Kylo Ren tries to apologize. Doesn't go exactly as planned, but there is at least some kind of truce. A much tamer chapter (he came crushing down from the narcosis of the previous chapter).
I will not pretend
I will not put on a smile
I will not say I'm all right for you
When all I wanted was to be good
To do everything in truth
To do everything in truth.
Martha Wainwright, Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole.
Intercom activates.
"I need to talk to you".
Need.
Exactly what it is – need. He could've used the ceremonial droid, but that bucket can't convey the basic need he feels. Something between an endless current of apologies and that gentle and passionate love making they had.
He had an unnerving feeling he'll be met with the usual "Prisoner has escaped" drivel. But nothing happens. She's still there. She's still furious, but her fury began hardening and cooling like hot lava. She feels impenetrable. No Force bond – no communication: he'd take it easier if she cursed him the moment he entered the orbit.
She needs some time to open. There is frustration behind that door and angry hesitation.
She opens eventually and for some reason, his first impression is that she's even more beautiful than before. And soon enough, he realizes why – it's her old open woven tabard from the Throne Room. Everything is in place, except for the belt – it lies behind her. She was packing and re-packing (why?).
But before he can analyze her thoughts and her actions in his absence, his eyes wander. (He really misses his former masochistic self-control). Her forearms are strong (had she been working out?). The shoulder wound is gone (he almost misses that mark). From the torn sleeves of the despised tan uniform, she made arm wrappings (a Jedi scavenger she is still). Her hair is pulled up at the back of her head like it was back then, onboard the "Supremacy" (he remembers that bundle of brown hair moving before him as he escorts her to the Throne Room) and her breathing is shorter.
She's been definitely working out, probably imagining punching him into oblivion, turning his face into mush.
Her upper lip curls up in disgust.
"You stink".
Actually, he cannot, it is a physical impossibility – they all had to go through obligatory decontamination after that littered planet and he scrubbed himself until sores appeared this morning, knowing that her Jedi senses will pick up on all that he did. Everything – from bloodshed to fucking that trooper to almost killing her precious Satine – why did he spare that bitch's life again?
But breathe. Focus. He tries to calm his hectic mind. Those useless Jedi teachings would now come in handy.
Breathe.
Her eyes narrow.
"The turret. 10 minutes", she says and slams the door shut.
He could easily pull her from where she's standing and drag her wherever the hell he wants…
Breathe.
Focus.
Those 10 minutes feel like eternity and he almost thinks she crossed him. Not even Emperor's fancy lake can soothe his nerves.
But precisely at the arranged time, she comes. She's changed. And the change dumbfounds him.
One of those Holdo-esque dresses, only with a shorter and symmetrical cape reaching her waist from behind and with a conspicuous cut on the chest.
He has no objection to the form and fit, in fact, he likes the sight of that floating material gently hugging her hips and narrow waist.
But the color and that décolletage – those just leave him sipping with anger. Had she remained in that dark grey tabard, the effect would be less. No one here really knows much about the Jedi dress code. But as for the other part of that murderous alliance… they very well know their color preference.
He'll find out who authorized that dress and demote that idiot.
The color is amber with golden threads – it should probably pay homage to the old aristocracy and the Sith traditions, but on her it looks like a single Resistance banner, tauntingly displayed at the very centre of the First Order facility.
And she is completely aware what she's doing, so there's no place for coincidence here. She even strides slower and lets the material wave back and forth, left and right, like she's waving a huge Resistance flag right in front of his face. He can almost picture her – rummaging through the wardrobe, disgusted and dissatisfied, until she finds… this piece.
Even the cut out resembles the wings of the Resistance, with middle part covering the delicate shade between her breasts.
"You've… changed", he says dryly.
"I operate with what you give me", she retorts coldly.
And out of 100 dresses you had to pick that one up?
"You'll be happy to hear that your friend Satine is alive", he squeezes the words out to her with outmost effort.
There is a sign of relief on her face, but she doesn't budge. She glares at him sternly as he continues.
"And as I suspected, that b… she is Force sensitive", he growls.
This one is a genuine surprise. She didn't quite notice it and now she ponders on that fact. She frowns – what implications does it have, considering the Jedi killer scanned her and left her alive? Will he go back and finish the job? Killing of every remaining Force sensitive, child and adult, in the galaxy?
Her hesitation and silence prompt him to continue.
"And tell the pilot and the Stormtrooper defector that their X junk is too conspicuous", he says, wanting to sound cold, when he in fact gloats openly.
And now she's genuinely shocked.
You can't just wave with that dress like that and go unpunished…
Breathe, just breathe.
She is also genuinely anxious and grabs him by his forearm. Her grip is firm and demanding – incredible how much power can just one small hand have. The sensation goes through him like an electric current.
"What do you plan to do?" Her eyes are now widening with worry.
He likes her hand on him and the proverbial upper hand he suddenly has, but her annoying loyalty to the Resistance dampens the small triumph.
"What do I plan to do? I plan to do exactly nothing", he barks. "Mandalore is settled. Nite Owls are nothing. Your Resistance is nothing. I do not go around and wage war against Dejarik clubs".
She realizes they are touching and so quickly lets go. That contact is truly discomforting to her, he can tell.
It's agonizing.
"Just for discussion sake", he continues. "If I was to do something about it, what would you do?"
She doesn't answer and she doesn't look directly at him anymore.
She is struggling. He stepped into something that is far more complicated than he realized. He thought she'll just say openly she'd try to slay him. She is Jedi, she can't lie.
This is gold.
He expects her to just turn on her heels now and leave, but she stays. The soothing effect of her presence starts setting in. Not a million imperial lakes in the sky could make him feel more at peace than her. She makes him feel almost poetic. For the first time since the Mandalorian campaign, his lungs expand to their full potential and breathe in properly. Coruscant, with its dense population, isn't actually the paramount of air purity, but after that hellish planet it feels like his grandmother's planet of Naboo.
That watery mirror attracts her attention again and she leans forward to greet the light breeze that comes from it. She doesn't smile and doesn't talk, but he feels her demeanor softens a bit.
He'd like to slide his hand up that opening on her back, under the short cape. He'd like to do the same in the front. To feel the pulse in her jugular veins, to kiss the back of her neck – to lay his head on her shoulder and just not do anything else. And then - oh, how would he like to strip away that disgraceful propaganda piece from her.
He would also like to beg for her forgiveness in simplest of words. He broke the trust. He was the one who betrayed the unspoken treaty between them and still feels he didn't suffer enough for his transgression. She never received so much in one night, and neither did he. The sweet memory of her calling him "my love" makes his whole resolve and aggression dissipate like they're nothing. And he had to betray that trust to a misguided imperial sexual fantasy. And for the Empire he had no inclination whatsoever to. Damn them all. They can all burn to cinder for all he cares.
Rey.
But she interrupts him, the damn stubborn thing.
"Is that Satine's work?"
He still wears a small Bacta bandage over his nose. The bitch broke it in 2 places.
"Takes one to know one", he growls but surprisingly, it makes her laugh.
She shows the set of her glistening, brilliant white teeth. Again, he has an insurmountable urge to taste the slick surface of those teeth and to let them bite him in all sorts of places.
How long does that Mandalorian moonshine stays in one's bloodstream anyway?