As big as the Finalizer was, the crew was a bunch of loud gossips and brown-nosers. It didn't take long for Kylo to begin hearing in off hand conversations or too loud whispers things about Apprentice Kira that he neither sought to find out or cared to know.

The bright blue of the hyper space lanes filled the transparisteel viewport of the Knight of Ren's transport ship the Night Buzzard, haloing the back of Kira's head as she busied herself with flight checks and muttered, "Fourteen hours to Marca."

From the passenger seat, Kylo noted that she wore only a simple brown sand mask gathered under the three knots of her hair, disappearing into a massive black cowl wrapped around her shoulders. More exposed skin then he'd probably seen in the months of their acquaintance.

Trudgen Ren, who had been standing at the back of the cockpit, grunted and retreated into the only private quarters on the transport, likely to brood unmoving against a wall until they arrived. Trudgen hardly ever spoke unless it was to order them around, usually to tell them either to fetch something, to kill it or to get out. The quiet hiss of the doors punctuated the silence as Kylo reclined in his seat, watching Kira busy herself with the console.

They rarely had joint missions together outside of training, and mostly they avoided each other. That was going to be impossible on this trip. He might as well entertain himself.

"I do wonder," Kylo mused, his voice modulator broadcasting in a sibilant whisper in the cramped cockpit, and she stiffened, "how a scavenger brat from Jakku could have learned to pilot."

Her fingers stilled on the dials.

"How surprising," she said cooly. "I would think the soon to be great Kylo Ren would have more interesting things to wonder about in his free time."

Kylo twitched. Neither of them could ascend to the title Ren until they had completed their training. He had only an inkling of what that entailed for her, but for him—his training had suffered major setbacks after news broke that Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master, had not been dead as his erstwhile former student had reported.

The burden of masters is to be what their students rise above, Snoke had mused afterwards while dangling Kylo over a cliff. It had taken him days to recover from Snoke's disappointment, and the lesson still burned. He would never become Kylo Ren unless he made good on the promise of his new taken name. Kill the parts of his past that he had already cut away, that had only robbed him of his future.

He shouldn't fall for her bait, but all the same he was no longer in the mood to play.

"Quite," he said through gritted teeth, standing up from his chair and stalking out of the room.

The cramped hall of the transport was too small for him to linger comfortably. The door at the far end of the hall—the one Trudgen had retreated too—gleamed an occupied red, so he turned abruptly to the other remaining door—the barracks— and slammed his fist on the the lock panel once it closed shut behind him. Let her sleep in the cockpit for all he cared.

The room was dark save for the slow pulse of red of the lock behind him, illuminating the dark outline of a set of four bunkbeds crammed into the space. The walkway was too small for him to walk straight through. He was forced to turn sideways in order reach the farthest bunk at the end, and his shins pressed into the bunk opposite as he sat heavily down, head ducked to avoid the top bunk from clobbering him. How eight people could possibly fit in this space was beyond him. He could hardly breath. He wrenched his helmet off, wet hair clinging to his forehead. He set the mask heavily on the thin pallet beside him.

Frankly, the bunks were not long enough for him to lay down on without his feet invading the adjacent bunk, and he may never wedge himself out again if he tried. So he sat there, elbows on knees and gloved hands steepled in front of his face. He closed his eyes.

Traditional meditation was the most useless training exercise ever conceived. Kylo was also terrible at it. Being pushed to his physical limits did more to clear his head then sitting still and attempting to "empty" himself, to let go of all the churning internal bullshit.

Kylo clenched a fist, leather gloves creaking. Truthfully, he was not good at letting anything go. Even if it was trash, it was his, no one else's. As such, meditation had always felt like pulling his own teeth out with his bare hands, and he'd said as much to his uncle when he got old enough to stop worshipping the ground he walked on.

Then you are not trying hard enough, Luke had said patiently— and what a double edged sword that had been. Luke had always been patient and a young Ben had never been sure if that was just who his uncle was or if he really believed that Ben could do it, that maybe if Ben just tried harder—

The metal bunk across from him creaked warningly. His force control was shit. Kylo grit his teeth, then slowly forced his fists to unclench, the bed rocking back where it was bolted to the floor. Meditation was so pointless.

Then you are not trying hard enough.

Kylo was nothing if not a masochist.

A fruitless hour later, punctuated by the occasional crunch of surrounding metal furniture, Kylo was abruptly roused from his thoughts when there was an electronic beep at the end of the room.

The light of the door turned green before it opened and Apprentice Kira casually strolled in.

Every muscle in Kylo's body tensed like he'd been electrocuted.

"How did you open that," he bit out. One could not force open these magnetically locked doors without irreparably damaging the sensitive systems— he'd tried.

"I grew bored waiting," she shrugged breezily, which was of course not an answer. She paused at the beginning of the walk way and laid a hand on the farthest bunk from him. He couldn't see her face, only the profile of her outlined in green. "Beside it's gonna be at least twelve hours more to Marca. I'd better sleep before you destroy all the remaining beds."

Kylo nearly brained himself on the top bunk when he tried to stand, until he thought better of it. Getting to her through the furniture would be a chore. "Excuse me?"

She yawned, hopping up unto the top bunk with a lithe, enviable grace that he would never achieve, then rolled over so her back was to him. "Relax, Kylo," she said, voice mumbled and already sleepy. "It's called a joke. Also, try not to kill me in my sleep."

Kylo stared at her back, rendered speechless. She was—this was—ridiculous. He had half a mind to blow up all the furniture in the room out of pure spite, never mind that they were bolted down and he might tear the ship apart in the process—

A few seconds later…she started snoring.

Kylo rarely slept on missions and never in the presence of others. He rarely slept well, period. Didn't matter how long the trip or how tired he was or even how much he wanted to. Insomnia had been a companion since he was a child and his miserable best friend as an adult— and this long before he had left his old life behind and thrown himself into the veritable pit of blood thirsty lions that was the First Order.

So when one minute he was closing his eyes to tune out her good awful snoring and the next he was opening them again to find Kira on the bottom bunk opposite of him looking like she'd been sitting there for hours, Kylo blinked and was convinced for a long moment that he was hallucinating.

He wasn't. His mouth felt like sandpaper, his eyes dry and crusty. He'd slumped awkwardly against the wall at some point and he had a painful crick in his neck as a result. All signs that he had actually fallen asleep.

But what really convinced him in the end was that Kira was in front of him…and she wasn't wearing her mask.

Later, Kylo would blame his sleep disorientation for the way his eyes eagerly drank her in. Kira had her arms wrapped around one knee and a booted foot dangling over the edge close to his legs, staring at a fixed point on the ceiling. She was humming of all things. And she was….as delicate as he'd thought she would be. Straight nose, a full mouth, cheeks chafed where the straps had dug into her skin, and freckles, so many freckles, dusting all over. She was chewing the corner of her lip, a single dimple digging into her left check. With her hair in it's normal three knots, escaped tendrils curling around her ears and the nape of her neck….

How the fuck did this girl repeatedly knock him around during their training sessions.

He must have stiffened or made a sound, because Kira's eyes flicked to his and her nose crinkled ever so slightly, mouth quirking. Along with the mask, she'd ditched the cowl too. The thin material of her short sleeve top gaped as she leaned forward with a smile, revealing a long pale throat and a shadow of cleavage. "Good morning, sunshine."

Her voice was low and teasing, chocolate and wine on a warm Hosnien Prime evening under city lights.

Kylo was speechless—and the higher functioning part of his brain told him she was doing it on purpose. There could be no other reason for this situation he'd awoken to. They could hardly stand each other on their "good" days. Certainly this wasn't the normal "Kira" he was used to.

The base part of his brain, however, took one look at that red mouth and the rucked fabric around her neck and breasts and—Fuck.

He needed to get laid. And not with—fuck.

Kylo averted his eyes and grunted, sitting up. "Time?" His voice could have come from the tectonic bowels of a planet, all gravel.

Kira bit her lip slightly, the booted foot stretched closest to him flexing a little and nearly brushing his knee. Her ankle was small, delicate looking. His hind brain helpfully suggested that it would be a simple matter to wrap his whole hand around it and then some.

"Five hours left," she said. Then, lowly, "So you do take off your mask."

Kylo grunted. What was with this girl and masks. He didn't hear her bothering the Knights of Ren about theirs or trying to repeatedly dislodge it from their skulls. Speaking of which… he glanced to the left at said object, which sat tilted on it's side at the end of the bed.

He felt a strong urge to put it on, claustrophobic room be damned. He knew he wasn't good at controlling his emotions—part and parcel with his inability to meditate. But Kira's dark eyes were amused like she just knew what he was thinking and was seeing if he'd retreat like a coward.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" he muttered, rubbing his face with a gloved hand.

Kira tutted. "Ship is fine, already checked on things. And Trudgen is being his usual unavailable self." Then she cocked her head, edge of her mouth curling. "Why, am I bothering you?"

She sounded delighted.

"Why yes, actually," he ground out, dropping his hand to glare at her. For all the good it ever did.

And now she looked delighted, and damn him if his eyes didn't stray to her breasts again.

"Don't be so petty," She said, fingers playing with the fabric near her knee. "Unless you think destroying our ship in the middle of a hyperspace jump just to do whatever you were doing a few hours ago is a good idea, you might as well just talk to me." Fingers played with a frayed edge. "For once."

For a moment he contemplated just heading towards the cockpit to get away from her—in which case, he would surrender the room to her and have to sit in a cramped chair for five more hours. His lips curled in distaste.

"About what," he said mulishly, shifting slightly to rest his weight better against the wall.

Rey rested her chin on her knee, staring at him. Her eyelashes were long and full. He'd always thought his own brown eyes were bland as fuck but on her the color was dark and rich and deep.

"I didn't learn on Jakku," she said suddenly. At Kylo's blank stare, she added. "Piloting. I was only there until I was six. I learned piloting on Savareen, with the Dawn. I drove the getaway vehicles until I was nine."

It took him a moment to realize she was answering his question from hours ago, and it took him longer to realize she wasn't talking about a metaphorical sunrise. Despite himself, he couldn't help the way his eyebrows raised into his hairline. "The Crimson Dawn?" At her nod, he added," They let a nine year old fly?"

She huffed. "I happened to be very good at it." Her eyes slid to his, voice lowering. "As you are, I bet."

Kylo's jaw twitched. There was no response to that without sounding either grossly arrogant or entirely inappropriate.

Smiling slightly, Kira continued, "Well, you know how it is with the Force sometimes. Once you've got the basics it becomes as natural as breathing. Within the year, I was piloting the transports, and after that moved on to the death squads." Her face turned flat here. "I got good at that too."

If the rumors were true, then at fourteen, Kira had been at the top of the syndicate underworld, her name tied to some of the biggest figureheads. And then they'd tried to kill her. Her own syndicate had gutted her in one of their warehouses and then abandoned her to raiding First Order troops. It should have been a death sentence. Except, of course, that the FO had decided to keep her.

And here she was, several years later, an apprentice to the Knights of Ren.

Kylo's eyes flicked to the floor.

At six, he'd been taking private tutoring lessons from Chandrillan University professors and had to be watched at night by the maid because he couldn't sleep through his increasingly erratic night terrors. At eight, he had finally stopped crying every time his parents were gone for month long business trips. The contrast between her childhood and his couldn't have been more starker.

There were a whole host of glittery sharp feelings in his chest that didn't deserve definition, either because he didn't know what they were, they didn't make sense toward her, or they felt shamefully selfish. And that just made him angry.

"I see," he said, tight lipped.

She shrugged. "You either rise with the Dawn or you don't." Her tone was matter of fact. It sounded like a oft-cited mantra, or a prayer. "The First Order is the same. They don't care about us. They care about results." Her eyes met his, intense. "If you want something more in this life, you have to take it…or it will be taken from you."

The words hovered between them, silver limned and tempting.

Then she was shaking herself, the way a dog might rid itself of water, and was scooting closer with a mischievous look. He stiffened as her foot crossed the gap between them to rest on his side of the bunk, near flush against his thigh. She was now blocking his exit.

"Speaking of which….your turn," she said playfully, nudging him with her boot.

His hand snapped down and gripped her ankle tightly, a warning. She merely grinned. His baser brain whispered told you so at the delicate whirl of ankle bone under his thumb.

His jaw worked. "Stop with the games."

"Why?" She leaned close, her eyelids fluttering, "Do you want something more?" and then something clicked into place, just like that time in the training room.

He lay where she had knocked him to the ground, that god forsaken helmet crumpled in the corner. A man who could lay waste to mountains, laid low at her feet. He looked up at her, his eyes obsidian and hateful and so rich in this world of unfeeling masks, her new name a rasp on his lips. She hated the name. Especially from him. She wanted her real name falling from his mouth, as she planted her foot on his chest—

He roughly shoved her foot away from him.

Her eyes glittered. "Afraid?"

Something violent skittered white hot in his chest. He stood, snatching up his helmet. He didn't allow himself to savor the way she leaned back, the way she looked up at him between hooded eyes— this was all part of her game. He'd rather sit in those stupid too small chairs in the cockpit for five hours then sit another minute in here with her.

He'd only made it a few steps when she said casually to his back, "Suit yourself. I know enough anyway."

His face, the day they had met. So angry, so desperate to hide. She'd never met a Jedi as expressive as him.

He whirled around, a fist hitting the middle bunk and caving a little under the force. "And what," he bit out, hate bitter and burning in his mouth, "do you think you know about me."

Kira hadn't so much as stirred at his outburst. But she did rise to her feet to meet him now and the look of mockery on her face made him light headed. If she had been someone else before, she was full Kira now.

"Poor Ben Solo," she whispered, and he flinched. No one should know that name. "Had everything in the world and yet cared for none of it. Family wasn't enough. Love wasn't enough. Couldn't ever be good enough. Had to try to kill it all, instead."

He would have reached out and choked her with his bare hands if she were close enough. The beds around them started to lean away from him, the panels above them groaning at the metallic joins. If they weren't still in hyper space, he would have ripped the ship apart.

"You know nothing," he hissed, and the memories of a hellish landscape of sand he had never known filled his mind. "You are no one. You're just Rey, the spawn of filthy junk traders that sold you for drinking money to the syndicates. You know nothing about my life, because everyone in your life has only ever abandoned you and left you to die."

She paled, expression cracking a little and for a moment he got a glimpse in her eyes of a black chasm, endless and unquenchable and as familiar as the one in his own. But then her expression shuttered closed. "At least I am not ashamed of who I am."

GOOD FOR YOU.

He wanted to shout it in her face, to throttle her. But he couldn't bear letting the words past his lips. It would say too much. He'd already said too much.

Without a word, he threw his helmet at the ground between them. It caved and popped, glass showering everywhere. "I am not ashamed," he said, lips trembling, "of what I will become." Then he stormed towards the entrance of the room, unable to look at her anymore.