The Emperor watched her cross the pale expanse of ground, a white shape barely visible against the barren landscape. Her hood covered her dark hair. She trudged, one foot after another, fighting the wind.

Her clothes weren't right for these conditions, he thought. The resistance couldn't find her a decent coat?

When she finally reached the ship, he could feel himself shivering in sympathy. She paused at the bottom of the gangplank. It was hard to look at her, so close.

It was hard not to look at her. There was a pain, sharp and hot under his rib as he gazed down at her bent head, her slight frame.

The vulnerability was an illusion, he knew. Her bones were made of beskar.

But her face was still white from the cold.

In three quick strides he reached her. Pulling his cloak off, he wrapped it around her shoulders- it was too long- and turned away, moving back up the ramp.

"I'd like to be airborne as soon as possible. We're due to rendezvous with my fleet in fourteen hours." He announced without looking back.

He could feel her follow, one slow step after another.

Inside, he made a curt gesture at the droid waiting patiently beside the door, "Show Lady Rey to her room. Make sure she is warm, fed, and comfortable."

Without stopping to hear it's mechanical reply, he marched through the door and down the corridor toward the bridge. His hands were numb and shaking with cold.

He could feel her prowling the ship. She had spent a brief amount of time in her quarters- according to the droid she had paused long enough to eat but not to sleep. Now, she was stalking the corridors. His lips twisted just a little. Well, he had told her that she could go anywhere. Ask any question.

He wished she would go to sleep. It was hard to concentrate on reports with the constant awareness of her in his head. The force of it acting on him without end or mercy. As though his sternum hid a supernova on the verge of collapse. But what was she? The force of heat and light pushing outward or the balance of gravity containing his expansion?

I will go slow, he reminded himself. I will be patient. The words had become a mantra and like many mantras had begun to lose any meaning. He could feel her, her feet walking in circles that centered on him.

I will be patient, he said again, as he set the datapad aside and stood. After exiting his room, he made his way to the observation deck at the back of the shuttle and sat down. In hyperspace, there wasn't much to see but the stars slipping by, each a slash of light against the black. He took a breath and let it out silently. And waited. Inside his boot, his toes moved up and down in time to her steps.

It didn't take long for her restless feet to bring her back around to him.

Rey hesitated at the end of the corridor. But not for long. He could almost see her jaw set in determination before she marched the rest of the way toward him and threw herself into the chair beside him.

So, close. Close enough to touch. He focused on the blur of stars.

"Your shuttle is ugly." She announced.

A smile threatened to crack open his face. He ruthlessly suppressed it. Instead he asked in a mild voice, "Is it the color you don't like?"

She snorted, "I don't like it's mediocre engineering. I'm surprised you haven't had it repainted, though. Shouldn't it be gray?" She asked in a scathing voice.

"I've been a little busy. Color coordinating my fleet is not my top priority."

"No. You've been too busy running around and inciting massacres."

"I prefer to think of it as incinting justice."

"Justice?" Her voice was contemptuous, "The entire First Order army is made up of brainwashed slaves. Where's the justice in that?"

He turned his chair toward her. Suddenly their knees were just inches from each other. Before she had been half frozen but now he could feel the heat coming off of her, like metal in the desert.

"Every troop in my military has been granted full citizenship in my empire. We've been going battalion to battalion, offering them their freedom and the choice of credits or a smaller measure of credits and land on a reasonably habitable world. Those who choose to stay receive a wage and the promise of land on retirement. The ranks are replenished from those we liberate who are offered the same deal."

She was staring at him. He met her eyes calmly. Let her stare for what felt like an eternity. The burning in his chest swelled and threatened to explode outward.

Finally, she raised her chin, breaking their eye contact. She said stiffly to the view port, "I'll need to see proof of that."

"Of course."

"You need a haircut," She added, as she pushed herself free of her chair.

"You need a decent cloak." He told her retreating back.