Miss Jackson wasn't in the bar. Kylo started back towards the car in case she was there, but a light in the library window showed her talking to Miss Holdo, the librarian who had been in charge there forever. He turned back to the bar, determined to wait out his charge in the warmth. In the lobby, where the music from the country-heavy jukebox wasn't too loud, he rang the only number programmed into his phone. There was no sound when it was picked up at the other end. Good.

"Hux. Put me through to the old man."

A grunt, and then the tinny ice-cream-van tones of a cheap hold system. Why the hell Palpatine couldn't shell out for something decent, Kylo didn't know. Suddenly the mangled tones of Greensleeves gave way to his master's voice.

"Ren. Good thing you called. All right your end?"

"We're fine. Settled into the cabin, no-one knows we're there."

"Buono." The old man's breathing was slightly heavy, as if he'd caught a cold. He'd always sounded wheezy, but now it was worse. "I have some bad news. Your friend Canady got picked up yesterday by the Feds."

"What? What for?"

"Some drug warrant. Scemo. I told him not to run that sideline – that I'd make sure he had enough money without needing to do that. Snoke saw him being hustled into a car, next thing we hear, he's singing uccello canoro." The voice at the other end panted a little, out of breath. "Did he say anything to you?"

"Only what I already told you. That he was talking with the Spice Merchants and that I warned him off it." Kylo looked around, but no-one was near, and any doors opening would have released a blast of noise from inside. "He might have been a friend, but I don't do that sort of shit."

"Yeah, I know. I checked on you, just in case. I'm only trusting you with Rey because you've been straight about this stuff. And because I still owe you for saving my life. But that debt can be cancelled. Don't be an idiota. " Another pause, a half-cough. "Listen, if you ring this number and Hux talks to you …"

"Tell him I have a wrong number then hang up, because the whole operation has been compromised. Yeah, I know."

"So let me speak to my granddaughter."

"She …" At that moment, the front door to the bar opened and Miss Jackson walked in. Kylo waved her over. "She's here. Hang on."

"Poppy?" Miss Jackson listened for a minute, nodding. Then she gasped. "No, I didn't know. Unkar never left the house." A pause. "I already told you he was a creep." Another pause. "Well how was I to know he was supposed to go with me?" Then she swung around to stare angrily at Kylo. "All right! Yes! Everywhere! Even in the bath!"

She winced and handed the phone back to Kylo, who held it away from his ear as the elderly man at the other end yelled loudly. When the shouting finished, he brought it back. "She's teasing you, sir. I stay close by, but not that close."

"You'd better not, Ren."

"We need to go. I'll call on Tuesday." There was an affirmative grunt from Palpatine, then the call ended. The girl stood next to him, her mask dangling from one finger as she looked up at him.

"You know, if your grandfather even had the slightest suspicion that I was sharing the bath with you, he'd have me dropped in the lava pits of Mustafar as slowly as he could manage." Kylo turned the phone off. It was the only way to make sure it wasn't being tracked.

"I know." She had that smile on again. "We should head back."

He noticed she was carrying one of the shopping bags from the car, and that it was fairly full and clinked a little as she put it in the back seat. They were barely out of town when she started talking.

"I bought some salad to go with the lasagne. We should be eating more greens. Not that there was much at the store."

"Uh huh." Kylo checked that there were no cars following them. The comment about Canady's arrest spooked him a little. He hadn't expected Palpatine to tell him. Was the old man testing him?

"You're not listening."

"Sorry. Was thinking over something your grandfather … never mind. What did you say?"

"That I'm booked in at the library for my lecture at ten, but I should get there at least fifteen minutes early so we can check the connection. Oh, and the librarian said she knew the people who owned the cabin before. She told me all about Ben – he must have been pretty cool. Did you know she suggested he read a book called Lucky Starr and the Big Sun of … oh, somewhere, and then he borrowed all the books about space that she could find for him? And he made the rockets from a book that he kept so long that the overdue fees were more than the book was worth, so she made him work in the library to make up for it?"

She was babbling a little, but it saved him commenting. And from blurting out Mercury. That summer had been one of the best ones of his life. He knew damned well Miss Holdo had pretended that working in the library was a punishment, while it was the most amazing time he'd ever had. She'd ended up complaining that the model book was worn out, and gave it to him to "get rid of". It was still at his parents' place.

But it meant he couldn't let the librarian see him. Even though it had been at least twenty years, she'd know him still. The face might have aged, but the large ears and even larger nose were a giveaway. At least he hadn't lied to Palpatine about no-one knowing they were in the cabin. Not technically, anyway.

"I'll bring you in Tuesday, and wait for you at the bar."

"Thanks. The exam's in four weeks. Do you think we'll be back in Naboo by then?"

"I don't know." The sky was turning an odd colour, with a greenish tinge that Kylo remembered too well from the only other winter he'd spent up here. "Good thing we left town when we did. It's going to snow."

"It's cold enough." She looked out the window, then back at him. "Look, I'm sorry about stirring Poppy like that. I should have realised it would get you into trouble." She paused, looking down at her nails. He glanced over, and noticed the polish was chipped and there was dirt underneath the nails. He was surprised that she hadn't re-polished them, but then his attention was taken by a flurry of leaves that blew in front of the car. The sigh to his right was deep and heartfelt, followed by a couple of false starts at talking.

"I …"

"It wasn't …"

A minute's more silence, then she spoke. "Look, I'm not very good at communicating. Or at treating people properly. I've been … I'd like us to at least get on."

"I thought we were."

"Well, sort of. But not if you keep calling me Miss Jackson. After all, I don't call you Mr Ren."

"Or just Ren like your grandfather does."

"Yeah. So, um, you can call me Rey."

"Rey. Right. Thank you." He didn't mean to be so brusque, but his attention was divided. For a bit there it was as if there was another car behind them for a while. It was hard to tell in the dimming light, especially as the car was grey and didn't have any lights on. But by the time they got to the turnoff, it was gone.

The cabin had retained a vestige of warmth but as soon as they got in, Kylo headed to the fireplace and used the coals there to build the fire back up. They washed their hands for the required twenty-seconds before heading to the opposite ends of the house. He grabbed a book from the shelf downstairs, and settled into the dilapidated sofa near the fire, while Rey disappeared to her room for some more study. An hour later, he heard her come down the stairs and head to the kitchen. Even in the middle of Agatha Christie, he was still hyper aware, keeping tabs on his charge, the change in the light outside, the gentle sound of snow starting to hit the window and the gradual cooling of the cabin. And the aroma of garlic wafting through from the kitchen. There were other scents – frying onions, fresh basil, something cheesy, but the garlic dominated.

When he finally had to get up anyway, he headed out to the back porch to grab some more wood. This meant going through the kitchen, where Rey was busy presiding over layers of pasta and cheese sauce in a baking dish. He hadn't remembered he had such a thing, but it had no doubt been lurking in some cupboard for years. She must have cased out the kitchen at some point, working out what implements were there and useable. The garlic smell suffused the air, and he could smell it even when he stepped outside.

She didn't say anything as he passed, kicking the back door shut as he hauled the logs, but ten minutes later she called him to a surprisingly well-filled table with a bottle of red wine in the middle. A bowl of green salad and a pair of heavily-garlicked large bread rolls flanked the deep cheesy tray of lasagne.

Rey spread her arms, and adopted the accent and voice of an Italian grandmother. "Eat! Eat! You're too skinny! And have you rung your mother?"

He ignored that and the twinge it gave him, and sat down, pulling the tray towards him while Rey passed him a glass of red wine.

"It's not terribly fancy, but it'll do."

Sipping carefully, he had to agree. It was no Barbaresco, but it was definitely drinkable. "Thanks. I'm surprised you could find wine in town."

"There wasn't much choice, and I wanted one that wasn't in a 40 ounce jug. But I bought two." Rey put a large serve on his plate, leaving little room for the salad. For the first little while there was no noise bar the sounds of food disappearing. Kylo had eaten at plenty of Italian restaurants, and could cook for himself, but having something cooked especially for him was a rare treat these days. He let her refill his glass, and she topped up her own as well.

"So," she said, wiping the last of the sauce off her plate with a piece of bread. "I know you've been working for Poppy for four years, but where did you come from before that?

"Little town called Alderaan."

"Never heard of it."

"It doesn't exist any more. The state wanted to build a dam, so out we all went. My parents never really coped – we ended up in a dump in the back end of Quarrow, which is a hole by itself. So I ran away from home, and ended up in Naboo. Did some work for Snoke, then your grandfather wanted me to work under him."

"What sort of work?"

Kylo thought quickly. As far as he knew, she still thought her grandfather was some sort of rich businessman. "Oh, arranging deliveries, making sure the contracts for the buildings are running on time, that sort of thing." It had been a bit more than that. He knew who Palpatine's lieutenants were, and had deliberately become friends with Pryde. Pryde introduced him to Snoke, and for a year he'd been in charge of minor things – intimidating local drug runners and making sure the proceeds ended up back at Snoke's headquarters. Then he was brought to meet Palpatine himself. That was the day when a rival Don's hitman arrived to kill the old man and facilitate a hostile takeover, as it was described later. Kylo's fast action had saved the Mafioso's life, and he found himself promoted to Capo of a sub-family and running a great number of interesting businesses. Don Palpatine's trust had grown over the following three years, especially as most of the other sub-families had all sorts of trouble – shakedowns disrupted, gambling dens closed down, senior members arrested and jailed. There was trouble through the Palpatine Family, and the general suspicion was that either the Feds had got a mole in, or one of the other Families had infiltrated and were trying to weaken things enough to force Palpatine to retire and hand it all over.

And the contract on his granddaughter absolutely cemented that story. Luckily for Kylo. It gave him the cover he needed, and proved his loyalty beyond all doubt by being trusted to take young Rey away from trouble for a few weeks.

The dirty dishes went in the sink, and Rey took her glass and the half-finished bottle in one hand and held out her other. He looked at it for a minute, not understanding, then she took his hand in hers. Leading him to the dilapidated sofa in front of the fire where he'd spent most of the afternoon, she stacked a few more logs on the hearth, slipped her shoes off and refilled her glass, settling down with her feet tucked under her as she watched the flames. The bottle sat beside her on the floor, its screw top on firmly against accidental knocks.

Kylo brought his own glass and the other bottle. He didn't drink much, but it felt safe enough to indulge tonight. Although that hand-hold was a slight concern. Did she mean anything by it? The snow was now deep enough that anyone driving in would have trouble and make plenty of noise, and no-one would be foolish enough to walk in. Settling on the other side of the sofa, he sipped a little then put his glass down. "That was delicious. Who taught you to cook? Your Poppy? Your parents?"

"One of the places I lived when I was growing up." She finished the glass and poured herself another one, but just held it. "Maz was the best cook around. And a wonderful person. I would have liked to stay there."

"Why didn't you?" He wouldn't have pried, except for the incongruences in her. Her accent was mainly New England, but every now and then a London tone would slip in. She was a child being petulant or bouncy, then a sensible young woman trying to find her place in the world. And her hands. In the light from the reading lamp behind him, he could see her nails. They weren't manicured as they had been yesterday, nor dilapidated as they had been earlier. Now, they were clean and neat, short and utilitarian and not a glimmer of even a clear polish on them. She must have taken off all the decoration when they started to deteriorate. Then she sighed and took another drink.

"I wanted to. Maz wanted me to. She lived in a lovely old house north of London, lots of garden and woods nearby. You could play Pooh-sticks in the stream. I was about seven, going to school, thinking she might decide to keep me. That's the goal." She looked over at him with eyes that weren't seeing him at all. They were wide, and unfocussed, more than just the alcohol could cause. She was caught back in a memory – he recognised the signs. The wine had indeed brought truth.

"You wish for little things. A bed with blankets. A warm room. Being fed regularly. Then dessert. Getting to go on the school excursions. If you get the little things, you hope for a bit more – new clothes, not hand-me-downs. Maybe going to the pictures. But the one thing you hope for, the one thing us kids in the system whispered at night and to each other at the Group Houses, was to be wanted. For your carer to like you so much they asked the Department if they could keep you. If you didn't see someone for a while, you asked, and if someone told you They've got a home, you cried. For happiness, that one of us had found their place, and for sadness that you hadn't. And for bitter, bitter envy – what did they have that you didn't?"

She stopped and looked back at the fire. "Maz was going to ask, but then a man came from the Department. He had things – boiled sweets and lollipops and biscuits. I'd started sucking a lollypop and then he told me it wasn't any good, and he took it back and gave me a whole bag of humbugs instead. Then he left. And two weeks later, a lady came from Naboo with papers that said I was Poppy's granddaughter and had to go back with her."

In a moment she'd drained her glass and put it beside the bottle. "I know he's my grandfather, and he gives me anything I want. A new computer. Money for textbooks and a programming calculator. But even after all these years, he doesn't feel like my grandfather. I don't live with him – never have. I'm in my own house with a cook and a maid, and a minder who tells him everything. There used to be a nanny, until I was twelve, and then it was a housekeeper. And I go to his house for lunch once every week. But he's always having meetings with his people, or he needs to go back to work. He doesn't make me feel safe, and warm, and like I'm at home." A log settled down into the embers, the movement causing a momentary flare-up that illuminated her face, and Kylo almost dropped his glass. She looked as if she was lost, and had given up any chance of being found again.

The silence grew around them, wrapping them in warmth and care with the heat coming from the fireplace, until she gave a slight laugh and reached down for the bottle again. This time, though, she never made it. Toppling over slowly, she laid her head on his knee and began to snore.

Italian translations:
Buono - Good.
Scemo - Fool
uccello canoro - Like a canary
idiota - Idiot.

"Lucky Starr and the Big Sun of Mercury" was one of a set of 1950s kid's novels written by Isaac Asimov under the pseudonym of Paul French.