She recognized Starkiller Base immediately—though the angle seemed all wrong. The girl was close, she could faintly feel the pull that the young force user did not realize emitted. The girl could not hide for long.

"Ben!"

The shout was pained, and echoed loudly through the chamber. She froze, overwhelmed by a tidal wave of conflicting emotions.

No. Why? Why here? Why now? Why couldn't he have stayed out of it? She'd known the minute she'd spotted the Millennium Falcon, daringly crashed above the edge of the Eastern Rim, that the time had finally come. She would face Han Solo and prove her loyalty… or perhaps not. The light was beckoning to her once again—promising impossible scenarios of things she rarely allowed herself to consider.

She turned to face the man standing at the end of the walkway.

"Han Solo. I've been waiting for this day for a long time." Her voice was distorted and hollow.

The sound of his slow, deliberate footsteps as he made his way down the bridge caused her to cringe beneath the mask. When had he grown so old?

"Take off that mask. You don't need it," Han demanded.

"What do you think you'll see if I do?" she countered.

"The face of my son!"

Han stopped and waited—still far enough away that he could run. The old man had not lost his caution. She reached up and unlatched the helmet, lowering it slowly as they regarded one another in silence.

"Your son is gone," she warned him. "He was weak and foolish like his father. So I destroyed him."

Han took a few more ambling steps forward. He was still moving slowly, careful to maintain eye contact, as though he was afraid she would spook.

"That's what Snoke wants you to believe, but it's not true. My son is alive!" Han growled.

Relief washed over her, and in that instant something deep within her awoke—a voice which struggled against her, desperate to cry out, 'I AM here. I am still here!' How was it that Han could be so certain? The man who had never really known her—never even tried. She would NOT be seduced!

"No. The Supreme Leader is wise," she insisted, though there was hesitance in her voice now, and Han surely sensed it.

"Snoke is using you for your power," he said. He was closer now, too close. "When he gets what he wants he'll crush you."

Han stopped directly in front of her. Close enough that she could reach out and—

She began to take a step back, but stopped herself. She had to face this.

"You know it's true," Han observed.

"It's too late," she whispered. She was shaking now, as two wills battled inside of her.

"No it's not. Leave here with me and come home," Han paused and his eyes bored into hers. "I miss you."

With those words, something within her ripped. The pain was real and visceral. That voice from before, the one which insisted Han Solo was 'father', cried out that it could all end now. She saw a way out.

"I'm being torn apart!" she gasped. "I want to be free of this pain. I know what I have to do, but I don't know if I have the strength to do it. Will you help me?"

"Yes. Anything."

She released the helmet, and it clunked loudly against the floor. Carefully, she removed her lightsaber from her belt and offered it to him with both hands. She was not strong enough to do it, but Father would be. Father was no Jedi. He would do what Uncle Luke could not.

Han placed his hand over the lightsaber, confused, but ready. As she turned the emitter towards herself, Father's eyes grew wide and horrified. He gripped the hilt, fighting against her, trying to turn it away.

They stared into each others eyes, arguing without words as the hilt shook with the force of the struggle between them.

Han Solo would not give her peace. He was not strong enough to understand that killing her was the only way to stop her. He was weak and foolish, like Skywalker.

The struggle inside her head stopped as she twisted her wrist the other way, and ignited the blade.

The light saber slashed though him, and he slumped forward, the shock evident on his face. It was done, she thought, exhaling a shaky breath. She had finally chosen. The traitorous voice within her went immediately silent, as though she had finally managed to kill it along with Han Solo. For the first time since she could remember, she felt peace.

"Thank you," she breathed, yanking the blade out. Angry sparks flew from his flesh with the force of her withdraw. From somewhere above, the scavenger's horrified scream rang out, as with his last ounce of strength, Han Solo lifted one shaking hand and laid it gently against the side of her face.

A new pain started within her, clenching her stomach, making her want to throw up, trying to force its way out of her mouth as a sob or a scream. What have we done? WHAT HAVE WE DONE?

This was not peace! The Supreme Leader lied. Han's death was not a reprieve for them.

The man she had called Father took one last breath and fell… backwards into the abyss.

She heard a sound then that she had only heard once before—the cry of a wookie in deep anguish. Before she could react, a searing pain shot through her side, stealing her breath away. She fell to her knees, clutching the bleeding hole that had torn through her.

And then the room exploded.

She glanced up and was horrified to see herself standing on the balcony. That feeling of horror was at odds with another feeling—not her own. The feeling of relief that the scavenger girl was alive and close, but as her eyes passed to the figure standing beside the girl, she was seized with rage. Beside the girl, THEIR girl… was the traitor. The traitor who had caused all of this to happen. The traitor who had no doubt been the one to bring Han Solo to his death. The traitor who now clutched the girl's hand and pulled her away. The traitor who was going to take everything from them.

No! She would not let that happen. She would not lose the girl. She had allowed the traitor to live once. She would not make that mistake again.

Rey awoke as a faint scream died on her lips. She sat up and flung the covers off, leaping immediately to her feet.

Her heart was racing, her mind a confused stew of memories real and imagined—but then the dream had seemed so real, all of it! The expression on Han's face would be stamped forever in her mind.

She reached up to swipe at her blurry eyes and realized that she was crying, that it was as if he had died all over again, and Finn! Seeing Finn, even through eyes clouded with hate, was enough to remind her of how much she missed him, and Poe, and Chewie, and—

Rey sucked in a sharp breath and covered her face with her hands. She would NOT break down! All of those people, her friends, were waiting for her to come home. Perhaps they were even looking for her. Maybe that was what they were doing during the raid on the First Order stronghold.

At any rate, she had to keep it together. It was only a dream. Finn was alive, and far away where Kylo Ren could not hurt him. These were only memories, things which had already happened.

She sat down on the bed, and began to massage her forehead.

Did Kylo Ren always dream of the past? Why was it that she only seemed to be able to enter his head while she was sleeping? Was she using the dark side of the Force unknowingly? And why did her head hurt so terribly?

Although she laid back down, she was not able to fall asleep again. Her mind returned time after time to the moment when Kylo Ren ignited his blade, killing Han Solo. Though strangely, she was starting to feel faint stirrings of pity for the monster. There was at least a small part of him that hadn't wanted to kill his father. In fact, if what she had seen was truly his memory, there was a part of him that would have preferred dying over murdering his father. Also, there was that moment—that brief few seconds, when Han had reached up to touch the face of his son for the last time, and Kylo had felt real and true horror at what he'd done.

She wondered, not for the first time, if he was somewhat mad.

She was still lost in her thoughts when the door opened, and DD-13 announced himself by asking if she was awake.

"I am, yes!" she agreed, sitting up quickly. "Where's Brick, DeeDee?"

"MT-5927 is unable to attend to you this morning due to a no contact order from a superior officer. However, I am fully capable of assessing and treating any wound with a severity level of 1 to 4, independently. Please extend your hand, patient."

Rey dutifully held her hand out to the droid. It had long since ceased to bleed, but trying to straighten her hand caused her to flinch. DeeDee's eyes glowed, emitting a wide beam of orange light which swept across the palm of her outstretched hand.

"Right hand wound of approximately 2 scale 3 in length, depth estimate of .02. Wound severity assessment level 2," DeeDee announced. "Suggested treatment, one quarter unit of Bacta administered by injection at site."

"It was Kylo Ren wasn't it?" Rey guessed. "He ordered Brick not to have any contact with me, didn't he?"

"I am unable to confirm the origination of the no contact order," DeeDee replied.

Rey flinched again as DeeDee's needle shot forward and stabbed into her hand. The injection stung, but she forgot that after a few seconds as her healing wound began to itch.

"At two hours past the start of the last sleep cycle, Commander Ren entered the Med Bay and spoke with MT-5927 for exactly 7 minutes," DeeDee continued. "There were no droids present and no record made at the time of this meeting. I was informed of the no contact order directly after this meeting occurred."

Rey smirked. Perhaps the new chip was already beginning to work. DeeDee was offering information that he didn't have to, to someone who was not a member of the First Order.

"DeeDee, if I had a message for Brick, would you be able to deliver it to him without informing anyone else?" she asked.

DD-13 rescanned her hand, and apparently satisfied with the improvement, released its grip on her.

"My intent and abilities are occasionally incompatible," the droid informed her. "I can deliver a message covertly, however, my memory chip is removable and readable to any officer with a ranking higher than squad leader."

Rey nodded her understanding.

"I get it. Look, would you just tell him… tell him that I'm sorry about what happened last night, and that he should… he should know that nothing has changed. Can you tell him that for me?"

"I can. Would you like me to-"

DeeDee's question was interrupted by the door opening, and the arrival of one of the ubiquitous black-robed acolytes. He carried a parcel tied in black cloth which he set reverently on the table before giving her a short, stiff bow.

"Armor for Lord Ren's new apprentice," he hissed as he backed away.

Before she could ask him anything, he was gone.

"Armor, huh?" Rey scoffed, flexing her newly healed hand. "I hope he doesn't think I'm going to wear one of those ridiculous helmets."

"If I can be of no further service…" DD-13 excused itself.

"Oh, right. No, go on. I'm fine."

With the droid gone, Rey inspected the contents of the parcel. There was a hooded robe, made of the same stiff, woven black fabric that Kylo Ren wore, a new pair of boots, and what she assumed was a breastplate made of shiny black metal.

She dressed quickly, pulling the robe over her thin shift. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the polished metal face of a cabinet door, Rey shuddered and quickly looked away. She looked a great deal like the other acolytes she had seen.

When the knock came on her door, she was ready for it. She had sensed him approaching.

"You're awake," Kylo Ren greeted her. He paused in the doorway, and from the slight tilt of his helmet, she had the feeling that beneath it, he was looking her over. When she didn't reply, he stiffened, almost imperceptibly. "Come with me," he ordered.

She followed him through the Citadel without a word. She had agreed to be his apprentice. She would wear his ridiculous costume. She would let him think he'd won, but she didn't have to be gracious. She didn't owe him friendship, or banter. She would no longer give him the satisfaction of believing that they had anything in common. She would speak only when spoken to. It was a small rebellion, a stand against civility, but at least it was something.

The training room was a cavernous space, with tapering walls that curved into an arched ceiling high overhead. Light radiated from strips along the padded floor as they entered, wreathing the ceiling in shadows, making it seem as though it was farther overhead than it was. Along the opposite wall a collection of heavy, old-fashioned weapons were arranged neatly in a rack.

Kylo Ren stopped and turned to face her. The silence between them was deafening. Was he waiting for her to speak first? He could wait forever then! He could—

"There are seven forms of light saber combat developed by the Jedi," he began.

"There are three!" she corrected him, forgetting her resolve almost immediately.

"Seven…" he repeated and paused. "Yes, I know what Skywalker teaches. I trained under him as well. Luke Skywalker is admittedly, a skilled duelist. He learned his basic forms from Obi-wan, but he hadn't the time to learn properly. He learned forms from instinct, and created the three styles himself. Forget those. Now you will be trained properly. We begin with the first form, Shii-Cho."

At this he strode past her, to a collection of what she though was old-fashioned metal armor. With a flick of his wrist, the armor righted itself, standing up to form the shell of a body. Kylo's light saber blazed in his hand.

Turning to see that she was paying attention, he swung his blade in a lazy circle around the armor's torso.

"We'll begin with the six zones of attack. When you master those, we will move on to the three rings of defense," he said.

Quickly, he demonstrated each attack. Although Rey paid careful attention, she wasn't sure she'd be able to remember each of his moves. When he finished, switched off his blade, she swallowed nervously.

"Well?" he prompted.

"I haven't got a light saber," she reminded him.

With an agitated sigh, his arm shot up and his hand stretched toward the rack. In answer, an old sword rattled free and flew to his hand. This he tossed at her feet.

"It's much heavier than a—"

"That's the point," he snapped. "Now pick it up."

Scowling, Rey did so, and immediately rushed at the armor, bringing the sword down upon its head with all the fury she felt towards him.

The armor clanged and the blade reverberated wildly in her hands, causing her to drop it.

Kylo Ren sighed again—a strange distorted sound coming through his modifier.

"You can't kill an empty suit of armor," he reminded her, "the point of this exercise is to learn the appropriate striking marks. Force is unnecessary."

Flushing, and gritting her teeth to keep from replying, she picked up the sword, and swung it toward the right arm of the armor.

"Zone Two," she muttered as it clanged again.

After he was satisfied with her attacks, he taught her the corresponding parrys, using an antiquated sword himself. Most were familiar to her, and as they went along, she began swinging her sword faster, and faster, hoping that she might catch him off guard, or even drive him back a little.

Unfortunately, he seemed to have no problem blocking each and every one of her thrusts. With a sudden spark of inspiration, Rey swung to her left and feinted an attack to zone three. When he moved to block, she swept upward, almost catching him in the armpit, but he was faster. With his free hand, he caught her sword wrist and twisted it violently, forcing her to drop her weapon.

"That's not a Shii-Cho attack!" he hissed.

"No. It isn't, but if you're really in a fight you should expect—"

"This is NOT a fight, scavenger. This is practice, Shii-Cho practice, and you will refrain from-"

"Let's fight then," she interrupted. When he didn't reply, she swept her sword up and held it defensively in front of her. "Come on, you said yourself that you wanted to see what I know. Now is as good a time as any. Spar with me!"

"I am the Master here!" he growled.

"Prove it then," she grinned cruelly, "because the last time I remember fighting you—"

With a snarl, he stepped toward her. His sword flashed, and she moved to block it in the nick of time, stopping the blade mere inches from her face. She smirked behind their crossed blades as they pushed against one another.

"Now this is familiar," she taunted.

His foot shot forward, hooking her ankle, and almost sweeping her off her feet. She ducked and rolled to the side, narrowly missing the blade that he brought down. She stepped back and crouched, and when he swung, she leapt back again.

She was leading him toward it slowly, hoping it would be too late when he realized what she had planned. Ducking yet another of his swings, and allowing him to press her back another few steps, she finally reached her goal. She was within arms' reach of the weapons rack.

Before he could realize what she intended, she swung swiftly downward, and as he moved to block, she reached back and ripped a second sword from the rack, swinging it at his other side.

She was flung forcefully back, as if an invisible hand had picked her up and thrown her. She hit the wall, hard, and slid down it, collapsing at the base. Stars and dark spots danced before her eyes.

"Rey?"

She heard the thump of a sword falling to the floor, and then his quick, muffled footsteps.

She couldn't focus her eyes, but something heavy hit the floor next to her. When she tried to look at it, it seemed like nothing more than a black and silver blob.

"Rey?" his voice was different, more human somehow—gentle sounding.

One of his large hands slid beneath her head, cradling it as he lifted her. Slowly, his face came into focus… his real face—large, dark eyes, the slightly fuller lower lip. She swallowed around a lump in her throat. Something akin to relief flowed through her. She hadn't realized how much she'd wanted to actually see his face again until that very moment.

He carefully brushed the strands of hair that had escaped her buns away from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek for slightly longer than necessary.

"Are you injured?" he asked, his voice low.

"You… you threw me into a wall," she mumbled.

"You were going to hack my arm off," he reminded her.

"You used the Force against me. You know I can't—"

"It was a well-thought out move you made. I didn't expect it," he cut her off.

She closed her mouth against replying, and stared back at him, still somewhat dazed. Once again, his face was too close to hers, dangerously close.

"What is it? What are you thinking?" he demanded, and his fingers returned to smooth back the loose strands of hair, tucking them gently behind her ear. It made her think of the time he had held the water bottle to her lips above the Resurrection Field, and when he had carried her for days, and the night when she had been shivering from cold and his hands had wrapped around her and-

"That I hate your mask. I-I hate it." She stuttered. "You don't need it. You just wear it so that no one will see… will see…"

"Don't mistake me for someone I am not, Rey," he warned. He withdrew his hand, but she reached out and caught his wrist, causing his eyes to widen in surprise.

"You weren't supposed to touch me," she whispered.

He glanced away, but she reached up and caught her fingers in his hair, giving his head a firm tug.

"You weren't supposed to-"

He stopped her words with his lips and she gasped against them before kissing him back, tightening her hold on him, trying to bring him closer still. The hand holding her head, slid down to grasp her neck, while his free hand slid over her shoulder, and across the heavy fabric covering her chest. He slid his arm beneath her, hauling her to her knees, and then squeezing her against himself.

He buried his face against her neck, kissing and biting the tender flesh at the base of it, while his hands moved to the cord that cinched her robe around the waist. Breathing raggedly, with her lips pressed to his forehead, she helped him to unknot the tie, and threw her arms up, allowing him to tug the robe hastily off over her head. She shivered in her thin shift at the feel of his gloved hand moving up her leg as he kissed beneath her chin.

She fell back, pulling him with her, feeling the weight of his body on top of hers. He leaned back, straddling her, so that he could look down on her while he removed his gloves and tossed them to the side. When his hands returned to her body, she gasped at the warmth of his skin, closing her eyes as his fingers skimmed along her inner thigh, pushing the fabric of her shift up.

He was watching her still, perhaps waiting for her to—

The door to the training room opened, and twisting her head quickly to the side, Rey could see at least a half a dozen pairs of boots entering.

"Well, well… what do we have here?" hissed an unfamiliar voice.