"Mitaka?" he questioned of Phasma, as he tried to put a face to the name.

"Yes, sir, promoted from the rank of lieutenant, here, on the Finalizer."

Kylo groaned inwardly; why was a lieutenant given the position of general? Why give someone so far down the chain of command a position that, in some ways, equated with his own?

"Tell me Captain, why this lieutenant was given a position that should belong to you?"

While he wasn't one for praise or recognition, he at least knew Phasma, knew that she would obey his orders and wouldn't try to undermine him as Hux had; not to mention that she was ruthless; willing to carry out any mission. He clenched his fists, grateful that no one could see the irritated twitch in his jaw as he waited for what better be a damn good answer. He'd controlled himself around Rey, but the past week had taken its toll – and he was ready to 'delegate' the pain and frustration that clouded his mind onto any unsuspecting person who dared anger him.

"I refused it. I am more suited to my current position than that of the…late general. The Supreme Leader also agreed that my talents are better suited for direct leadership of the stormtrooper forces. Politics and PR are things I do not excel in, and I can accept that."

The captain was right, he knew – asking her to be the face of the First Order, taking her away from her current position - it would be like asking a pilot not to fly - so he remained silent, brooding behind his metal façade as he waited for her to continue.

"Lieutenant, now General, Mitaka was chosen as an intermediate because of his impressive performance thus far. He also graduated top of his class in the Academy."

"Intermediate?"

"Should the Supreme Leader deem someone else worthy of the position, he will, without hesitation, replace Mitaka's status as lieutenant. For now, though, he doesn't have enough faith in the generals leading the other Star Destroyers."

"Our leader was very forthcoming with you, it would seem." Kylo stated, an inquisitive note in his voice. Snoke was never one to explain himself in great detail, to lay out the inner workings of his plan – he kept his motives close, rarely even did he speak of them to Kylo.

"That is all he said… Perhaps you would like to speak with the new general now sir? Although, if memory serves, you've already met."

He couldn't discern the inflection in that last statement through the tinny, metallic sound of her voice, distorted by the chromium plated helmet, but he could have sworn it held a hint of amusement. He already hadn't been looking forward to this change of hands that he caused, but he dreaded it even more now. He turned away from the captain then, leaving her where he had interrupted her patrol, and continued his path to the bridge.

The pale, sweaty and quaking excuse for a man that was General Mitaka stood before him, hand outstretched in a greeting that looked as though it caused him physical pain. Here was his closest thing to an equal within the First Order ranks and he was quivering with fear. Kylo couldn't fathom how he'd been top of his class, not to mention that his so called 'impressive performance' included NOT retrieving the droid back on Jakku. It didn't take Kylo long to figure out what Phasma had meant earlier, when she said they had already met, after that thought had crossed his mind - the memory quickly coming back to him.

Kriff he thought, as he recalled the quiet and hesitant voice interrupting his silence, informing him that they hadn't recovered the BB-unit holding the map to Luke Skywalker on Jakku, that FN-2187 had helped to ferry it away. His anger replayed vividly in his mind as he saw slash after slash of his lightsaber against the consoles and screens he had been previously viewing – hot metal falling to the grated floor beneath him as he relentlessly tore through his surroundings, wishing they were the deserter – the traitor. He cringed beneath his mask as he heard the strained and almost embarrassed tone of his voice through the modulator – anything else? He'd asked, only to whip around and use the force to choke the man before him now – Mitaka - when he mentioned that they had help from a girl. He felt his gloved fingers closing around this small man's throat as he continued to let his emotions escape him, dragging the unsuspecting lieutenant across the room – what girl? – he'd questioned, venom in his voice – and received only the blandest of answers. A scavenger from Jakku, young as far as our troopers could tell. That's all we know. The words had been strangled and difficult as he struggled for breath against Kylo's grip, and he'd let him go. The fact that he managed not to choke the life out of him, swallowing his anger enough to send him away and out of his reach, was the only reason he managed not to choke on his tongue in embarrassment as he stood there, looking down on his new…partner was it?

He was grateful for the mask covering his features, hiding the stark realization and childlike shame that he hated to admit was plastered all over his face at that moment. Anger was a tool that made him stronger, it deepened his connection and affinity with the dark side, but he hated that he couldn't control himself, hated that he still broke out in tantrums that would rival any child.

Gritting his teeth and finally snapping back to reality, he clasped the shaking hand of the new general. The man's eyes still spoke of fear when he met his gaze, but his voice was surprisingly steady when he formally introduced himself.

"Dopheld Mitaka."

.

.

He had to restrain himself, laughter suppressed into a smirk as they both withdrew. What in Maker's name was going on with these titles? First…Armitage, now Dopheld – where did one even come up with such a name? He found himself grateful, for the first time, that he'd been given such a simple name, even if he'd thrown it away, even if it had held so many implications and expectations. Ben – named after a Jedi master, the weight it had put on his shoulders as a boy had always been too much for him to bear, a pressure to be someone he couldn't. The irony was not lost on him just how opposite he'd become from his namesake; he knew that, in some ways, the name was part of the reason he ended up here – part of the reason he was now known as Kylo Ren, and the mere mention of his former name was considered a treasonous act.

He didn't have high expectations for…Dopheld and his quivering, but anyone would be better than pompous, arrogant…sadistic Hux, or at least, that's what he allowed himself to hope.

He met the service droid at the entrance to his quarters, relieving it of it's burden before he entered the room. The lights were dim, and he could make out Rey's sleeping form on the divan as he deposited the tray on the small table. He imagined that, despite the full nights sleep she had before, this was probably the first true rest she'd had in days – her body finally getting a chance to recover from it's malnourished state that the lack of food had caused. He was half inclined to let her sleep, but he needed to be sure she was eating enough, so, without any further hesitation, he gently reached out – crouched beside the leather sofa – to touch her arm, giving her a gentle shake as he spoke her name.

"Rey, Rey, it's time to wake up."

She hadn't been having a nightmare, yet his voice and soft expression as she opened her eyes to meet his gaze were exactly like the last time he'd woken her. When he'd interrupted the painful dream filled with memories of Jakku and its desolation – when she was still restrained to that cold metal platform, back in the interrogation cell.

"What is it?" she asked sleepily as she sat up, the covers falling around her waist.

"Dinner." A small smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he offered his hand to her. She took it without hesitation, not surprised for once at her willingness to be near him, and he drew her up off the leather and towards their shared meal.

It had shocked him to see how sickly Rey had become during his absence, but what surprised him even more was how quickly she was coming to look like her old self. Already the color had returned to her skin, the dark circles beneath her eyes were all but gone and, despite her thinned stature, she held herself straight, the proud posture he was used to restored. And her hair, force her hair, it was still down but she'd obviously done something to it. No longer knotted and messy, the dark waves caressed her shoulder blades like soft and silent whispers, ghosting along the light-colored fabric of the long-sleeved shirt she wore. He found himself wanting to run his fingers through the soft locks more than ever before – it was all he could do to grip the back of the chair he pulled out for her instead, his hold threatening to splinter the wood with its pure force.

"Are you all right?" she asked, and he noticed her eyes were trained on his knuckles, the skin there now white with strain.

Kriff, when had he removed his gloves?

"I'm fine." He muttered, releasing the chair, and stepping around the table to take his own seat.

"How are you feeling, Rey?" It was meant to deflect her focus from his… odd behavior, but he was also genuinely concerned. He couldn't discern what was going through her mind just by looking at her, and, after being separated for such a time, he found himself needing to know – and it had to come from her directly.

She still looked genuinely surprised to hear the note of concern in his voice, yet he wasn't sure why; it's not like he'd being trying to hide that he cared about her – she wouldn't be here, practically living in his solitude, if he didn't. But it was there, every time, the slight disbelief that he, or anyone, he suspected, gave a damn. It pained him he realized, to know that she was so damaged that the mere thought of anyone caring about her health, her safety, was inconceivable to her.

…

"Umm…better."

.

.

"Okay… honestly? I feel fine, but I'm going kind of crazy. I've been pacing around these rooms for almost eight full days and while they're extravagant and splendid – it's getting old. It GOT old, really quick. I need to do something Kylo…please, anything." Her voice tapered off at the end of her speech, becoming low and strained – indicating just how honest she was being, and he could see it in her eyes – like a wild animal that had been trapped, searching for its way out.

Kylo found himself almost ashamed that the first thing that stood out was how she described his quarters. Extravagant, she'd said – but in the scope of the First Order they'd be considered simple, essential, and possibly even, bland. That was what he'd wanted, still wanted – grand aesthetic displays of wealth and power had never done anything for him, if anything it slightly repulsed him. The fact that she'd named grand his version of simple only served to further solidify just how barren and desolate a life she had lived before.

He didn't want to shower her in pity though, for the life she had lived – something told him that she would do anything but appreciate it. Strong and almost unbreakable – that was Rey, she didn't need him looking down on her, consoling her for a life that she'd already lived through – already managed to survive. No, it wouldn't do to dwell on her past, he'd be much better off addressing the here and now, the Rey that sat before him – fire burning in her eyes as they bore into his own, silently pleading with him.

"I'm sorry Rey… when I left, I didn't know that it would be for so long." A pause then, "If that's what you need, then so be it – but we'll be eating our meal first."

They stood, side by side, just inside the expansive training room where the soft light of distant stars mixed with the harsh glare of the fluorescents lining the curved walls; Kylo in his usual brooding silence while Rey was practically bouncing up and down – energy rolling off her in waves, penetrating the air around them. She hadn't been exaggerating before, when she said she was going crazy – it was clear in her excitement at just being in the wide, open space. He wasn't sure what she was ready for though, knowing she wanted to let loose – but unsure of her physical state. Thus, the awkward silence he found himself unable to break, jaw twitching as he opened and closed his mouth, at least a dozen times, with unspoken words. At least, that was until her eyes fell on the rack of blunted training weapons lining the wall, before turning to meet his own, a hopeful expectation in their depths.

"Can we…?" her voice trailed off before she could finish the question, her feet already moving across the spongy floor towards the rack, as if drawn by some magnetic force.

"Rey, wait – are you sure you're up for this?"

"Definitely…. I think knocking you on your ass would be a great stress reliever."

He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him then, his lips twitching in amusement as he regarded the fierce girl before him. He might have allowed the comment to anger him once, in fact – if anyone else had said it he probably would've blown up in a fit of rage, determined to teach the arrogant fool a lesson. But it came from Rey, and he found himself humored and – eager – to spar with her. Even with her lack of training, he felt more on a level with her than he ever had with the other Knights of Ren.

"Have it your way then… but know that I won't go easy on you." He replied, trying, and failing to suppress the low rumble of his laughter as he moved past her towards the weapon rack, her shoulder briefly brushing his bicep as he did so. Shedding his cloak carelessly on the floor, he inspected the rack for a brief second before turning back to her – a weapon in each hand. In one, a blunted blade, and the other, outstretched towards Rey – a quarterstaff, the metal gleaming and black as if it had never been used before.

"How did you know?" she asked him in a small voice, as she quickly approached, laying her hands on the smooth metal, the rubbered grips. Her eyes rose to meet his, the question reflected in their depths mixed with – nostalgia.

He didn't want to upset her or scare her away and he racked his mind for the right words, settling lamely on, "It suits you," when no better excuse presented itself.

Was it really that simple? He looked at the quarterstaff and decided it suited her – she wasn't sure. It was her weapon of choice, yet he'd only seen her wield a blaster and the Skywalker lightsaber; she hadn't seen her battered and salvaged, yet reliable, staff since she left it on the Millennium Falcon back on Takodana – before she'd met him. How could he know though? Unless – no it's impossible, she told herself, shaking her head slightly, as she gained some distance before turning to face him once more.

"Are you sure you want to use that?" she asked, eyeing his blade, wondering why he'd choose to use it against her staff.

"Rarely do we get to choose our opponents, and rarer still do we get to choose their weapon." He replied, a sardonic smirk painting his features as he oriented himself toward her, the blade drawn back behind his body – poised to strike.

"Thanks for the advice." She returned his sarcasm in full, practically sticking her tongue out at him as she took her own stance – low, both hands lightly gripping the staff, with one end facing him and the other resting just above her shoulder.

Rey moved first – she always did - swiftly approaching him with an unprecedented grace as she took the first swing and he raised his blade to block it – surprised when he had to add his other hand to the grip to stop the force of the blow. The look in her eyes was unwavering and almost feral and he knew then, that she was putting all her strength and skill behind every hit, every step and lunge. She wasn't going easy on him either and it reminded him of how, despite countless other training sessions and gruesome encounters, their battle on Starkiller was the first real physical challenge he'd had in a very long time.

They moved in tandem with each other, a swirling dance of obsidian and sand, for what could've been hours, trading swipes and thrusts but never connecting with each other. Every attack was returned or blocked, the both of them equally skilled with their weapon of choice – neither gaining an advantage over the other. Rey's hair flew loose and wild around her features and while it may have been a hindrance to her, he almost wondered if she let it loose to distract him.

She was, as it would seem, very distracting and while he relished the familiar stretch of muscle and flood of adrenaline from getting lost in the fight – he couldn't help but focus on every little detail that had nothing to do with it. Like the shining spots of gold that had returned to her eyes, lighting them with a determined ferocity that he found – breathtaking, or the brief flashes of white teeth through the slight part in her lips when she exhaled after an attack. But then, the way she moved and handled her weapon – things that did pertain to the match – drew him in too. Even though she'd never held that staff before now, she wielded it as though she had for years, easily maneuvering it's length for sweeping blows and powerful blocks. Her footwork wasn't perfect – it often gave away where she would move or attack from next – but it was quick and sure, and absolutely graceful. The term scavenger didn't equate with grace in his mind, but here and now – watching Rey come at him – it was almost as if she floated across the floor, soundless and lethal.

It continued like that, him studying her everything and neither one gaining an advantage, until they both registered the figure standing in the entryway, chrome armor glaring under the bright lighting, and they both came to a halt – breathless as they let their weapons fall to rest at their sides.

"Yes Captain?" Kylo asked of the intruder, his voice thick with annoyance. "What is it?"

He'd been amiable with her earlier – of everyone in the First Order's ranks, he found Phasma to be one of the most tolerable, she seemed to know how to avoid most, if not all of the triggers that set him off; of which there were many – another truth he didn't like to admit to himself. Even so, having the captain interrupt their training was irksome at best; he'd been enjoying the release as he found his match in combat – able to pour all his energy and rage into his attacks, without worry of hurting her. The constant movement and physical demand allowed his mind temporary freedom from the dark that swirled there continuously; the hate and loathing that was his closest companion. At least she didn't beat around the bush.

"You're needed on the bridge sir." The captain replied briefly, nodding as she turned on her heel and left as quickly as she'd come.

He looked towards Rey then, wondering if he should go, staring at her as if he was asking her permission.

"Go." She said, "I'll continue on my own."

There wasn't any underlying emotion in her voice, as far as he could tell, when she said the words; it was just a matter of fact statement, so, he mirrored Phasma's earlier action and nodded towards her, before turning and leaving the room himself.

"Sir." Mitaka nodded in his direction as Kylo returned to the bridge; he'd delayed his path only slightly – stopping first in his quarters to retrieve the helm he'd previously left behind. Now placed firmly upon his head, Mitaka's eyes met his questioning glare without actually seeing it through the metal guise. He was inclined to show some patience though, the respect shown in the new general's greeting technically unnecessary for his elevated station – yet he used it anyway, and Kylo found it quite, refreshing, not having to deal with Hux and his superiority complex.

"We're approaching the Supremacy sir, at this rate, we'll meet with the Supreme Leader's fleet three days hence."

"Very well." He almost choked out the words but forced his voice into the flat tone that most aboard this ship were familiar with. "Continue our course and inform me of any delays immediately." The words were expected even if they were forced.

He'd all but forgotten where they'd been headed. Kriff, he thought. Rey had consumed so much of his thoughts lately that he let it slip from his mind. How could he have forgotten? Meeting up with the Supremacy meant bringing Rey before his master, it meant that she would be within inches of the being who'd almost caused her death – she was going to hate him for this - if she didn't already.

How could he possibly explain himself or keep her away from Snoke? Short of stealing away with her in his TIE Silencer to some backwater planet, which he wasn't willing to do, there was no way out of this. When he first brought her onboard he hadn't expected Snoke to want, what could be such a powerful ally, dead; the assault, carried out by Hux, had been a complete surprise and he loathed himself for not expecting it. Although, in the entire time that Snoke kept him in stasis, buried within the darkest recesses of his own mind, his master hadn't, as far as he knew – tried to do anything to Rey. For all he was aware, she'd been completely alone during his absence. Maybe that meant his motives weren't so base after-all, maybe her death had never really been his intention. Though he dreaded what that realization might mean, he hoped it was true; he didn't want to lose Rey, but he knew he couldn't defy Snoke again.

Force, she was tired, despite how much she had already slept – while he was gone, all last night, most of today – she couldn't deny the exhaustion that weighed heavily in her bones. She'd put every ounce of energy and strength she had into their sparring match, the evidence clear in the soreness of her muscles. As soon as the door had closed behind Kylo she'd dropped her shoulders and sat down on the soft floor. She hadn't managed to hit him even once, not that she'd actually expected to be able to take him down – even with a quarterstaff. The comment about knocking him on his ass was to get him motivated, to convince him that she was more than ready for a fight – and it worked. But she wasn't stupid; the battle on Starkiller may have gone in her favour – before she dropped her guard of course – but he'd been seriously injured. The bolt from Chewbacca's bowcaster had ripped through his side – she'd seen the injury and the blood that seeped from it before they ever started fighting. She knew that now, if it came down to it, Kylo Ren would best her in battle; even after years of defending herself on Jakku, he had more training, more experience – more strength.

Still though, she was left wondering how he'd never found an opening in her defenses either – they'd been locked in the truest form of a stalemate until the 'captain', as Ren had called her, dressed in chrome stormtrooper armor, had interrupted them. She was glad for the annoyed glare that Kylo had sent towards the intruder then, because it kept his attention off of her – so he didn't notice the quickening of her breath, the clenching of her fists – or how her eyes had shot wide open; she was sure that, if he had looked back at her then, he would've seen the fear embedded in their depths. But he hadn't, he hadn't looked at her until the captain finished her statement and, she'd had just enough time to school her features - to calm her breath - so that when she told him to go, her voice came out sure and steady, as if nothing was wrong.

The fear she'd felt left almost as quickly as the imposing stormtrooper, but she couldn't deny that it had been there – that her mind had flashed with images of the interrogation cell; white boots filling her vision as she lay immobile on the cold stone floor – blinding pain as she stopped being able to tell the blows apart. She'd almost forgotten, with no physical evidence left to attest that it had ever happened, not that she wanted to remember it though – the memory had come unbidden and it had been all she could do to push it back.

Now, tired, and alone in the training room, she shook her head to clear the painful reminders from her brain, the cloak that Kylo had left behind catching her eye as she did so.

The training room was quiet when Kylo returned, brooding behind his mask – consumed with trepidation about reuniting with Snoke. A low hiss emitted from his voice modulator as he sucked in a breath, eyes quickly sweeping the empty room - or at least he thought it was. For once he didn't get the chance to blow up in anger as he realized or, assumed, Rey was missing; his gaze quickly registering her presence, curled up beside the weapon rack, asleep again.

They'd trained vigorously for hours – so much so that he could feel the strain in his own muscles, a heaviness in his limbs. Considering that, he wasn't really surprised that she'd fallen asleep, especially since - he suspected - she hadn't fully recovered her strength. What did surprise him though, was the realization that the dark material shrouding Rey's sleeping body was his own cloak, which he'd previously shed – the weight cumbersome and debilitating in action.

She held the heavy fabric close to her chest, the tanned fingers of one hand just peeking out where they gripped its edges. The cloak, sized for him, was long enough to cover her from head to toe – and then some. It might as well have been a duvet for the way it dwarfed her small, yet powerful frame - he couldn't help the small smile that pulled at the corners of his lips as he watched the slow rise and fall of her chest – that was, at least until he noticed her other hand, which rested innocently on the soft floor beside her head, fingers curled upward to face him. He hadn't noticed them before, but now, the slight burns on the pads of each finger stood out in stark contrast to the rest of her skin. They had begun to heal, but the skin there was still raw and pink, a slight tinge of red outlining each oval shaped burn. He immediately thought of the wounds marring his own skin – the burns that spoke of his failures, his disappointments – and his stomach dropped.

It's not possible. He told himself. The burns couldn't have been from… -

They must have come from somewhere else.

He ignored the rational part of his brain, regardless of the fact that the burns were too new to be from before he brought her onto the Finalizer, not to mention the fact that there was nothing in his rooms, save for hot water, that could cause a burn. Even then, if she'd somehow managed to get the water to scalding – it wouldn't have caused the perfect ovals that now marred her skin. Still, he refused to even contemplate the idea; Rey was too good, she had too much light – he'd sensed it time and time again – to ever be consumed, or even tempted by the dark side. If he'd felt, even a waver in her convictions, he would've tried himself to convince her of the power she could have, to convince her to join him – but not once had he sensed a disconnect between Rey and the light side of the force – was he wrong? Did he miss something? Was there a chance that she was actually considering it? No, it couldn't be; he refused to believe that such a thing had happened while he'd been gone – while she'd been alone and vulnerable to attack.

He needed to think of something else – anything else – so it came as a great reprieve when his mind silently reminded him that Rey was still - despite the darkness clouding his thoughts - right there in front of him. He hadn't meant for it to be a test when he left, but the door to the training room had been unlocked and unguarded the entire time he was gone, and, by the looks of things, she hadn't even thought about trying to run. He found himself slightly embarrassed at the pleasure that gave him – to know that, when given an inch – she wouldn't take a mile. He hoped that meant they were building some kind of trust; he may have taken her prisoner, but he'd always wanted her to be, well, a guest and, maybe one day – a permanent resident, by her own choosing. He wasn't sure how Snoke fit into that equation, but he dared to hope that it was a possibility.

Kylo ignored the soreness in his joints, and the slight sting of the fresh burns – hidden by the layers of obsidian colored clothing he wore – as he carefully gathered the sleeping Rey in his arms, making sure to keep his cloak wrapped around her – to keep her warm – as he did so. How many times had he carried her like this? Four, now five times he was pretty sure – it just felt so natural, to have her there. He barely registered her weight, as if he were carrying a feather and he could barely feel where the pressure of her body brushed against his wounds. It had been the same on Starkiller – despite being half dead from blood loss, it had been all too easy to lift her in his arms, and easier still to cradle her unconscious form all the way to his extraction unit.

She didn't show any signs of waking as he lifted her or when he left the training room, but at some point, her hands gripped the fabric covering his chest as she slept. It was as though she was trying to pull him closer, unconsciously tugging on the material as she curled into him, twisting so that her face was pressed against his torso, hidden from sight. He wished then that he wasn't wearing the stupid, obstructing mask – so that he could press his own face against her soft hair, so that he could breathe in the clean, fresh smell that followed her around – just like he'd done that morning.

Rey was vaguely aware of an added warmth against her side, a slight pressure along her shoulder blades and the backs of her knees – something soft and smooth against her cheek. Her body seemed to rock back and forth slightly, the movement whispering images of the slow rolling waves of a calm ocean into her mind. She'd never seen the ocean, but this is what she imagined it would feel like; so peaceful and so… right.

The scent of pine that engulfed her senses brought forth memories of the first green she could remember seeing - back on Takodana; the endless tree line and high, waving grasses filling her with a wonder and contentment she'd never felt before. It drew her in, and she tried to press closer to it's source, reveling in the underlying scent of leather that she found as she curled closer to the warmth which surrounded her. The combination was soothing, lulling her mind into an even deeper sleep – the soft hint of wood smoke and campfires was the last thing to register before her mind went blank and her breath slowed to a steady whisper.