"I bought a chess board," Rey said by way of greeting. Kylo stared at her from his usual vantage point on the cot, watching as she set the board down on the table and began to set up the pieces. He had just been reconciling himself with not seeing another person until his inevitable staged trial and execution - certainly, he had not expected the girl to return after his display of temper the other day. She was either more resilient than he gave her credit for, or more stupid. Unhappily, he suspected it was the latter. "You're going to teach me. You go white, I'll start black." She moved her starting pawn diagonally

"I don't appreciate being mocked," he snarled, rising to his full height. Rey scratched her head.

"What d'you mean? It's your turn, I think."

He swept the board off the table in a fit, ignoring her annoyed exclamation. The pieces scattered everywhere, bouncing off the wall and under his cot.

"This is not a game," he hissed, leaning into her as close as the chain would reach. "I am your enemy. If you were in these chains, you would be - you would be tortured, and bleeding, and begging for your life. Not playing chess."

Rey regarded him with more of that damnable Jedi calmness. It sent an ugly spike of hate and rage thrumming through him. "You can pick up the pieces under your bed, I'll get the ones over by the wall."

"Are you listening to me?" Kylo shouted, slamming his fists onto the table. "Stop mocking me!" His voice was humiliatingly screechy, he knew, and the lack of control over even his own body made him shake with what he thought was anger. "I tried to kill you the other day," he spat, "and I would gladly do so again - so please, Jedi, come closer and let's see how calm you are when I'm choking you to death."

Rey just smiled gently. "If you want, you can play as black, I don't mind." She bent over, deftly snatching up the white queen. "And I'm not a Jedi," she added, as he stared at her with a combination of fury, disgust and confusion. "We haven't even started training yet. What's an in-training Jedi called, even?"

"A padawan," he replied instantly, then swore, and hit the table again. "Be silent!" He kicked the table's supporting column for good measure, holding onto the feeling of throbbing pain through his foot like a drowning man clutching a raft. Unconsciously, he tried to feel for the Dark side of the Force - and was met with emptiness. A hot fury spiralled into his bones.

"We could play another game, if you want," Rey said, tilting her head to consider him. "Or just chat."

It was enough to tip the font of rage simmering under his skin over the edge. He lunged at her, cut short by the chain, his fingers nearly grazing her desert-rat tunic. "Hold your tongue or I will cut it out," he barked, trembling, needing a reaction and hating her for it. Her face was impassive, a perfect study in passive detachment. "I will kill you."

"I think you said that already," she said mildly. He let out a furious shout, slamming his lower body into the table for another hit of pain to extend his rage. It wasn't enough, so he hit his own abdomen, digging his nails through the fabric and into his skin. If he could not find a reaction in her, could not feed off her pain to stifle his own, then he would have to control his pain. He hit himself in the head, lost to the maelstrom of his emotions, trying to find some familiar comfort in self-harm.

A slender hand grabbed his wrists in mid-arc, and pulled him forward. His vision was obscured by his greasy and matted hair. Mother? Leia had found him once as a seven year old boy, hitting and scratching himself until he left red, crescent-shaped marks on his pale skin because it was the only thing that made him feel calm. That was the first and only time he had seen his mother sob. He cried too when she held him, unsure of why.

"Why do you do that?" It was not her. Kylo remembered where he was with a jerk. Another hand came up to push his hair back; he flinched backwards, trying to escape Rey's touch. It was too gentle. It burned his skin. He did not want to look at her, but years of discipline training made him force his gaze onto the subject of his fear.

It was a mistake. She was lovely with concern. Her hair, normally pulled into those three buns, had escaped and was splayed across her face. She did not seem to notice; her eyes were fixed on his face, small mouth pulled into a moue of worry.

"Don't touch me." It was meant to be a command, but his voice cracked into a plea. She did not let go of him. Her fingers slid under his restraints, touching the raw, cracked skin. He inhaled sharply. "I said-" Rey hushed him softly; instead of snarling, he fell quiet.

Her other hand was still resting lightly on his face as she stroked his wrists. He wanted to shove her off him, but his muscles were rigid with fear. Fear that she would sense how small and lost he felt and use it against him. Twist his vulnerability into a weapon that could be used to hurt him. He had to close himself off before she could, he knew. Every inch of him was screaming to run.

"Do you want me to take these off? They look like they hurt." Her hazel eyes were pretty, he realised vacantly. Always so alight with movement, constantly analysing and dissecting. When she glanced up at him, it was like looking into a black hole; he felt it like a punch to the gut, a yearning, aching chasm opening up inside him.

"I killed Han Solo," Kylo said, voice jerky. Rey blinked at him and the feeling that had threatened to overwhelm him vanished.

"Yes," she said carefully.

"He was your father figure," he continued. "Are you not enraged?" She frowned.

"He was your father. I think he -" her hand dropped from his face and suddenly he could breathe again. "He would have wanted me to forgive you," Rey finished. Her face was honest, so far as he could tell. He sneered, feeling more in control.

"You knew nothing about him, then." Pulling his wrists away from her, he sank back onto the bed, waiting for her to leave in a huff.

Rey studied him with those inscrutable hazel eyes, sweeping him up and down appraisingly. It would have been discomforting had Grand Master Snoke not often regarded him with a similar look. He shook his hair back into a tidier mess, feigning disinterest in her existence.

"Hey," he glanced over when she spoke again. Rey held up a black knight, smiling like a child with a new toy. That definitely made him uneasy. "How about that game?"

He was about to take her, Rey realised with a desperate gasp; hot colour flooded into her cheeks as she, fingers trembling, moved to block him.

"Bishops do not move in straight lines," Kylo said, his boyish face lined with a scowl. "You are terrible at chess."

"You're not a great teacher either," she retorted, returning her bishop to its original location. Chess was hard. She moved her pawn - those moved in a straight line - forward one place.

"Move my queen to D3. Check," he said. At her blank stare, he sighed. "It means that I can take your king on my next move if you don't block me."

"Oh." She studied the board. She moved her queen two spaces up and one space to the left to block.

"No," he drawled. "Queens don't move like the knight."

Rey glared at the board, and then at her teacher. "Why not?"

"They just don't. We're not here to debate the basics of chess. Move it back."

Chess was awful, she decided, thudding her queen back to its original place. People who liked it must have some part of their head put on wrongly. She moved a pawn.

"Queen to D1, check." At least someone was enjoying themselves. Kylo's voice was almost radiant with victory.

After his queen took her pawn, knight, and rook, he declared, "Checkmate," smiling at her in self-satisfied smugness.

"You're meant to teach me," she complained, "not beat me and enjoy it."

"Why can't I do both?" he asked smoothly. The chains rattled around his wrists, a reminder of reality. The way his skin had felt, raised and torn, had made her feel ill. Restraints so crude and heavy as these weren't necessary for someone stripped of his connection to the Force and still recovering from the battle on Starkiller Base. General Leia was grieving the loss of her estranged husband - but to be so cruel to her only son sent a pang of nausea through Rey. You should all be grateful that you have a family. "Set the board up again, I'll show you how not to get beaten in such a pathetic manner."

She propped her head on her hand, leaning forward into the chair she'd been able to bring in. Kylo raised his eyebrows.

"Do you want to learn, or sulk in defeat?"

"Why did you kill Han?"

Obviously, he had not expected that question, because he visibly flinched. His open face contorted with a mix of emotions - anger, surprise, pain - before settling on revulsion.

"You wouldn't understand," he said, dismissively. "If that's all, you can leave. I'm in no mood to be berated on morality from a Jedi."

There it was again. Kylo kept referring to her by that honorific (however insultingly said) even though she hadn't begun training yet. He took care to give her the utmost respect while claiming that he hated her and wanted to kill her. It boggled her mind - she'd never met someone who ran to such extremes before. The closest equivalent she could think of was when she tried to rescue a Razor-lizard that had been caught in a steel trap. It was keening in pain at the same time that it tried to savagely rip off her hands. Eventually, she had to put it out of its misery with one, sharp blow to the skull.

"Was he mean to you as a child?" she probed. "Did he hit you or somesuch?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Their fragile truce was shattered as Kylo staggered to his feet, growling.

"Out," he snapped.

She was getting very sick of his fluctuating temper and violent tantrums. "You know I could take it from your mind if I wanted to," she snapped back, rising to match him. He dwarfed her in height, but she'd beaten bigger and larger opponents. One weedy little wannabe-Sith was hardly a challenge.

Kylo Ren stared at her, eyes dark with loathing. "Careful, Jedi," he said, trying to hold onto the smooth tone he had earlier and failing, "your anger may yet lead you to the Dark side."

"Oh, piss off," she said, marching up to him and jabbing him in the chest with one finger. He flinched, shrinking backwards from her as if afraid she might hit him. It was a bizarrely scared gesture for someone so tall. "If you don't stop being so melodramatic I'll... "

"Touch my face again and sigh about how aggrieved you are for my plight?" he suggested, snarky. "Wail and weep to Leia Organa about how you've seen the Light in me? Maybe you can all have a nice little celebration about how you've redeemed the poor, sad Ben Solo."

She glared up at him, feeling very foolish to have cared about him earlier. "You're impossible." They were nearly nose-to-nose, locked in a furious battle of willpower about who could scowl the most fiercely. "I don't think you even know what you want, you know that?" she said heatedly.

"I have some idea," he replied, bending down to close the gap. He kissed her before she could think. It was not a chaste kiss; his tongue pushed at her mouth immediately, teeth catching her lower lip and yanking hard. Their noses bumped awkwardly, but she allowed him to push his tongue into her mouth. She traced it with her own, feeling the bumps and tasting how sweet and musky his mouth was. This was her first kiss, she realised belatedly, grabbing a fistful of his tunic and holding him still, unsure if she wanted to throw him back or drag him in closer.

He grunted when they parted for air, looking down at his chained hands as if they had betrayed him. Her lips felt swollen and bloody; she raised one hand to them and glanced up at Kylo. The troubled look on his face mirrored her own feelings. She banged into the table behind her, wincing at the pain and sliding away from the man in front of her.

Rey waited for him to beg her to stay, hovering on the edge of the room like a frightened animal. She wasn't sure why it mattered, wasn't sure if she would stay even if he renounced all ties to the Dark right there and then. But she needed to know.

When he said nothing, sinking onto the bed with his hair covering his face, she fled, and didn't look back.