Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot idea.
.:Kylo Ren:.
Chapter One: Recovery
The metal was cool in her grip, but the eyes that watched her were even colder. At least, that's how it felt. Luke Skywalker looked every bit the Jedi Master, with a full, silvery beard, flowing robes, and pale, piercing eyes. He stood upon the clifftop as though it were a house porch, without care or notice of the hundred foot drop behind him, his wrinkled hands folded casually behind his back. But his gaze was icy and intent; burning like twin embers of blue coal, steady and unrelenting.
But embers were not flames, and Rey could see the weakness in the old Jedi as easily as he seemed to ignore it. Jakku was not a kind place by any stretch of the imagination, and though she didn't ask for it, the scavenger girl was taught much by way of reading others, looking for exploitable faults or tell-tale signs of manipulation. It was useful then, despite the fact that she didn't like what she saw, more often than not, and it served her well now.
Rey was the first to blink, and she was also the first to speak. "Luke Skywalker?" It was obvious, but there was something in her chest that demanded she hear it from his mouth - an instinctive distrustful wariness that had saved her life countless times.
The old man's eyes narrowed, and he gave a single nod. "You have found him." He answered, and Rey was surprised to hear that his voice was strong; youthful and assured, as though the man beneath the wrinkled skin hadn't aged a day beyond thirty.
For a moment, there was silence between them. Rey couldn't think of what to say- her mind kept murmuring an awed whisper every time she tried to collect her thoughts. You found Luke Skywalker...He's Luke Skywalker...Skywalker...
"If I had known I was to be made into an exhibit for others to examine, I would have killed myself long ago, Rey of Jakku." His voice broke through her thoughts, and Rey stiffened, her fingers tightening on Luke's lightsaber and bringing it back toward her chest instinctively.
"How do you know my name?" She asked, both afraid and curious of the answer.
"The same way I know that you will leave this island and never return." She met his gaze, and she knew he was right. Her shoulders slumped, one foot scraping against rock as she stepped backward-
-and then stopped dead, stiffening, when she felt his disappointment ripple between them. It was strange that he was disappointed, but the more pressing matter was that she hadn't felt it in the air. It had been in her head, along paths that none had walked since Ben Solo had attempted to breach her thoughts.
Rey stared at Skywalker, startled and immediately wary again. "You were using the force to persuade me." She accused through gritted teeth. "Well I'm sorry, Master Skywalker- I'm not leaving this island."
The gaze was now expressionless, the silvery beard beneath twitching suspiciously. "Apparently not. Not until I've trained you, or so you believe. But I see no reason for doing so - not yet."
She couldn't decide if his answers were frustrating or impressive. Rey frowned. "What are you looking for that would convince you to train me?" She asked honestly, lowering the lightsaber fully at her side. Whether frustrating or impressive, Luke Skywalker was not an enemy.
Silence descended after her question, and birds cawed musically in the distance. The breeze caught at their robes, soft and sweet, and the grass whispered at their feet.
Luke Skywalker blinked - was this the first time he had? - and answered her in a soft, measured tone that should have made her wary, but soothed her instead. "My home needs some repairs. Help me, and I will answer you when we are finished."
She didn't realize what a sacrifice it was, at the time. Rey only nodded slowly, shifting awkwardly as Skywalker continued to stare at her. Around them, warm air whispered and vividly green grass danced; the sun shone soothingly down, and waves beat gently on the silvery shores of Luke Skywalker's home.
"I do not need a cane-!"
"C'mon, Finn - it's no big deal-"
A voice from a couple corners over sounded out, mechanical and nervous. "A great percentage of battle survivors require a cane, Master Finn, for at least two years after their initial recovery period-"
"Not helping, C3PO." Poe growled, palming his face with one calloused hand and glaring out from between his own fingers. "Not helping."
The Medical room was abuzz in activity of one sort or another, but their own little nook was particularly busy. Nurses tittered and clucked, tweaking at the many wires, cables, and other devices they had attached to their patient. That patient, Finn by name and grumpy by chance, was currently doing his level best to make the nurses' job as difficult as possible. Monitors beeped frantically around them, flashing multicolored lights over the clean white of hospital surfaces; glossy walls, squeaky-clean floor, metallic poles and cables all around.
The dark shoe that went flying through the air looked oddly out of place, among so much bleached white, but Poe supposed flying shoes usually looked out of place no matter what their surroundings were - unless it was a stripper club...
...He needed more sleep.
"Where's Rey?" Finn barked for approximately the third time in as many minutes. Poe felt a little bit of sympathy for the kid, but then Finn swiveled his glare onto Poe, and the sympathy shriveled a bit.
Poe frowned, crossing his arms and ignoring the leathery squeak of his jacket. It wasn't his old one, and the sounds hadn't yet transitioned from 'annoying' to 'familiar'. His old jacket was hung up on a rack near Finn's bedside, tempting its old owner with its glossy, ragged gleam - practically begging him to snatch it up again, as he used to. But he'd given it to the kid - to Finn - an Poe was a man of his word. Finn deserved the reward; Poe would just get used to the nasty smell of a new, squeaky jacket.
The pilot shook his head at his dark companion, offering a smile and hoping it looked convincing. "Don't get all pissy at me, Finn; she left to go find Skywalker. I told you already, and it hasn't changed in the past five minutes."
The ex-stormtrooper looked slightly mollified, but he still scowled like a thundercloud getting ready to loose its bolts. Kid was pretty drugged, at the moment, truth be told; he never looked this honest when properly conscious.
A nurse - orange-skinned and curvaceous enough to satisfy any man's daydream - tittered and frowned, her dark eyes blinking two lids in rapid succession as she effortlessly plucked Finn's arm into her grip. As easily and with no little grace, she plucked a thin syringe from her pocket, sliding it smoothly into the dark skin of the ex-stormtrooper's arm and emptying its goopy contents into his vein with a squeeze of her fingers.
Finn yelped - a bit of a delayed reaction, in Poe's opinion - and turned a wide-eyed stare on her, mouth agape. "What was that-?!" He sputtered, pointing accusingly at the syringe.
The nurse eyed him cooly, and there was a certain amount of petty relish in her reply. "A sedative."
Finn lolled backward without another word, eyes rolling, and Poe couldn't help but whistle his appreciation. "Fast acting stuff." He grinned tiredly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. The nurse gave him a flat look, lips thinned, and slowly slid the syringe back into her apron.
A little while later, Poe too was happily asleep, nicely bundled into a hospital bed while the curvaceous nurse smiled quietly to herself.
He really had needed that rest. Afterward he and Finn could go about seeing what they could do for Commander Leia. Yeah... afterward.
It had been a long haul, that was for sure.
The room ahead was dark. General Hux raised an eyebrow, pale lips thinning, and his folded hands tightened behind his back, knuckles turning white. Shadows answered his glare with expressionless apathy, seeming to seep into the brightly lit corridor around him, dimming every source of light without effort or intention. Hux's crisp suit flexed with his irritated intake of breath, and his nostrils flared.
The medical bay was not supposed to be dark. It was supposed to be clearly lit, white and clean. Instruments were supposed to be neatly lined on the walls, and the assistant medic drones were ordered to attend to every medical berth in the ward with mathematical precision and efficiency.
Instead, there was only blank, impenetrable blackness. And, more importantly, Hux knew exactly who was to blame.
"Ren!" He called harshly, teeth clicking back together with a crisp crack.
Silence answered him.
Commander Hux wasn't so foolish as to enter the medical room - he'd seen too many of the young Sith's immature tantrums to risk a severed limb by entering.
Kylo Ren was heavily wounded - Hux had seen it himself. A crusted, charred slash nearly bisected the unmasked man's face, and something highly damaging had ripped a fairly large hole into his side. His right leg had been cut open; it had smoked for the entire fifteen minutes it had taken them to get to Hux's last remaining command ship. Smelled terrible, too.
With this list of gruesome injuries, there was no way that Kylo Ren could survive without medical attention, which, judging by the darkened, sullenly silent med-bay, the young man was currently denying.
But Hux had orders to bring the Sith apprentice to his master, alive.
It was a difficult problem. Hux wasn't about to risk his life, Ren seemed determined to refuse help, and Supreme Commander Snoke would have both their heads if Ren died.
So Hux called Fasma.
The femenine trooper stalked up the corridor like a particularly shiny panther, all angles and rounded metal. Her dark visor regarded Hux with an expressionless disdain he knew was probably just his imagination, and her voice rang out metallically between them, smooth and controlled.
"He hasn't answered any communications, Commander?" She asked, neither scorning Hux for calling upon her nor commending him for his wisdom in doing so.
Hux sniffed, frowning at the darkened doorway, trying to catch a glimpse of Ren's figure somewhere in the blackness, despite the futility of such an attempt. "No, he has not." He replied.
Fasma grunted, and unceremoniously unshouldered a rather large rifle. Hux raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. Let Fasma take responsibility for whatever happened; if she died, no matter. If Ren died, Fasma would pay the price of killing him.
The female captain stepped easily up to the doorway into the medical area, her voice magnifying to create a booming announcement. "Lord Ren, it is Commander Fasma. I'm coming in."
Again, as ever, silence answered. Not even the whir of a drone broke the stillness.
Fasma turned to Hux, giving a nod of her expressionless helmet (what she meant by it, he had no idea, nor cared to know) and stalked into the shadows. Her shiny form melted into them seamlessly, and she was gone from Hux's view. He could still hear her heavy footsteps clanking deeper into the medbay, clattering over a few metallic items and crushing something plasticky.
Pale hands clenched- Hux gritted his teeth, swallowing down the tension that had bristled along his spine and blossomed into the air around him.
Fasma stepped on, her tread growing softer with every clunk of boot against floor. Then...she stopped.
Hux hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until a thunderous crash from within tore it out of his lungs in a wrenching gasp.
"Lord Ren-" The voice was distorted, torn by static and garbled. The very definite crunch that followed was not. It was clear as crystal, and the sound of trickling liquid dripping to the floor rang loudly in Hux's ears.
The Commander mouthed wordlessly, torn between fury and fear. Boots scraped against smooth floor as he staggered back, scrambling for his weapon.
He couldn't see what had happened - damn human vision - he couldn't see!
But he knew without having to see. He could feel it in his shuddering chest.
Kylo Ren had killed his captain, and there would be hell to pay, now.
Author's Note: Length? Much better... ^^
Hope you all enjoyed this one; I'm trying to push myself a little, since usually I'm a perfectionist where writing is concerned. I'm planning to work faster and ignore the things that bug me, unless they're really damaging to the story. If it does well, I might come back and fix things up a little bit (I love love love detail, so writing scene's without explaining more of what things look like and how they feel just kills me).
Anyway, please let me know what you think? I can't improve without feedback so even a "doing great!" or "omg this sucks" is fine by me.
Enjoy! Until next time... :D