tossed there quite heedlessly, and it was then, before her eyes even fell upon him, that Rey realized she had made a grave mistake.
Kylo Ren stood in the doorway leading to the fresher. Tendrils of damp hair clung to his neck and face, and his naked chest glistened wetly. He was clad only in loose-fitting pants, and had paused in the act of wrapping his shoulder in gauze. When their eyes met, he smirked, as though he could read her thoughts. Perhaps he could. The realization was enough to draw blood to her cheeks.
"What do you want, scavenger?" he asked. The absolute calm of his voice told her that he was not at all surprised to see her. That it was likely he had felt her there, standing outside his door as surely as she had felt him.
He had allowed her to come to him, perhaps to prove some point, she didn't know, but she felt disgusted with herself. She cast about for an excuse.
"I wanted to thank you," she began stiffly, "for the Bacta, I mean. If it isn't a good time, I could…"
He shrugged and turned away, as though she were too insignificant to acknowledge.
The gesture irked her.
"Where did you go?" she asked, taking a cautious step forward. She knew the answer, but still wanted to know why.
"I had other matters to attend to," he answered shortly, stopping with his back turned to her.
"Other matters?' she probed, taking another step.
"It isn't your concern."
"I thought I was your apprentice," she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I thought you said you would never be an apprentice to me," he taunted, and with this he turned to face her, and stepped into the room.
She almost wished he hadn't. They were too close, and he was too big and too… too exposed. Too much skin… too human—much more a man than a monster. There was something about the curve of his bicep, and the lean, hard quality of his body that made her want to touch him—just to see what it would feel like. Was he reading her thoughts? Why did he stare at her in such a way?
When he took another step towards her, she didn't back away, though she did drop her gaze immediately to her feet, and her face felt hot again. He leaned down, bringing his face close to hers, and though she did not look up to meet his gaze, she could feel his hot breath against the side of her face.
"What is it, scavenger?" he taunted, his voice low—almost a whisper. "You don't wish to kill me any longer?"
"N—not at this exact moment, no," she stumbled.
He smelled good—clean, and it reminded her that she herself had done little more than clean herself from a bucket for countless days. She was suddenly embarrassed, desperate to be away from him, yet too stubborn to show it.
"You were eager for me to return," he guessed, and when she did not deny it, he closed the small amount of space that remained between them by reaching out to lightly stroke the side of her face. She shivered at the contact.
"Still cold, little jedi?" he whispered, his lips lightly brushed against her earlobe, while his long fingers twined through her hair. He jerked her head up and when his lips met hers it was with a possessive forcefulness that took her breath away.
For a moment she froze, knowing somehow that her lack of response frustrated him, fueled the violent way in which he kissed her and made his hands tighten almost to the point of pain around her shoulders.
Her thoughts scattered and the only thing she could focus on was the pressure of his mouth as it moved to her neck, and the smell of his hair, and before she could think of the consequences, she reached out to grab a fistful of his wet locks and forced his lips back to hers- at last returning his kiss with a desire that matched his own. He moaned low in his throat. His hands ran the length of her torso, and wrapped around her, squeezing her so tightly against himself, that her thin shift was immediately dampened by his chest.
She didn't care, and she didn't care when she felt his hand move lower, running over her bottom which he gripped tightly once before hefting her up. They were moving. He was backing her slowly towards… towards his bed, and though she surely knew what he intended, when his hands moved to the hem of her shift, tugging it up, panic gripped her with a startling suddenness.
She cried out, breaking away from his bruising lips, and shoved him roughly.
"Don't!" she pleaded. "Stop this."
He did not move, and she did not dare to look at him, but she could hear his staggered breathing and feel the heat of his body.
"Rey…" he breathed, and his voice was so gentle that it terrified her. That gentleness might break even her iron clad determination.
"Don't touch me," she warned.
He took a step back, and with a deep sigh, his breathing returned to normal. When she at last dared to glance up at him, he was regarding her with something like an amusement. It confused her.
"You almost abandoned your jedi training so easily, little scavenger," he taunted. "Did you really miss me so much?"
"That was… that was all… all a-a test?" she stuttered. Her stomach clenched painfully, though anger was quick to make her clench her fist at the same time.
"You are somewhat less malleable than I expected," he confirmed, "but not strong enough. You will soon bend to the dark side."
She drew back her arm, and with one swift movement, punched his face with every bit of strength she had. His head snapped to the side and he staggered back from the force of her blow.
She stood before him, quivering with rage, wanting to scream, wanting to hit him again, and could not understand why, more than any of those things, she wanted to cry. She felt the sobs coming, and knew that she wouldn't be able to stop them. The least she could accomplish was to hide that weakness from him.
Without another word, she turned and fled the room.
