"You're drunk," he observed, watching her stagger through her bedroom door into his chamber. She pursed her lips, confused that the concrete room she shared with Rose had turned into spacious shiny spartan luxury. Sadly it meant her cot was no where to be found.

"Through that door," Kylo answered, pointing. He put down his pad and tried to read from her mind what had brought her to this state. She stumbled past him with a sloppy salute, an unmarked nearly empty bottle that smelled like paint thinner and sugar swinging from the other hand.

By the time he'd followed her into his bedroom she'd collapsed on his bed. He poured water from his bedside table into a small glass.

She raised up the bottle to him in offering.

"Wurshurm?"

He shook his head no, but took it from her hand and put it out of her reach on the floor.

"As appealing as I'm sure Chewbacca's engine still moonshine is, I don't drink."

Her mind was wide open to him, conscious but unguarded. Kylo stood over her, beside the bed, skimming her thoughts. They were typical of an intoxicated mind, disjointed and uncontrolled. Amusing if he was just poking around in the person's mind, annoying if he had to actually look for something.

"You don't drink either," he confirmed. "What happened tonight?"

"Lungshtory." Rey buried her face in his pillow

"I have time," he said dryly. "It's not like I was sleeping anyway."

"Uuuuuuughgaaaaaawd," she groaned. She was reliving the memory, which played it for him like a holo vid in her surface thoughts.

There'd been a party, a celebration for the rebel's new permanent base. She'd had a friend do her hair, borrowed a dress and shoes, and was excited. Kylo furrowed his brow, it shouldn't have surprised him that she'd never been to a social gathering before.

Rey was a terrible dancer, but enthusiastic, and by the end of the evening she'd caught the eye of the only man in the room cocky enough to proposition the young Jedi.

Kylo's felt the muscles around his eyes tighten as he recognized the arrogant pilot he'd once tortured. If it hadn't been justified then, he felt it certainly had been earned now.

Dead sober but feeling flattered, curious, and reckless, Rey had let Poe Dameron draw her out of the party into a small meeting room. Sweaty palmed and breathless, he'd taken Rey by the hips and popped her up on the board table.

Biting his lips, Kylo focused on the girl in his bed rather than watch the loathsome attempt at coupling she was projecting.

"Hereitcomes," Rey said into the pillow.

Half-clothed and kissing her under the jaw, Dameron had her legs wrapped around his hips. Kylo could feel the pilot's fingers working her, readying her. He hated him. She had her head flung back, throat exposed, eyes closed.

"Fuck, Kylo, yes," she had cried.

Dameron stopped and stared at her.

Kylo stopped and stared at her.

She swung her face to meet Dameron's, shock draining the colour from their cheeks.

"No," Kylo breathed, staring at the girl in his bed with disbelief.

"No," Dameron breathed, pulling away from her sharply with disbelief.

"Why did you say that name?" they asked together, in two different places and times.

"Rey, how could you be thinking of that monster right now? How could you," Dameron was at a loss for words, wiping his fingers on the skirt of her dress. Rejection played across his handsome face.

Kylo felt a surge of pride, and smiled darkly.

Rey had been left alone on the table, legs splayed, underpants on the floor. She put herself back together with as much dignity as she could muster, deciding to see if Rose was ready to leave the party.

In the hall she found Poe talking to their group of friends, anger and concern fighting for dominance in his tone. He was telling them about what had just happening, asking their advice whether he should take this to Leia, whether Rey was safe to be with the rebels.

"Now there's a conversation my mother would love to have. 'Yes, ma'am, I was finger fucking your innocent young Jedi on your strategy table and she said your son's name'."

In her memory, her friends had noticed her standing at the door. Finn shook his head, his horrified disappointment plain. Rose looked speculatively at her, like she was concerned but would hear Rey out later.

Rey ran, trying to hold in the powerful feelings that wanted to be expressed through destruction. Chewie found her crying in the cockpit of the docked Millenium Falcon with the bottle in question, and carried her back to her room on his shoulder like a drunken toddler.

Except it hadn't been her room once she'd opened the door, it had been his.

He listened to her cry out his name over and over in his memory. Once she was sober, he imagined the conversation he wanted to have with her about the incident would be different than the ones her friends intended to have.

"Sleep," he whispered, using the Force to gently put her out of her misery.