8. Fuel

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Kylo Ren struggles to find a worthy opponent to train with.

The cadet flies through the air, hitting the wall with a crack. He crashes to the ground, face down.

Staccato croaks eek out of his throat. The wind's been knocked out of him. He can't breathe. So, he just lies there, arms splayed, forehead to the floor, wheezing painfully.

Finally, precious air starts to seep in. The exploding pressure in his lungs subsides, allowing him to check in with the rest of his body.

It aches. All over. And the more he breathes, the more he feels a sharp pain in his lower chest. He must've broken a rib...

The sound of combat fills the air— grunting, panting, the cracking of melee weapons, cries that start loud then die out as they travel across the room.

Still lying prostrate, the cadet turns his head to catch a glimpse of the scene. All he sees is the blue matted floor and a blur of motion— limbs and quarterstaffs swinging wildly. He turns his face to the floor again.

He could get up, rejoin the fight. In any other situation, he would without hesitation.

But in this case, the wisest decision would be to stay put, pretend he's unconscious. If he gets up, he'll just end up right back on the floor, likely with another injury. No, there's no reason to put his body through such abuse for a fight he can't win. Better to preserve his—

"Goooh!"

The wind knocks out of him again when the full weight of another cadet lands on his back.

The training room falls quiet. No more cries. No more kicks. No more melee. There's only panting and muted groans. Eight bodies lie in a circular pattern, some struggling to stand but most just catching a breath. A single figure stands in the middle.

Kylo Ren flings his quarterstaff to the side like he's angry with it. He turns, looking around the room.

That was pathetic. He should have used droids.

But he always uses droids. Just once he wanted to train with sentients, actual living, breathing things. Maybe there'd be surprise or two.

But, of course there wasn't. Battle precognition is the problem. In a fight, his Force senses are heightened so he can detect his opponent's every move before he makes it.

He handicaps the advantage by fighting multiple opponents at once. It can work. It's worked before, given opponents who do more than regurgitate their training exactly as they learned it.

He wipes the sweat from his face, walking to the washing station to grab a towel.

These are supposedly Hux's best cadets. Best. And he laid them out in five minutes. What a disappointment…

More than that. He comes to the training room to forget about the incompetence that plagues this organization. Now he can't think about anything but the fact that he's had a harder time fighting Rodian brawlers than these fools.

He wipes his face and hair with the towel.

He'll have to talk to Hux about this, review their training regimen. What he just experienced is nowhere near what he expects from the best of the First Order.

"Sir." A cadet addresses him from behind, trying to sound confident.

He's failing. The man stinks of fear.

"Would you like to go again?"

Kylo sighs.

"Get out," he says without turning.

He doesn't hear the man move.

"GET OUT!" He whips around.

The cadet flinches, then scurries away. He orders the rest of the cadets to return their equipment and leave. They all peel themselves from the floor, grabbing their weapons and affixing them to the wall before hobbling out. A minute later, the room is empty.

Kylo strides over to a built-in comm and presses a button.

"Bring me four sentry droids," he commands. He turns away, but abruptly whips back, pressing the button. "No, six." He casts the towel off angrily, not seeing where it lands. He closes his eyes, taking a breath.

This has been a catastrophically bad day after a string of bad days. He feels that burning itch in his body, a fire in the blood. He needs some sort of release to regain a modicum of control over his desire to kill every source of incompetence he encounters.

Suddenly, the door whirs open.

"I thought I told you to—" He stops after he turns to see the visitor is not a cadet. It's an orderly carrying a trey covered in what looks like mostly fruits and vegetables, a heaping mass of green peppered with red and orange.

"What the hell is that?" He points to the trey.

The orderly gulps.

"Sir, the Head of Nutrition asked me to bring this to you. She noticed that you didn't eat anything this afternoon." He pauses for a moment. "Or this morning."

Kylo growls, turning away.

"Just because she can't catalogue every one of my meals doesn't mean I'm not eating," he snaps.

"Sir." The orderly straightens. "The Head of Nutrition asked me to remind you that a liquid diet does not provide the human body with all of the vitamins and minerals it needs. She told me to tell you that certain nutrients can only be absorbed through solid food and—"

In an instant, Kylo Force-slams the trey across the room, the fruits and vegetables flying in all directions, some landing on the floor, some on the shelves affixed to the wall.

"GET OUT!" He rages forward in full-throated fury.

The man instantly turns to run.

"And tell that bitch if she ever tries to manage my eating habits again, I'll blast her into space with the evening garbage dump!" Kylo doesn't finish before the door whirs shut.

He charges to the entrance and changes a setting so no one can enter the room without his express permission.

Then, for a minute, he just stands there, jaw set, fists clenched, blood raging through his veins.

Finally, he covers his eyes with a palm and slides it over his face, trying to reset himself. He turns to the back wall and walks forward, shoulders hunched, looking down at nothing in particular.

Where the hell are those sentry droids?

Suddenly, he halts, caught off guard. He'd been too lost in himself to recognize that feeling welling within, a subtle warmth creeping into his chest. It stretches into his limbs, overwhelming him, then melts away as quickly as it came.

And just like that, he's not alone anymore.

He turns to face his unexpected guest.

Rey's not looking at him but around at the room, turning to face the front wall.

"Is this a training room?" She steps to the weapons lining the shelves.

"Hello to you, too." He crosses his arms.

She twists around, nodding curtly before turning back to continue her inspection. She walks by the wall, briefly touching each weapon as she passes, examining some more thoroughly than others.

He watches silently.

Rey has become strangely… comfortable with the bond. Or at least she's no longer wary of him the moment it brings them together. These days, she's more curious than anything else.

She stops to pick up a piece of fruit from a shelf. She turns around to look at the rest of fruits and vegetables strewn across the room. She looks up at him, eyebrows knitted.

"Why is there food on the floor?" She points down.

"An accident," he lies.

She narrows her eyes but doesn't challenge this. She crouches, picking up a leafy green. She leans over to grab the trey and places the green on top of it. She stands and begins stooping down, picking up bits of food and dropping them on the trey.

"Rey." He grunts. "What are you doing? We have cleaning droids for this."

"Well excuse me for not leaving every menial task up to a droid." She continues her progress. "Besides, this looks like perfectly good food. There are people starving on Jakku right now, you know."

"Rey." He steps forward, uncrossing his arms. "This food has been on the floor. No one's eating it."

"What!?" She snaps up, incredulous. "Not even an animal? It's just going in the bin?" She stares at him with a mixture of disbelief and scorn.

He shrugs.

"What a waste!" She continues gathering food from the floor. "And this isn't even rations! It's organic stuff, clearly." She picks up a carrot and brings it close her face. "I haven't even seen some of these kinds before. Like this one." She looks up at him, a question in her eyes.

"That's a carrot." He steps forward, clasping his hands behind his back.

She nods, placing it on the trey and pointing to a green.

"Spigage." He steps closer.

She points to another green.

"Celto."

She nods, then resumes picking up the food from the floor.

He watches her, head cocked, the faintest smile on his lips.

She's so powerful, so confident. Sometimes he forgets she's lived the majority of her life on one planet, a resource- and culture-deprived one at that. In fact, he's seen a sizable chunk of her memories— he knows exactly how monotonous her life was. Everything's so new to her. He can't help but be charmed by her innocence.

Rey's picked up all the bits from the floor and is now inspecting the food on the shelves. She holds the trey to her hip with her left hand and picks up fruit with her right. "So orange!" She exclaims, bringing up the fleshy orb to her face.

"That's what it's called, actually." He walks up, stopping beside her.

"Good name, then." She lingers, examining the fruit instead of placing it on the trey

"Do you want to try it?"

"Can I?" She snaps up.

"Of course." He shrugs. "It'll just be thrown out otherwise."

Rey shakes her head disapprovingly, walking to a corner of the training room.

"I still can't believe that." She sets the trey on the floor, then stands, inspecting the orange. She seems confused…

"You need to peel the flesh first." He walks up to her, extending a hand.

She gives him the fruit, watching as he pierces it with a thumb and peels back a strip of orange. He hands it back to her, and she takes it eagerly, eyes bright as she peels back enough flesh to dislodge a slice from the center. She's surprised when juice trickles down the fruit to her hand, dripping to the floor.

"Sorry." She glances at him.

"It's nothing." He shakes his head.

She kneels down to place the rest of the fruit on the trey, then brings the slice to her mouth, biting into it tentatively. She immediately straightens, touching her fingertips to her lips. She chews for a moment then swallows.

"It's mostly water!" She exclaims. "But it's good. Very sweet. Do want to try?" She extends a hand, offering the rest of the slice.

He shakes his head.

"No, I don't eat that." He turns, walking to the entrance. It occurs to him that those sentry droids should be here by now.

"Why not?" Rey calls after him. "You don't like it?"

"I don't eat solid food." He doesn't turn back. "Everything I consume is liquid."

"Really?" He hears her walk his way. "Why?"

"Because it's more efficient." He stops at the comm next to the entrance. "Food's just fuel, Rey. I don't eat to enjoy it."

"I can't say I identify with that attitude." She sounds disapproving. "I ate practically the same thing every day on Jakku and still looked forward to it."

He presses a button on the comm

"Where are the sentry droids?" He demands.

Silence.

More silence.

"You know…" Rey walks up behind him. "One of the medics was telling me the other day that there are some nutrients that can only be absorbed by eating solid food."

He rolls his eyes.

"My apologies, your grace," a voice finally crackles through the comm. "We've had a bit of a mix up. They'll arrive shortly, less than three minutes."

Kylo sets his jaw.

Incompetence abounds.

"Sooo…" Rey draws out the word.

He turns to face her.

She's standing with her arms crossed, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. "What exactly do you enjoy, if not eating?"

"This." He flails his hands around the room. "If I could find a damn opponent worth fighting." He pushes out an exhale, glancing at the comm.

"I'll fight you."

He snaps to Rey.

She shrugs casually.

He tilts his head, considering this.

"No." He turns back to the comm.

Rey grunts softly.

"Probably for the best." Her tone is condescending. "We both know how it would've turned out."

Kylo turns slowly to Rey.

"I'd beat you," she says flatly.

He unfurls his full height, eyes narrowed.

"Firstly…" He steps forward. "I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work." He stops in front of her. "And secondly…" He leans in. "You wouldn't beat me."

Rey stares at him, unfazed.

"Yes, I would," she says matter-of-factly. "Do you know why?" She steps in, bumping his chest. "Because, unlike you, I actually eat properly. Secondly, I've beaten you before. And thirdly…" She juts her chin up. "I know all your best moves."

He glares at her, provoked.

She squints at him in challenge.

Suddenly, they both straighten, jarred by the sound of the comm.

"The sentry droids have arrived, sir. Shall we bring them in?"

Kylo glances at the wall, then back to Rey. He stares at her for a few moments.

Then, he turns to the comm, pressing a button.

"No. Put them back. Now."

He turns to Rey.

She looks smug, like she's already won the fight.

He strides to a rack of weapons attached to the wall. He removes a quarterstaff and tosses it to her.

She catches it easily.

"Really?" She raises her eyebrows. "Now, you're definitely going to lose." She whips the staff around her in a series of well-practiced moves, then halts with a smirk.

He grunts, amused by her overconfidence. He doesn't take his eyes off her as he dislodges another staff from the wall. He strides to the center of the room, whipping his own staff around him.

She turns, following him, never looking away once. She looks cocky, playful even, her staff vertical and pressed firmly to her side.

They move a few paces apart then halt, facing one another, bodies taut and battle-ready.

Rey rolls her head back slightly, lids drifting over her eyes. She looks relaxed yet watchful, ready to spring into action any moment.

He stands tall, gripping his staff dead center in his right hand, eyeing her coolly.

Rey steps to the side, sliding her right foot to meet her left. She does this again, moving slowly, the smooth angles of body curving like a snake.

He steps to the side as well, bringing his staff behind him, enjoying the pre-fight tension.

They circle each other for a minute before Rey begins to twirl the staff around her. She appears to do this absently, yet he can sense that every movement— the lightest twitch of her wrist, tilting the staff one way or another— is done with intention. It might as well be an extension of her body, the way she effortlessly controls the weapon's movements.

He circles her, eyes like slits, her opposite. While she's a constant flurry of motion, he's almost completely still, muscles loose, shoulders relaxed. He feels her growing impatient.

He circles her calmly, face neutral, mind clear.

She grows more impatient.

He stares at her, unblinking.

In an instant, she lunges forward, the edge of her staff striking at his core.

He moves exactly when she does, whipping his staff to cut her off from below, pushing up and forward, knocking her back a few steps.

She doesn't skip a beat, striking again and again, at his head, his arm, his side, but he senses every move before she makes it, blocking with little effort.

As she whips her weapon towards his neck, he sees an opening. He leans away from the blow then immediately sweeps his staff under her, knocking her flat on her back. She tries to rise but finds the edge of his staff at her neck.

She looks up at him, surprised.

He winks at her.

She fumes, knocking his staff away and swinging her legs to propel herself into a crouched position. She flies at him, staff whirling, creating audible wind. She's a flurry of motion, striking hard, fast, all over.

The room fills with the cracking of their weapons as she takes the offense, raining down blows so quickly he can only block. To the untrained eye, she'd appear to be the one in control, but it's actually the opposite. He's purposefully taking the defense, enjoying himself as he watches her go, swinging and thrashing with excellent form.

But she's expending a lot of energy. Soon, she'll tire, start to make mistakes. And when that happens, he'll crush her.

Suddenly, she leaps into the air, somersaulting over his head. He barely turns in time to fend off a strike from above. She lands lightly on her feet, lunging left to strike. He moves to block her, but she unexpectedly whips her staff right.

A sharp pain explodes on the side of his body, just under the ribs. He thrusts his staff forward, aiming for her core but she ducks, tucking and rolling behind him then shooting up to forward flip away.

She lands gingerly, twisting around to face him. Now she looks smug.

He must admit, he's impressed. She's not like a droid— they're versatile but predictable. She's not like most sentients either, like droids only less precise, relying on rote training.

No, she's more creative, guided by instinct not logic. She moves without thinking, surrendering her body to the rhythm of the fight, reacting to the energy around her. Like him, she has precognition, sensing his move before he makes it and surprising him by changing course in the moment.

They begin to circle one another, whirling the staffs around them, each eying the other.

In an instant, they both lunge forward. The air fills with the cracking of combat as they thrash and dodge, leap and duck, strike and block, moving rhythmically through the room in something that can only be described as a kind of dance.

He sweeps his staff below, and she hops over it. She swings at his neck, and he leans back to miss the blow. He brings his staff down hard overhead and she dodges, striking at his core. He sidesteps the hit, and her staff slips between his arm and his body. He instantly presses his elbow to his side, pinning her staff and twisting hard to the right.

Rey gasps, losing balance, and for a split second, she loosens her grip on her weapon.

That's all the opportunity he needs.

Before she realizes what's happening, his grabs her wrist and jerks her to him, twisting her right arm behind her back, her staff dropping to the floor. Now he has her pinned to him, holding her in place with one arm across her body, her right arm trapped between her back and his chest. She grunts and jerks, trying to break free, but he just grips her more tightly.

"You know..." He smirks as she struggles against him. "Even though you can't beat me, you really are better than a droid."

"Thanks."

Just as the word leaves her mouth, he's surprised by a sharp pain exploding over his foot, followed by another at his side. The shock of it is enough for him to loosen his grip.

Rey whips her knees up then kicks down hard, wriggling free. She tucks and rolls to her staff, grabbing it and springing to her feet, twisting around just in time to block a strike from overhead.

They resume their martial dance, hacking and slashing wildly. He's abandoned his "wear her down" strategy, the rush of adrenaline too seductive to ignore. He takes the offense whenever he can, whipping his staff so hard it whistles as it cuts through the air. She blocks or dodges every hit, once bending back so far she's at a right angle as his staff whirs above her chest.

Crack, whish, crack, whish.

They fly at each other, striking and blocking, him sensing most of her moves in advance yet surprised by some, barely countering in time.

Crack, whish, crack, whish.

He intensifies his offense, forcing her into defense. She backs away, blocking as his staff bears down relentlessly.

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK.

Hard, powerful strikes rain down on her. She stays alert, deflecting every blow, but he senses her panic, the realization that he's backing her into a corner.

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK.

This is his fight now. He has her right where he wants her, boxing her in, two walls of the training room at her back.

Then, out of nowhere, she does something bizarre. She leaps up, tucking her knees into her chest and throwing her staff into the air.

He can't help but follow the weapon with his eyes, surprised.

Then he realizes what she's doing.

Too late.

In an instant, she's on the ground, limbs wrapping around his legs, sharp punches in exactly the right places, his inner thigh, the soft back of his knee. He barely feels the hits before he's flat on his back, weapon clattering out of his hand.

Rey catches her staff before it hits the ground, instantly bringing the edge of it to his throat. She pins him down with a foot on his chest, crouching on top of him.

He tries push up but she jams the staff hard in his throat, restricting his breath.

"Ah, ah, ah." She shakes her head. "Not so fast. I'll let you go, but I want you to promise me something first."

He could easily knock her off him, leap to his feet, resume the fight.

But the truth is, he's having more fun with her perched on his chest right now, even though she's gloating annoyingly. He looks up at her, expectant.

She eases the staff from his neck, drawing her face closer to his.

"And you have to say that you'll do it before you know what it is."

He grunts.

"No way." A smile tugs at his lips. "I'm not agreeing to something if I don't know what it is."

She jams the staff into his throat again, and he coughs.

"It's for your own good." Her face is just above his.

"Fine," he croaks.

She backs away, pleased with herself. She crawls off him, rising and walking to a corner of the room.

He sits up, watching as she places her staff on the ground and leans over the trey of food she picked up earlier. After a second, she stands, turning to face him, one arm tucked behind her back.

"Now remember, you promised."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything.

She brings out her arm to reveal something round and purple, holding it up.

"Eat something solid for once." She dips her chin. "And, if you can, try to enjoy it." She tosses the object to him and he catches it, looking down.

It's a Gapanga fruit.

He looks back up.

But no one's there. Vanished, without a trace, like she was never here at all.

He sighs. For a few seconds, he sits perfectly still, staring at the space where she used to be. Then he looks at the fruit in his hand, eying it suspiciously. A part of him wants to chuck it into the corner. He almost does, rearing his arm back to toss it.

But suddenly, he stops. The realization hits him at once.

He feels completely different. For the first time in days, he's relaxed, no itch, no fire in the blood. He just feels calm, in his body, his mind.

He takes a deep breath, drawing air slowly into his lungs, relishing this rare but welcome feeling. Without thinking, he brings the Gapanga to his mouth for a bite.

His teeth sink into the purple flesh , sweet, tart juice trickling across his tongue. He chews thoughtfully for a moment.

He remembers this one. It's been a long time, but he remembers it. It was one of his favorites as a boy...

He pushes up from the floor, heading to the back of the room for a towel. He grabs one and turns to the door, wiping the sweat from his face and neck as he walks. He tosses the towel, then slaps a panel to exit the training room. He strides into the hall, taking another bite of the fruit as he charges through the ship, mind preoccupied, body on autopilot, absently following the path to his quarters.

As he walks, he thinks about Rey. He thinks about the bond. He thinks about how much better it is to train with her than anyone else. He even thinks about eating more solid food.

But he doesn't think about the fight.

This is unusual. Normally when he leaves the training room, he reviews every strike, every block, analyzing, considering ways he can improve his performance.

But he doesn't do that this time.

Maybe it's because he's so relaxed. Maybe it's because he's embarrassed Rey got the better of him. But more than likely, it's because if he does this, he'll have to confront some things he'd rather avoid.

Like that wide-open opportunity to kick her directly in the chest, probably breaking a few ribs.

Or that moment when he could have slammed her against the wall.

Or that chance when he had her arm twisted behind her back. If he'd pulled just a little harder…

No, he doesn't think about these things. Because if he did, he'd have to admit the truth.

That whenever they fight, he can't seem to keep himself from pulling his punches.