The cheers and laughter of the Resistance fighters follow Rey as she staggers out of the mess hall. Despite Poe's amused and somewhat patronizing warnings, nothing really prepared her for the fuzzy feeling and the throbbing. So much throbbing.

Even her gait feels heavier, more sluggish. It's like somebody paved the way to her quarters with rubber or transported her back to Jakku where she used to trudge for hours through the dunes, scavenging for scraps under the scorching sun.

Unlike the unforgiving surface of her home planet, however, the corridors of the Imperial base in which the Resistance squats are dark, warm, flat and even. And before she knows it, Rey's unsteady legs have carried her by the Communications room. Out of habit, perhaps, or out of curiosity, she stops at the door, and takes a timid peek inside.

Kaydel's domain, usually so busy, is eerily quiet; its antiquated equipment blinking idly and beeping softly under the watchful eye of two officers on duty.

Another day without being discovered by The First Order.

A relief, considering half the Resistance fighters are currently arm in arm singing war anthems, while the rest of them are happily tucked in the narrow bunks of the barracks. The consequences of an attack would be disastrous, no doubt.

Sensing her presence, one of the officers lifts his sandy-haired head from the screen he's watching intently to look in her direction. His brow furrows and he squints, trying to identify the intruder. If she's trusting her intoxicated brain, he's a pretty boy in his early twenties, with dark eyes and lush lips floating above a strong square jaw.

As soon as the young officer recognizes Rey, 'the Jedi,' 'Luke Skywalker's last student,' he squares his shoulders and jumps to his feet to greet her with a formal salute.

"Ma'am!"

Bewildered, Rey stares back with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

Despite being about the same age, when this pretty boy looks at her, he doesn't see a girl - a woman - he sees something else, some kind of war veteran or royalty.

A legend.

A monster.

Rey's cheeks redden under his questioning gaze. She knows he wants to ask if he can help. They all do. They all have questions. But she doesn't want to talk right now, especially to a cute guy. She waves her hand awkwardly.

"Good night!" she finally blurts out - And scurries away, before she can make a bigger fool of herself.

It's only when she's sure the pretty boy hasn't followed her that Rey slows down to regain her breath. The combination of alcohol, half-panic and shame makes her heart beat faster and her head pound even more furiously than before. She's dizzy and only wants to hide in the safety of her quarters.

It's embarrassing enough to endure the constant attention when she's sober - the last thing Rey needs tonight is a well-meaning kid from some mining world who has recently joined the Resistance following her around yammering about how awesome and inspiring she is and what a fantastic mentor Luke Skywalker must have been.

None of those statements are true, yet the tales of Luke's exploits on Crait have spread like wildfire across the galaxy and inspired a new generation of freedom fighters. As they should. It's not like she can shatter dreams, can she? Reveal the truth - that Master Skywalker taught her nothing, that he believed the Jedi needed to die, that he tried to murder his nephew - No, no one is more qualified than Rey to understand how hearing from the mouth of your heroes that they're not who you think they were; that they're flawed and scared like everybody else, can have devastating consequences. Rey understands that hope is a weapon that can be shattered as easily as the housing of a lightsaber.

Hoping no one notices, she rushes mindlessly through the corridors and only stops when coming to a junction she doesn't recognize. Her mouth twists into a grimace.

How is she even supposed to rebuild the Jedi when she can't even find her way back to her room?

An idea comes to her mind. She scrunches her face, trying to reach out with the Force rather than her dull senses.

Breathe.

That's what master Skywalker had told her on Ahch-To. Right before a nasty slap had interrupted her meditation.

Despite this unwelcome recollection, a renewed sense of awareness fills Rey's mind at the mere reminder of Ahch-To's Temple standing, unchanging and eternal, in the middle of the ocean.

She sucks in a sharp breath.

In, and out.

Responding to her gentle solicitation the Force shifts and sways around her like a peaceful sea and the air stills. A warm tingle starts spreading like invisible fingers pulling at her left hand.

"Thank you," she whispers, grateful for the guidance. Even the awful pounding in her skull has recessed to nothing more than a thrum now.

Relieved, Rey saunters confidently into the next corridor - and fails to notice one of the cables running throughout the base.

"Kriff!"

For a second that stretches beyond eternity, she flails for purchase, arms flapping in the air about as elegantly as a baby steelpecker leaving the nest for the first time.

Had she carried her quarterstaff, she would plant it firmly to the ground to regain balance. But she had to leave it in her room, hadn't she? It seems that since she left Jakku, she's becoming stupid, sloppy.

Almost resigned, she braces herself for impact, preparing her body to meet the cold, unforgiving floor.

No!

To her own surprise, Rey's Jedi reflexes kick-in and before she can comprehend what is happening, her hands are pushing away from the ground like she saw Luke do on Ahch-To after she smacked him on the head, throwing her backward on her feet almost as if she meant to. Perhaps, she has learned something from the old Jedi, after all.

"I swear I will never drink again," she mutters, an air of relief mixed with incredulity etched on her face.

For once, that statement is probably correct.

The mixture brewed by Nnips behind the hangar bay is about as clear as the motor oil Chewbacca smuggles from behind First Order lines. And it tastes only slightly better. Fat chance Rey could ever take a liking to the stuff.

Tonight was just an exception. A much-needed diversion from the war.

And it was fun.

For the most part.

Besides, even the stern Caretakers enjoy a night of respite and festivities once in a while, don't they? An outlook on life and duty the Jedi seemed to have disagreed with according to her research.

That's the reason why, despite craving the social interaction and the distraction as much as anybody else around the base, Rey has always managed to dodged her friends' invitations to Nnips' infamous get-togethers so far.

The drinking and the singing and the flirting? Not for her. Not proper. Not the way of the Jedi. Being a Jedi is about being more than yourself. And wallowing.

Again, she also had excuses for not joining Finn and Rose before. Good reasons actually.

The first time, she was away with Leia on a secret mission that would secure a significant number of credits for their cause. Of course, things could have ended up differently; if the representative they had met hadn't turned out to be a spy and tried to kill the both of them. Then, perhaps Rey would have enjoyed toasting to their success.

The second time, she was stuck for almost two days, playing hide and seek inside an asteroid belt with a tenacious bounty hunter. Apparently, he aspired to be the one to get that generous bounty the First Order had placed on the head of Snoke's murderer.

The last time, someone had discovered Leia in her bed. The General had passed away in her sleep, her body unable to fight any longer the ravaging effects of the space radiations she had been exposed to aboard the Raddus. Without surprise, the festivities had turned into mourning.

Rey had no such excuse today. As a matter of fact, it hadn't taken much convincing at all. And as she remembers with fondness the smile that had appeared on Finn's face after she agreed to meet with him, she realizes that her feet have finally led her right in front of her quarters.

Sanctuary

Rey presses the buttons of the keypad on the wall, impatient to get in. Obeying her command, the sliding panel cracks open with a painful hiss - then stops midway in its track, completely stuck.

"Oh, come on! Not again," she says through gritted teeth at the rusty piece of metal that is testing her patience.

The door that remained unused since the fall of the Empire is stubborn, but tonight Rey really doesn't want to fight. Instead of kicking it back to work like she usually does, Rey slips through the opening and stumbles inside. The lights switch on, albeit dimly.

When Rey forcibly hits the pad again, the door slides shut and she can't help but stick out her tongue at it. Childish, but well deserved. Besides, in the privacy of her quarters, nobody can judge her, evaluate her. She's free to be her own person.

"Tomorrow morning, I'm tearing up your casing and you're going to work for good," Rey adds mischievously, pointing at the door with an accusing finger.

With that, she spins on her heels to seize her domain. And immediately regrets the decision as a bout of queasiness submerges her, making her insides quiver and spasm like never before. Is she dying?

As the nausea continues to build, Rey throws her hand to her mouth and hurries across the room, trying not to stumble over the mechanical parts scattered here and there. Old habits don't die, and there are so many broken things in need of repair.

Panicking, she fumbles to open the door leading to the refresher, and when she's finally in, her eyes widen at the reflection she sees in the mirror above the sink.

She's had better days, that's for sure. But there's no time to observe the ashen beast with hollow eyes she swapped place with before another wave of queasiness sends her squatting in front of the toilet bowl.

The next few minutes are absolutely agonizing - tears are streaming down Rey's flushed face as the content of her stomach erupts inside the bowl in painful gushes of acid, mixed with whatever wretched mixture Nnips calls moonshine.

It's the first time in her life she ever had enough in her stomach to actually retch, and if she has any say about it, she swears it's also the last time.

When her abdomen finally agrees to stay still, she's left with burning eyes, clammy skin and unsteady legs, a sensation she's now desperate to wash away.

Grunts of frustration echo in the enclosed space when her fingers, usually so dexterous, struggle to unclasp the holster she keeps strapped to her hip. But once she's done with it, she kicks her feet out of her boots as elegantly as possible, not paying attention to her limbs colliding with the fixtures. Soon after the rest of her clothes join the blaster and the boots in a pile in the corner of the room.

Her toes flinch deliciously when they finally make contact with the chill ceracreete surface of the 'fresher and with one press of a button Rey releases thousands of steaming droplets over her trembling body.

The sensation of relief is immediate and she avidly welcomes the heat and wetness that trickles down her skin, washing away the sweat, the tears and the bad taste in her mouth. She closes her eyes and lets her mind swirl and drift away as she stands under the stream for long minutes, pressing her palms all over her angular features.

She has definitely put on some weight since she left Jakku. Her muscles are more toned, more defined. Her breasts too. Although, there's still not much to see in that department compared to some of the more pleasant looking women of the Resistance. Not that it really matters.

Reluctantly, she turns down the stream, conscious not to waste more precious water than necessary, and activates the dryer cycle. Hot waves of pressurized air whirl to life, whipping vigorously her hair vigorously across her face and back, and before long all trace of moisture has disappeared, sucked into the recycling system of the station. When Rey finally steps out of the stall she feels and looks human again.

On the way out of the refresher, she picks up her cherished blaster from the pile of dirty clothes, and proceeds forward, in the nude. Another new experience. A pleasant one. After spending a few weeks confined with everybody else, privacy is a luxury.

The bedroom is dark compared to the brightly lit 'fresher and not that much bigger all things considered. Slightly larger than a prison cell, Finn joked, but certainly more comfortable than her AT-AT.

Without giving it a thought, Rey hooks the holster next to the bed - you never know what lurks in the dark - then pads shamelessly across the bedroom to retrieve a pair of fresh underwear and a clean tank top.

That's another kind of luxury she could get used to; fresh clothes and fresh linen left at the door every two or three days.

Too bad the Resistance announced today that the distribution of new uniforms was suspended until further notice due to difficulties in reaching their usual supplier. Something about a blockade. The details are still blurry.

However Rey knows that some members of the Resistance are starting to complain. Fear is getting a hold of them. She heard them speak tonight. They blame the First Order of course. They blame its Supreme Leader before all. Since he took control, the First Order is unpredictable.

Blasted Kylo Ren.

Her heart flinches. She tries to get used to hearing the name without grimacing. Not an easy task for someone who is living at the heart of the organization that swore to tear the First Order down. But it's even harder to say that name; even now - Kylo Ren.

For Rey, he's Ben Solo. The boy she left behind.

She glances at the desk in the corner and takes a few unassured steps. Unfortunately, the shower can't get rid of the alcohol, only the grime.

As she suspected, nothing has moved since she left. The Aionomica still lays open on the page she was painfully deciphering when Finn knocked on the door, and the holopad she's been feverishly filling with notes for the past few months rests on top of the schematics for her new lightsaber - a design she has proudly imagined herself.

Ben Solo

Her fingers caress the parchment of the Aionomica distractedly.

"Not tonight, my friend," she says to the ancient book.

It's late and she needs some rest. There's so much to do tomorrow - Fixing that damn door for once, translating eons old texts about cosmic energy and laser swords, spreading words of hope throughout the galaxy…

Rey tucks herself into bed and with a flicker of her fingers switches off the light.

Can I have this dance?

Poe is holding his hand out to her.

"Yes, I'd love to dance," she replies with a sheepish smile. The glass she's been holding since the beginning of the party ends up on the table, and Poe grabs her hand.

The next thing, she's following 'Commander Dameron' to the center of the dance floor under the jealous stares of the most junior members of the Resistance. Then they start slow dancing.

"It's a great song, isn't it? A real classic" Poe says.

Too embarrassed to admit she has never heard that song or any of the songs Nipps has been playing until now, Rey simply hums her agreement. Jatz's greatest hits never reached Jakku's shores, unfortunately.

For some reason, Poe's left hand supports the small of her back - The other that his clasped with hers keeps their arms poised in the air at an odd angle.

At least this is how she remembers it.

Rey tosses and turns, getting tangled in the bedsheet as she's desperately trying to fall asleep. Aren't drunkards supposed to pass out? What was the point of numbing herself if she can't even get a good night sleep?

But now that she thinks about it, Poe is a better dancer than Luke was. She sees that, now. Under his lead, her feet sway effortlessly from one side to another, in perfect harmony with the music.

In the corner of her eye, Rey catches a glimpse of Finn and Rose dancing nearby. Finn's arms are resting over Rose's shoulders, albeit a little too stiffly to look comfortable. Because she's much smaller, Rose is hugging his midsection instead, and her cheek is pressed flush against his chest. They look awkward.

Awkwardly cute.

"War brings people together sometimes."

Rey looks up. Poe is looking at Rose and Finn too. There's just a hint of sadness in his voice, and she's not sure what brings it.

"What were the odds these two would have met otherwise?" He continues, looking down to meet her eyes.

"I'm sure Threepio would love to answer this question," she replies jokingly. "Let me fetch him for you."

Poe's laugh is round and full. It's an agreeable sound. His grip on her lower back tightens.

"Maker, no. Have mercy! If I have to listen to one more lesson on protocol, I'm going to deliver myself to the First Order," he adds. "He's gotten worse since Leia..."

The rest of the sentence gets stuck in his throat as if the words are still too hard to say out loud. Their feet continue moving in harmony for a while.

Poe eventually breaks the silence.

"My parents met on a base like this one. It's hard, you know," he continues, searching for her face, and Rey isn't sure where he's going at now.

She elects to nod and smile, letting the music flow around her. Rey actually likes to dance. Once you know what to do, it's nice just to follow and let your body react instinctively.

"You're a Jedi, destined for great things," Poe says more seriously. "Don't be jealous."

Rey loses the tempo, and steps onto his toes.

"Ouch."

"Sorry," she apologizes. "But I'm not sure what you mean by that."

She's candid, but Poe doesn't seem to believe her. He flashes her a knowing look that, in reality, knows nothing and inches closer to whisper in her ear.

"Finn. And Rose. I know it hurts, but you should rejoice for them."

Rey stops in her track to look at him, aghast. She doesn't know what's more preposterous, that Poe believes that she's in love with Finn or that she could be unable to rejoice for her best friend's newfound happiness. Of course, she's happy for Finn! For the both of them, really!

She lets go of Poe's hand.

"I'm parched now. All that dancing," Rey says a little harsher than she intended. "I think I need another drink."

In bed, a grunt of frustration escapes her throat. "Sleep instead of replaying scenes from this evening!"

But it's useless. She's unable to think of anything else. Perhaps she should get up and work on one of the projects littering her floor. Fixing things always worked wonders on Jakku.

Stupid Poe. What does he know? She is not jealous of Rose. Rose is her friend, a little bit of a know it all when it comes to the Falcon, but she did have a point with the thruster, so she's forgiven.

Rey hides her face in the crook of her arm.

She's not jealous. She's envious.

Envious of how Rose and Finn's faces light up when they see each other in the mornings, of the laughs they share, of how their signature in the Force change when they're together. They're unaware it does, but Rey can sense it.

She's envious because she will never have that. Not in this lifetime anyway.

She tries to push the memories away before they even bubble at the surface.

She went over this before.

She's over this.

Over it.

Over him.

But she has to admit. She had butterflies once. In the pit of her stomach. In a turbolift. It was nice.

Blasted brain!

What's the point of reliving painful moments? There's nothing she could have done that day that would have changed anything. It's no use. Rey would love to find the key again, the key she used to lock her parents out of her memories.

But what if? What if she'd taken his hand?

Rey doesn't dream of the island and the ocean anymore. The visions of Ahch-To have made a place to something else. A mystery she hoped to crack thanks to the Jedi texts. Something she's been trying to understand.

She sucks in a sharp breath and tries to relax. The bedsheet brushes against her legs.

She sees it. The cave. It's dark, yet bright at the same time. There are crystals embedded in the rocky surface; they shimmer with the light. No, they shine, from within. It's beautiful.

Her chest heaves.

She's not alone. She's never alone in that dream. He's there, by her side.

She can't see his face, but she knows it's him. It's him, yet different at the same time. What could have been? What will be? What was?

Blood runs faster in her veins. She can hear her heartbeats. Not in the dream, in the bedroom. Her hand slithers under the bed sheet.

He's waiting for her in the dream. Always. When he speaks her name, she's never afraid, never sad. She smiles?

It's just a fantasy, an illusion, but is she not allowed to have that, at least? If a Jedi can't have the laughs and the butterflies, surely she's allowed the thrills at least?

The man who is him yet not him at the same time is holding his hand out to her. She wishes she could say his name out loud but for some reason the words are stuck. It's easier to imagine him nameless and faceless anyway.

Her hand hesitates at the hem of her tank top.

Meanwhile, in the dream, she follows him to the center of the crystal gallery, her left hand clasped with his. Her lower back welcomes the contact of his right hand, and they start moving together. Their feet are bare, like the rest of them.

Rey presses her cheek against his chest to listen to his inner world. He's at peace now. And their hearts beat at the same rate.

The man she can't name never speaks. It doesn't matter; they don't need words anyway. They have the Force. The tips of his fingers are smooth and warm. He makes gentle, soothing circles on her skin.

Her hand moves upward, underneath the material of the tank top. She can count her ribs if she wants to.

She's foolish. She shouldn't dream things like that. She shouldn't want things like that. A man. A man like him.

Yet.

Rey opens her eyes. The room is dark.

There's nothing there.

Just her.

She shifts in the bed, trying to think of something else but the butterflies are desperately fluttering in the pit of her stomach, and she's still alone. Lonely.

Rey shuts her eyes again and tries to recreate with her mind-eye the face of the pretty boy. The officer from the communication room. Surely, he's good enough to help chase the butterflies away. Better than him in every way.

Her breast fits snuggly in the palm of her hand, and she gives a gentle squeeze.

The pretty boy's lips are lush and pink and sleek. They crown her small tit nicely, his pink tongue swirling and rolling over her perky nipple.

He's really pretty, with ivory skin and a burning gaze. He has no voice, and it's okay that way. Words are useless. Worthless.

Rey kneads her breast until a soft, shy moan finds its way out of her throat. It's no more than heavy breathing. If someone were listening, they would think it's just a dream.

The pretty boy flashes an impish smile before they both tumble on the floor of the cave. Rey laughs a tinkling laugh that ripples through the crystals.

Her hand strokes her breasts with more fervor, more vigor.

The pretty boy likes her. Likes to lavish her skin with kisses.

The fingers of her left hand start tracing featherlike patterns over her breasts. The other hand slithers down, and down, and down, like the pretty boy.

She's never experienced that kind of heat, never shared that sort of passion, but somehow with each stroke of her imagination she's finding herself pushed further and further away from herself. The air becomes still in the cavern; her hands clutch at the material pooling underneath their naked bodies. Her chest tightens up, her ribs rise with each breath, trying to break her flesh. The pretty boy's hair is tickling the skin of her inner thighs.

No, not the pretty boy. She looks down, and their eyes meet. His dark, hungry, never satisfied gaze lock with her watery, unfocused gaze. His hair as dark as night. The breath is knocked out of her when he slowly pokes his tongue out and gives her a feral grin. His name reaches her lips.

"B-"

"What are you doing?"

Her eyes fly open with fear.