She was above him, her lithe spine stretched to its full length as she smirked down at his naked body. He felt vulnerable in a way that ached, wanted so badly to reach out and caress her - but her hand was around his throat in an instant, pressing lightly.

"Hurt me," his voice was shaking. Power surged through her, hot and heady, a delicious heat pooling in her veins. He could feel her, sense her every thought and emotion. It wasn't enough. "Let me feel your pain-aah!" She slapped him before she could think; he moaned, dark eyes flitting from her face to the ground. They paused, panting. He didn't know if the dark pleasure came from him, or her, but it was enough. "Please. More."

His face flung back with a satisfying crack, lips parted wetly. Fingers pressed at his mouth. "Take them," she hissed. He sucked them in, tongue greedily laving against her skin. Thank you, thank you, thank you, his thoughts pressed on her mind. She could feel his hardness, pressed up into her, and she smiled. It was not kind.

"Mistress," he sighed, and she shoved her fingers deep into his throat.

"Morning my little Rey of sunshine!" Poe announced brightly, dropping into the seat next to Rey. The look she gave him was nothing short of murderous. Normally, his over-the-top affectations for her made her giggle, glad to have someone so friendly as Poe Dameron to ease her loneliness. Today, after waking up with her thighs sticky and her mind a hot, wanting mess, she found it grating. People shouldn't have the right to look so happy and rested, she thought bitterly. "You," he said, chewing his bottom lip and drawling out the word, "you look like you've had a terrible fuck."

"Poe!" He spread his hands in mock confusion.

"What? It's true. Is Karé not as good as I've heard?" Her temper flared, and the bun she'd been picking at hit Poe square in the face.

"I'm not sleeping with the captain," she said, briskly, ignoring his yelp. She stood, shoving her tray back across the table. "I have work to do." Before she could walk away, he tugged at her sleeve, pulling her back to face him. Rey glanced away. She felt tired, and awkward, and sad, and the last thing she wanted to do was put up with people talking at her.

"Hey, Rey. Settle. Are you okay?" Rey looked into Poe's earnest, concerned face, and felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

"I'm fine," she whispered, lower lip trembling. Irritated, she swiped at an escaping tear. This was ridiculous. She had survived death by starvation on Jakku more times than she could count, lay in bed at night with a hole in her stomach and fear in her heart. It seemed trivial to be crying over two weeks of bad dreams and not enough sleep. "I don't think anyone would understand."

Poe shrugged. "We've all been through things that we think nobody has ever experienced before. Why don't you try me?" He saw the hesitation on her face, and sighed. "I have nightmares about being strapped to a chair and tortured. Getting into a cockpit is… it reminds me of being captured. It sucks," he added, smiling wryly. "I'm supposed to be the best pilot in the Resistance, and now I get dizzy when I'm strapped in."

She had no idea what to say. She hadn't even thought about Poe's brief time with the First Order, being tortured for information. A pang of grief went through her, remembering her own torture - she hadn't even tried to talk to him about it, hadn't even thought to share experiences. "I'm sorry," she said, softly, sitting down next to him. He shrugged.

"It gets easier. Well. In theory." Poe propped his head on his fist, looking at her with a kind friendliness that made her want to cry again for about four different reasons, none of which she could adequately describe. "So what's up, sunshine?" This time, he said the term gently, trying to coax her. She let herself be coaxed.

"Starkiller."

He sighed. "Yeah. I know it was hard to watch -"

Rey shook her head. "No. It's not…" it's not Han Solo. The words stuck in her throat. "It's something else."

She tilted her head up to look at him. The dull yellow lighting of the cantina sparkled off his kind eyes. Rey felt suffocated suddenly, her chest clamping down with a primal fear she didn't understand. I can't do this.

Poe stared after her back as she fled the mess hall. "Man," he shook his head. "Why is everyone so flighty?"

Frozen, alone, and bleeding, Kylo Ren waited to die.

The blast charge that had ripped through his robes had stopped burning through his skin some time ago, but he could sense the damage it had already caused. The internal bleeding erupting from traumatized cells, spreading under the surface—even if he had the energy to use the Force, he would be relying on instinct to guide his clumsy attempts at healing.

His face burned. The cold burned. He couldn't concentrate—the pain, so intense, was starting to grow numb to the cold, just like his thoughts. He was weak. So weak.

'You're afraid.'

It was that girl's voice again. Kylo shuddered, breath misting up into the air. He should have killed her. It was ambition that stayed his hand, ambition and lust. She should have—why couldn't she have accepted the power of the dark side? Together they could have been… What a stupid—blind…

'You're afraid that you'll never be as strong as—'

He tried to scream with rage, but fire lanced down his side and the sound died in his throat.

'Strong as… are you there?'

Now he was hallucinating her voice. Or maybe she was reaching out through the connection in the Force they shared. Whatever the case, it wasn't worth responding to. He'd rather die in spite than fulfill whatever idiotic, childish curiosity she was trying to appease.

'Are you there? You're hurt.'

Something dark filled his blurring vision. He thought about her eyes. They looked like his mother's eyes before… everything. So young. So…

'Can you stand? Chewie—no, I know, just, please…'

What a terrible way to die, Kylo thought, and he let himself slip away.

Kylo woke. He stared up at the ceiling for several moments. His breath came hard and fast as he willed the dream away, clutching on to the cold, comforting rage that was only ever so far beneath his skin. The stark lighting made it difficult to sleep, and his dreams recently had made staying asleep possibly harder still.

The girl. He frowned. Whatever perverse motive she held, she had saved his life. He only wish he knew how. His injuries - inflicted by her, his rage snarled - were nearly fatal. He touched his face, but there was no raised skin. Nothing to indicate that she had slashed at him rather viciously. His body was still aching, yes, but there were no scars.

There was too much light in her, Kylo thought. Too much of that damned Jedi tolerance. He wanted to rip her apart, to make her scream and bleed, to tear open her skin until she was red and raw and oh-so-sweet in death.

No you don't.

No. He didn't. That was the problem. It is not her strength that makes you fail, but your weakness.

Kylo breathed out, then swung upwards, shifting into a sitting position. The girl was inconsequential now. All that mattered was finding a way back to the Force. When Skywalker had first taught him, he had said that deep meditation was the best way to get in touch with himself - whatever tripe that meant. Kylo had never been very good at meditation. It had clearly disappointed Skywalker to have an apprentice so lacking in focus. That had been why he begun searching for others gifted with the Force, and abandoned Kylo.

The memory sent a fresh spike of anger through him. It curled through him, offering power in exchange for control. Why do you need focus when you are strong? the anger whispered. Your raw power has always been enough to crush them.

Yes, until a slip of a girl had beaten him into flesh pulp. You should have killed her. She is a threat to your power, but she is still weak. Still growing. She would not recognise you - kill her.

With great effort, he pushed the rage back, forcing himself into an uneasy calm. Unbidden, the words of the Jedi code came to his mind.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

There is no death, there is the Force.

Kylo breathed in and out, hating himself. It was necessary to use the tactics of enemies to subvert their code against them, he reasoned. He pushed his feelings and thoughts away again firmly.

The lights buzzed above his head. People were moving outside his cell - exchanging the guard. He wondered what time it was. His stomach ached. The light shining into his shut eyes was distracting. He thought about the losses the First Order had incurred, the rebuilding that would need to be done. He thought about the scavenger.

Eventually, hissing, he gave up, flinging himself backwards onto the cot. Meditation was for fools and old men. He had no use for it.

He only wished that were true.