"I didn't ask for this"

She just wanted to go home. Her thoughts returned to her fallen AT-AT in the desert sand. Despite the many years of yearning to leave it, now she desperately longed to return. Anything better than this, anything better than the current situation.

Her emotions flowed from her and filled the confines of the room. Her face wet with the tears she'd been holding back for so many years. Tears not just of sorrow, but also pain, despair, fear and rage. Her whole body racked with her convulsive sobs. The adrenaline which had fuelled her since this whole thing began started to ebb away. A cold sweat settled over her, causing the convulsions to turn into a frantic and uncontrollable shivering. Crouched as she was, she placed her hands flat on the floor before her. The metal was cold against her skin and she hoped to ground herself, she could not fall to the floor now. Fighting the overwhelming urge to just lie down in surrender, she desperately attempted to calm down. Her breathing was ragged, she forced the lungs to take slower breaths. She tasted copper and vomited, not that there was much to regurgitate, her last scant meal was hours before. That final exertion used the last of her strength and she blacked out. She fell forwards and a nasty head injury was inevitable… except her helpless form did not impact with the floor but instead hovered an inch above it.

The black figure stepped forward and effortlessly retrieved her. At last she was still now, he breathed a sigh of relief. Her terror had been exhausting. Wave after wave had crashed over him and her latent Force capabilities made it difficult for him to protect himself. She had bombarded him with almost every emotion that she had ever felt, and they had dragged through his mind until he was almost as physically spent as her. It was only his training that had led him to be the last man standing. Had she actually attempted to focus the power of the pain she felt he knew that it could easily have been him lying on the floor, and he doubted very much that she would have spared him the indignity of waking up in a pool of his own vomit. Now, more than ever, he knew what he had to do. He glanced down at her in his arms and he knew that he had to train her. Her young face and slight form belied the power that she contained. Her youth worked in his favour, her mind would be more malleable, at least he hoped so. He gently laid her on a bed in the med bay. His gaze swept over her assessing for any life threatening injuries. She was badly bruised and concussed. She would live … for now. He fastened the restraints over her before turning his attention to his own injuries. He noted wryly that his body was considerably more battered than her. The fact that he was still conscious allowed him a moment of pride. Pride in his accomplishments as a warrior. He was a survivor and he would succeed.

His satisfaction was somewhat diminished though when he saw what she had done to his face. The burn from the lightsabre ran from his brow all the way down to his jaw. And it hurt. In fact, the more he looked at it, the more it hurt. How he had not lost an eye he did not know. He turned from the mirror and carefully peeled off his upper clothes. The fabric of his tunic had burnt and fused with his flesh where the sabres had struck him. He was shaking by the time he had finished.

He was exhausted. He glanced enviously at the girl. It was alright for her, lying there sleeping… He could not even remember the last time he had slept. His anger flowed through him and he reached out a hand to her. He could just snuff her out. Choke her with the Force and then he would not have to look at her or think about her ever again. He felt the Force flowing, following his impulse. It swirled around the girl, eager to do his bidding. She stirred, some part of her sensed the danger. Abruptly he dropped his hand to his side. The restless Force ebbed away to nothing. The room was still. He could not kill her … yet.

The ship they were on was positively ancient and he needed a co-pilot. He wished that when he had fled the doomed Starkiller Base it was in his own shuttle, but as he had frantically run through the hanger there was only this old freighter left. A relic awaiting destruction after being seized from some Resistance scum. He had managed to get it airborne but it was designed for a two pilot team. Even with his long arms and the Force he had struggled to manipulate both sides of the navigational controls. Desperation had made him take it, he had just fought his way out of the hanger when he had seen the distinctive shape of the Millennium Falcon swoop past and into hyperspace. He tasted a bitter panic as he accepted that she had gone. But then he realized that he could still sense her. She was running. He could sense her panic as she ran over the crumbling surface of the planet. Her despair as she watched the departing Millennium Falcon was almost more than he could bear. Her loss at being abandoned again was heartrending. Her emotions were like a beacon and he brought his ship towards her.

Her confusion was shot through with pure rage when she identified her "rescuer". He thought there was a good chance that she would simply refuse to get on board. He had to stay at the controls due to the unstable ground, and he opened the hatch. She could feel him and resolved to stay and die rather than be anywhere near him. He was just closing the ramp when he felt her adrenaline spike. She had actually jumped up at the very last moment. A leap of desperation and terror. But she wanted to live. She wanted to survive. It was instinct that made her jump. He admired the trait. She was strong.

He finished patching himself up. His mind returned again and again the overwhelming strength of her loss and rejection. He loosened the restraints, he now knew what he had to do. Her loneliness echoed his own and it would be her undoing. He was certain he could control her. This empty anguish was the key.