When Kylo Ren woke, he was in his austere quarters on his flagship, safe from the destruction of the StarKiller base. He frowned with distaste. He had welcomed death, and was ready for the blissful respite it offered. With a deep breath, he pulled himself up on his cot and took in his surroundings. His typical black attire was repaired and neatly folded on a small table opposite him, along with a tray of meager rations and, most importantly, his mask. He maneuvered his legs over the side and met the floor with a grimace. The cold steel grate pattern was jarring on his bare feet. He was weak from not using his muscles for days, and it took longer than he wanted to acclimate himself with standing again. Gingerly, he moved toward the waiting rations and devoured them quickly.

Based on his cursory inspection, the medical droids did their work well. The flesh on his left side was neatly repaired and no more than a pink scar the length of his hand. His arm and leg bore similar scars, though these were far more tender. The lightsaber, unlike the blaster, was a cruel weapon when it inflicted injuries. The blaster bolt was less precise, often inflicting a wider damage circumference, while the lightsaber cut deep and true.

Even as he chewed the tasteless rations, Kylo resisted the temptation to touch his last, and most obvious battle wound. Forehead to chin, and just narrowly missing his right eye, the girl had given him a shameful, permanent reminder of his weakness, and he hated her for it. Not that he was a vain man; he had always known that he did not possess his mother's noble features or his father's rugged looks. He had endured more than a few jabs from the other trainees about it, but he had always made them pay for their comments. Now he had one more gruesome reason to wear the mask.

None of the small quarters on the flagship had mirrors, and his was no different, despite his status. Grim, efficient and practical, the unspoken mantra of the First Order. Slowly, minding his healing injuries, Kylo dressed himself in his layered garments. He winced as he wrapped his middle. His torso was going to be weak; he would have to train hard to regain his former strength.

Kylo found his thoughts drifting back to the force sensitive girl as he strapped on his gauntlets, followed by his black gloves. The girl's flickering presence in the force had disappeared immediately after hitting the tree. He supposed he had made her pay too, and was surprised by the pang of regret it made him feel. She was untrained, and yet the most worthy adversary he'd faced in ages. He could all but taste the unchecked rage as she had taken up the lightsaber of her fallen friend, the traitorous stormtrooper. She attacked with a pure fury, making every attempt to destroy him to avenge the stormtrooper, and perhaps, Han Solo himself. Had Kylo not been able to throw her back while she gloated, she may have very well succeeded.

Kylo settled himself on the floor and closed his eyes. He hated meditation, had always hated it. It was so difficult to quiet his thoughts, to channel his feelings into stillness. But he would face the Supreme Leader soon, and he needed to be ready.

"Find the calm, Ben," whispered the voice he hated so much. His old teacher. "Listen," Skywalker had urged him. Ben, much too volatile for such an unseasoned instructor, had tried so hard to listen. There were so many whispers. He constantly felt the pull of something much darker, always on the cusp of his grasp. Had Anakin known this torment as well?

His teacher's knowledge of Anakin's fall was fragmented at best. After all, Luke Skywalker had only learned of his true parentage shortly before the demise of Darth Vader. He neither wondered nor cared what turned the powerful Jedi into a Sith so many years earlier. Weakness, the easy path, those were always the routine answers Ben was given.

Kylo's eyelids snapped open. The ship shuttered, once, twice, and he knew they were being pulled into the hold of the much larger Resurgent-class Star Destroyer Finalizer. His flagship was not equipped to deal with long term space travel, and needed fresh supplies and new troops.

Meditation would have to wait.

{}{}{}{}{}

Like a dark prince stalking his castle after battle, Kylo Ren strode down the hallway of the Star Destroyer with disdain for everyone. Stormtroopers and officers alike shifted their path to accommodate his angry approach, lest they become victim to his infamous temper.

He moved without thinking, navigating the maze to the communications hall by memory. The door opened for him. Under the mask, he all but snarled. There was the weasel General Hux kneeling before the Supreme Leader Snoke, the two obviously in discourse for some time before his arrival.

Kylo approached and knelt. "Master," he spoke, keeping his voice even.

"The General tells me you were injured." It was stated as a fact. Kylo was well aware that Snoke cared nothing for his well being.

"Yes," he answered.

"What of the force-sensitive girl?"

There was a long pause. Kylo ached to rip the smug expression off the General's face, but instead, he kept his gaze trained penitently on the ground.

"She escaped and was killed."

Kylo forced his breathing to be even. Even though the hologram, he could feel Snoke's disgust.

"You are weak," Snoke admonished, "to be brought down by a few rebels, the map lost and the weapon destroyed."

The general stepped onto the platform next to him. "Supreme Leader, Kylo Ren is mistaken. We have the force-sensitive girl alive, and in custody."

Kylo's head snapped up. What? She survived?! How did he not know?

If possible, the twisted, haggard face of Snoke looked pleased. "Good. Bring her to me."

"Of course, Supreme Leader," General Hux answered, bowing. The hologram ended, and the next instant, Kylo was on his feet and looking down at the General.

"How convenient for you to keep this from me," Kylo hissed.

"You were recovering," General Hux retorted, his eyes narrowing, "and quite frankly, no one thought she would survive."

Kylo exited the room, his back robes flailing behind him as he made his way to the infirmary.

He did not know what to expect when he arrived, but certainly not this...

Very much alive, Rey was deathly pale under the white sheet, a monitor beeping softly behind her. While most people looked serene when asleep, she looked haunted. He could see her eyelids twitch. What was she dreaming of? He resisted the temptation to enter her mind.

"She is in an induced coma," the medical droid informed him. Kylo watched Rey's shallow breathing. No wonder he couldn't feel her presence in the force. There was only the barest pulse when he felt for it now.

"Why is she not the bacta tank?" he asked.

"The bacta tank is not effective with her injuries. Her back is broken."

His fist clenched. It was his fault, of course, when he had thrown her into the tree. She was valuable if she could be manipulated, but she was no good to him as a cripple.

"Wake her," Kylo commanded.

"It is not recommended."

He glared daggers at the droid, and several instruments on the metal surgical tray began to tremor with his anger.

"Yes, sir." The droid punched a few keys in the monitoring system. "It will take several hours, sir, for the drugs to wear off."

Kylo held back his frustration with a calming breath. "Contact me when she's awake."

"Yes, sir."

A/N Should I continue? Let me know your thoughts-thanks!