"I have to leave here. I have to find a way to escape, now! He truly is a monster! I cannot abide another minute on the same planet as that… as that…"
Rey stopped pacing to spare a glance toward MT-5927. He was bent over his desk. The components of DD-13's heuristic processor were spread out before him, while the deactivated droid sat slumped over by his side. The medic frowned in concentration as he carefully pried apart the delicate inner chip compartment.
"Why do I bother? You aren't even listening to me," she sighed.
"I'm listening," he mumbled without glancing up. "You despise Kylo Ren… and so on, and so on."
"What are you doing anyhow?" she growled, dropping into the empty chair beside him.
"A few hours ago, you were cautiously feeling me out about my loyalties. Now you're plotting treason in front of me. What changed?" he asked, ignoring her question completely.
"What do you mean 'what changed'? Nothing! He's a fiend, and a lying, manipulative, murdering bastard, and I cannot abide another minute in his presence."
Rey clenched and unclenched her fist. She had hit him hard enough to leave her own hand sore. Good! That meant his face was sore as well. She hoped she'd at least left a bruise.
Still, she'd half-expected him to respond with one of his tirades. Perhaps, in his rage, even running her down and turning his blade on her. For a half an hour she'd watched the sick bay door nervously, waiting for his familiar robed figure to come sweeping through and dole out some sort of punishment. That he had not, suggested that her reaction did not upset him, evil bastard that he was.
"Hmmm," 5927 replied.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Don't say 'nothing', you were obviously thinking something."
The medic frowned again, and picked up a pair of tweezers to gently remove the microchip. Rey waited impatiently for him to speak, her foot tapping nervously on the ground. When she realized that her foot tapped to the same beat that throbbed faintly in her ears, she forced herself to stop.
"You called out for him when you were sick," he said at last.
"I was delirious! I was hallucinating ghosts and voices and his was the last real face I saw. I was sick and—"
"Hand me that micro-welder," he interrupted.
"What? Oh… here. Anyhow, it doesn't mean that I… I… wait a minute! Where did you get that?"
Rey snatched the shiny new chip out of its box and held it up to the light, oblivious to the medic's growl of frustration.
"The resupply ship, of course. Now give that here," he ordered, jabbing at her with the tweezers.
"Really? I recognize the brand—Qwar, isn't it? Expensive! The First Order stocks these?"
"Not usually, no," he muttered, ignoring Rey's raised eyebrow.
"Not usually?" she repeated, when he didn't volunteer an explanation, she laid the chip carefully on the table and leaned back in her chair, studying 5927 as he switched them out. "DeeDee is an outdated unit. Interesting that an out-of-date droid who barely sees any action would qualify for such an expensive upgrade," she noted, careful to keep her voice neutral.
"I paid for it myself," he admitted.
"That's interesting. I didn't realize the First Order compensates you with credits for your service."
"They don't."
"Which begs the question… how did you pay for it?"
"Resurrection Dust. Baudere is the only known source in the galaxy of Resurrection Dust. It's used in all sorts of things because of certain properties that it has. If it's dried and pressed, it can be burned as incense—an incense which makes people hallucinate and, over time, go mad. It's also used in certain recreational drugs-"
"5927! You're a black market drug dealer?" Rey gasped.
"When you say it that way, it sounds horrible. Look, you were just saying that it's imperative that you escape, weren't you? That's going to be very hard to accomplish as it is, but without any resources? It's impossible."
Rey's attention sharpened at the word 'escape'. She leaned forward, close enough that when 5927 glanced over his shoulder and came face-to-face with her, he started in surprise.
"You're actually thinking about it, aren't you? No… you must have been thinking about it even before I said anything," she grinned.
5927 shrugged.
"Why did you believe it necessary to update DeeDee's heuristic processor?" she asked.
"Heuristic processors allow droids to learn outside of their programming—to learn from doing and from the humans they're around. Some people call it, 'the personality chip'," he explained. "First Order medical droids all come equipped with heuristic processors, however there are very strict limits on what a droid can learn with a standard chip—we wouldn't want them picking up shoddy procedure from human medics. Empathy would be a bad thing to learn as well. After all, depleting limited medical resources because they form an attachment to a bad-off patient, isn't cost effective. We also wouldn't want them to pick up any feelings of disloyalty, and most of all, we don't want them to learn to lie.
"Years ago, I modified DeeDee's chip myself. It isn't any fun to play Death Star Bluff with a droid incapable of lying, but there is only so much one can do to with a standard chip. For instance, I can't obliterate the main directive, which is service to the First Order—"
"But with a new chip," Rey interrupted. "He's free to do as he wishes. So what's your plan?"
"Plan? Who said I had a plan?" 5927 scowled. "I'm still thinking it over. Don't go raising your hopes, I haven't got the first idea of how to escape. But, for the sake of argument, if I did decide to plot some daring and elaborate attempt, I wouldn't want it ruined because my best friend is programmed to rat me out."
Rey chuckled and leaned back again, crossing her arms behind her head.
"We're going to get off this rock," she declared, "It's too bad I won't get to see the look on his face when we do!"
5927 leaned over the droid and carefully secured the new chip in place before replacing the head plate.
"There," he mumbled, and keyed in the sequence to begin the droid's start-up protocol.
The droid's body stiffened, and his eyes flashed orange.
"Good Morning, DeeDee," 5927 greeted him.
"My settings indicate that we are near the end of this station's wake cycle," DeeDee replied.
"Welcome back, buddy."
"If you can get a rare heuristic processor in exchange for this… for this… Resurrection Dust, it must be quite valuable. Could you get your hands on enough of it to—"
"To bribe my way onto a resupply ship? Not a chance. Eight-one might be willing to turn a blind eye to a bit of illegal bartering now and then, but he's not going to turn rebel. There's other things I can trade for that might help though."
"Like what?" Rey asked.
MT-5927 gave her a quick glance before springing from his chair and heading for the door. He opened it, stuck his head into the hall, and looked both ways. Satisfied that no one was nearby, he shut the door, and hurried back to where she sat. As he leaned over her, Rey almost flinched at his proximity.
He reached into the drawer, pulled out an unmarked glass bottle of golden liquid, and set it proudly on the desk.
"Corellian Whiskey for one. A bit of liquid courage never hurts," he said. "Grab those mugs behind you."
"Thank-you but—"
"Don't say you can't. I got it because of you, so you know. You're Corellian, after all. Your blood work proves it."
"I might have been born there, but I don't remember it."
"Well this is the best way to be reintroduced," the Medic insisted, reaching for the mugs himself.
When he poured and shoved a mug across the desk to her, she did not refuse. What was the harm after all? 5927 lifted his mug and tapped it against hers.
"To your health!" he grinned.
"Right," she scoffed, but she lifted her mug when he lifted his, and took a sip.
The whiskey burned her throat. She coughed and shot the medic a dirty look when he chuckled.
"It takes a bit of getting used to, I suppose. It goes down easier the more you drink," he offered.
"It takes like acid. A little more than a bit of getting used to I'd say!"
5927 grinned and topped off her mug.
The two drank in companionable silence with the exception of Rey clearing her throat a few times. She noticed that he told the truth about the whiskey going down easier after awhile. The back of her throat soon numbed, and beyond that, each sip she took merely warmed her stomach. Even better, she noticed that when the mug was half emptied, the faint throb in her ears had quieted so that it was barely noticeable, and her mood had improved.
"You can't possibly like being called MT-5927 all the time," she said suddenly.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Well… it's… it's a number, not a name," she insisted.
"It's both."
"Hmmm," she frowned.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"I thought we'd already established that 'Hmmm' means something."
"Alright," she chuckled. "Don't you have a nickname—something shorter that your friends call you?"
"Five-nine."
"No."
"Doc?"
"A little better, but-"
"Brick. In my old unit, back before I was a medic, my nickname was Brick."
"Brick? Why?"
"Because Captain Phasma used to say that I was about as useful in battle as a brick tied to her foot."
Rey laughed, but noticing the glare he shot her way, attempted to turn it into a cough.
"Sorry. I like Brick. Brick is good. It's strong. You need Brick if you're going to build anything. It's better than 5927 at any rate."
He leaned towards her to clink mugs again, but glancing down, noticed that hers had almost emptied.
"One more?" he suggested.
"No. Thank-you but no. It's late, and I should sleep. Kylo Ren thinks that he's going to train me as his apprentice. I'll let him believe that while we find a way off this rock, but I need rest if I'm to keep my guard up around him."
5927 stretched and stood, slid the whiskey bottle back into the drawer and locked it. Rey followed him to the hallway leading back to the recovery wing, still holding her mug, but as she walked, she realized that her head felt strangely light, and the room seemed to list ever so slightly. She stumbled sideways to account for it, lost her balance, and threw her hand out to catch herself.
The mug smashed against the counter, slicing her hand and drenching the sleeve of her shift in whiskey. The alcohol burned a little against her fresh wound, mixing with the blood to run down her hand and arm. Strange that it didn't hurt more for all it bled.
"Clumsy!" She said the word as though it were a curse, and squeezed her hand tightly to stop the bleeding. When 5927 attempted to survey the damage, she hid it behind her back. "No way, Brick! You'll probably want to amputate!"
"Ha! Give it here. Let's see," he ordered.
"It's a scratch. Hand me one of those towels and help me back to my room. I think the floor's a bit uneven."
"Don't be a tough patient, now. I've got Bacta, thanks to your good friend, Kylo. It won't take a minute to—"
"I'm tired. You can look at it when I wake up. It doesn't even hurt, really." Truthfully, it didn't hurt, and she could almost forget it was there at all, if not for the ticklish sensation of the blood running down her arm. How funny! Rey giggled.
"Give us a look, Rey. Don't make me call DeeDee over to hold you down," he teased.
Rey stuck out her tongue and backed away. When he lunged for her, she easily dodged his half-hearted attempt to grab her, but again lost her balance and slammed her shoulder against the wall.
"Owww!" she complained, and giggled again.
"You're drunk," he informed her. "For a Corellian, you sure don't have much of a—"
"Sssshhh…"Rey warned. "Do you hear that?"
"What?" he asked, and cocked his head to the side, listening.
"Like somebody playing a drum, louder and louder and lou—"
The medic used her distraction to lunge again, this time snatching her bloody wrist and yanking her upright.
"Sneaky!" Rey accused, giggling while he used his free hand to pry her fingers apart.
The door slid open and the two froze. The drum beat in Rey's ears merged with the stomp of Kylo Ren's boots as he slowly crossed the room to where they stood.
For an instant she could see everything through his eyes: the pieces of a broken mug on the floor. The smell of whiskey. The blood streaming down her arm and dripping to the floor, and the way 5927 gripped her wrist, as though they were struggling against one another before the door opened.
Her eyes travelled up the length of his black-robed body to the familiar and hated mask beneath his cowl. She opened her mouth, but before she could form a word, his light saber blazed to life in his hand. The fiery beam spun upward, and as he swung down, she managed to scream:
"NOOO!"
The end of his saber stopped only a hair from 5927's neck. Eyes wide, her friend swallowed thickly, staring fixedly at the flickering point before him.
"No!" she repeated. "It's not… it isn't what you think. He was trying to help me!"
She pulled on 5927's arm, forcing him to back-step from the threatening end of Kylo's light saber, but the Knight advanced with them, holding his blade steady.
"Please don't hurt him," she pleaded. "Please don't. He hasn't done anything wrong."
Rey tried to step in front of him, putting herself between the medic and the threat of having his head sliced off, but with the flick of his wrist, Kylo Force threw her to the side.
Rey hit the floor and rolled to a crouch. Glancing up, she saw his gloved hand tighten around the hilt. He was going to do it.
"NO!" she screamed against. "Please no! I'll do whatever you say! I'll be your apprentice. I won't fight you," she bargained.
"You just can't seem to keep your hands off the Stormtroopers, can you?" he demanded, his voice artificially deeper and somewhat metallic.
"I'll be your apprentice- Your real apprentice. I'll do as you say. I'll train," she pleaded. "Please…"
"Get… out…" he hissed through the modulator.
MT-5927 swallowed again and shot Rey a panicked glance.
"Go," she whispered. "Just go now, Brick, please."
Slowly, the medic sidled away from the blade and backed toward the door. Kylo Ren continued to stand completely still, his light saber now threatening empty space.
"Go!" Rey repeated, fearful that at any minute, Kylo Ren would change his mind and swing his blade around to cut the man in half.
5927 nodded and hurried for the door. When it slid shut behind him, Kylo's arm dropped to his side, and the terrifying blade disappeared. He turned to face her, and she winced with the first step he took.
"Get up," he growled.
When she didn't move fast enough, his hand shot forward and snatched her wrist, yanking her roughly to her feet. He did not let go, but brought her hand up to his mask, so that she could see the faint reflection of her bleeding hand in his visor.
"I was going to bed," she explained. "I tripped, and it's… well, it barely hurts. I can have it looked at in the morning."
He dropped her arm.
"You won't be back in the morning. Your training starts now. Grab that towel and follow me."
"Where are we going?" Rey asked, wrapping the towel around her injured hand.
"As my apprentice, you'll be given the rooms next to mine."
"I… I'm fine here… here in sick bay," she stuttered. "I don't mind."
"If you defy me now, scavenger, I will band you again, and you will sleep on the floor by my feet. Chose."
She ducked her head in quick agreement. She could feel the anger in him, just the way she had felt it in the moments before she met the Chaata. He was on the verge of uncontrollable rage, and if she refused him now, he might change his mind and go after the medic.
"Follow me," he repeated.
As he swept from the room, Rey followed meekly in his wake.
They passed out of the medical wing and back through the main hall, to the corridor where she knew his rooms to be. He stopped at an unmarked door, beside the one she had fled through earlier in the evening, and touched the access pad. The door slid open, and Rey found herself in rooms that were almost identical to his own.
At least that meant she'd have her own fresher, and with any luck, a shower. Kylo Ren, however, did not immediately leave, and as he stood beside her, silent and still, she caught herself staring at his mask.
So he was wearing his helmet again. He no longer wanted her to see his face. That could mean that she had indeed injured him earlier, or it might mean that he wanted to intimidate her. If that was so, his silence was doing well enough at that.
"I… I'll sleep then, I suppose," she said, her voice cracking at the end.
"You will begin your training when you wake," he informed her. "We'll start with basic light saber forms—testing you to see what you've already learned from Skywalker."
"Testing me," she repeated, and her thoughts flashed immediately to earlier in the evening, when they had stood in an identical room, tightly pressed together as he moaned against her lips. Her face grew hot.
"If this is going to work," she began, "you need to start treating me like a real apprentice. No more lies, no more mind games or tricks."
Kylo Ren did not face her, but did tilt his head slightly to the side.
"I will push you. I will test you," he answered.
"That's fine. I expect that, but what you won't do, is touch me. Don't kiss me, or put your hands on me. I am your apprentice, and even a sith would not take advantage of his apprentice in such a way."
"I am not a sith!" he snapped.
"Perhaps not, but I certainly don't think your master trained you the way you've attempted to train me. At least I hope he hasn't."
Kylo Ren considered her words silently for a moment. With his face hidden behind the mask, she had no idea how he took her request. Was he annoyed… angered?
"Very well," he answered calmly, "and in return, you will speak only to me, learn only from me, and do only what I tell you to do. If I catch you in the medical wing, or anywhere near MT-5927, I will not hesitate to kill him."
"That hardly seems fair—"
"I WILL BAND YOU LIKE A SLAVE AND NOT ALLOW YOU TO MOVE ONE STEP FROM MY SIDE!" He threatened, his artificial voice rising to its loudest setting.
"Fine!" she snapped. "I'll be ready when you send for me, but right now, I'm tired."
Beneath the mask, he was staring at her, she was certain. He was purposefully not taking the hint to leave her in peace, and she wondered if he was secretly considering banding her anyhow.
"I'll do as you say," she agreed though gritted teeth. "I suppose you were right. It is better if I hate you."
He considered her for a moment more, and then without another word, left the room. His footsteps echoed down the hall, and though she listened, she did not hear his door open.
It was hours later, as she lay in her bed after a long shower, trying to fall asleep, that she heard him return. Through the wall shared by their rooms, came the faint sound of a door sliding open, and then his muffled but heavy boots crossing the floor. Silence then, and she imagined that he was sitting down, removing his mask and boots. Her thoughts were interrupted by a feral growl, and then the sound of a light saber destroying every piece of furniture it touched.
Rey sighed and covered her head with her pillow.
