When the screams started, you and Sam scrambled out of the cockpit and down the ramp, following the dim glow of red light as best as your pupils would allow. In the docking bay, you could make out little in the panicked swarm of people, your ears swallowed by a cacophony of horror, your eyes straining to see through the veil of dark crimson gleaming from the walls.

As an officer rushed past you, you turned to Sam, failing to hide the tremors in your voice. "W-what's happening, dude?"

Sam's face was grim. "Whatever it is, I'm not sure we should be sticking around to find out."

A loud chorus of snapping tethers had you spinning your head, signaling the release of rows and rows of TIE fighters for take-off. You frowned--even in the absence of light, you could see your fellow officers gathering in angry, squirming crowds, climbing over each other for a seat in one of the ships. Without you realizing it, your heart started thumping hard in your chest. Another rumble--this one closer, louder. The ground shook under your feet.

"Something tells me we need to be doing what they're doing," you said, unable to tear your eyes from the desperate mass of bodies behind you.

"Yeah," he replied. "I think you're right."

Even with those words, you both stayed rooted to the end of the shuttle's ramp, watching the world blur in front of you. Logically, you knew you should be like those wriggling, selfish bodies, but your brain had stopped, watching you watch them, like this was a performance in which you simply happened to play a part.

The only thing to snap you from your trance was the urgent shouting of Minks Loren, who, you realized, was now in your face, arms waving wildly in the air while she spoke.

"Guys! The planet is collapsing! The Resistance--they--we have to go!"

Air filled your lungs like you'd broken the water's surface. "Go?" you said. "What? How? Where's--"

You couldn't finish your sentence. It wouldn't be appropriate to say--in front of Sam and Minks, no less--Where's Kylo Ren?

"In a ship!" she said, staring at you as if you didn't realize the entire planet was de-stabilizing (which, to be honest, you still didn't).

Three TIE fighters screamed by overhead. Their numbers were slimming. "And what ship would that be?" you asked.

Minks blinked. "The Command Shuttle, of course!"

"No," Sam said. Seemed he was out of his trance, too. "The shuttle's down. One of the engines is busted."

"Well," you said, "I could see if I could try and fix--"

"We don't have time for that!" Minks cried. You suppressed a leer.

Sam scanned the bay. "If we're going to leave, it'll have to be in a transporter."

"A transporter?" Minks said. "Can you fly one of those?" She was right to ask. Those things were bulky and unwieldy-- typically only trained pilots had the skill.

"We'll figure it out--we have to, between the three of us, right?" There was more pleading in his voice than you figured he'd meant to show.

A powerful quake shook the foundation underneath the bay, and half the people in your line of sight stumbled into the ground, shrieks rising in waves as they did. You might have been one of them, had Sam not snatched your arm and yanked you upright. Flustered, you met his eyes, and he released his grip, holding up his hands in submission.

"Sorry," he said. "Automatic reaction."

You rubbed your arm. Now was not the time to scold him for catching you mid-fall. "It's fine."

Minks groaned. "Let's go!" she said, clutching both of you at the shoulder. "Now!"

Nodding, you finally started to move your feet. "Right."

The three of you cut through the stampede of fear like a spear, pushing and shoving and yelling, ignoring the body-checks you received as officers careened by, searching for any lead, any hope, any escape. Terror was no longer a feeling. It was a scent, so thick in the air that even breathing it in made you woozy. You couldn't feel your pulse, anymore, but you imagined that was because it was flying through your veins so fast that it didn't bother to beat.

A voice--loud and commanding--broke into your ears. "Foster! Foster!"

The three of you stopped against all instinct, turned toward the source. It was Hux. You heard Sam curse under his breath.

"Get the shuttle functioning immediately," Hux said, marching toward your group. His steps were quicker than normal--he looked a bit funny. "I need it operational in the next five minutes."

"Sir, I..." Sam grimaced, staring at the floor. "I can't."

Hux bristled--his eyes popped out of their sockets. "What do you mean you can't?"

"I mean I can't, sir," Sam replied. His body looked like a board. "I can't figure it out. I don't know how to fix it!"

"You were the Chief Engineer," Hux spat. The words shot through his teeth like knives--the hatred for Sam could have been wrung out from his tongue. There was a long, deep groan, like the sound of metal being rended apart, and the ground rocked below you, as if the entire planet was shaking. With a palpable reluctance, Hux's gaze turned to you. "Get on the shuttle. You can fix it, can't you?"

Your face was hotter than the now non-existent sun. Though you weren't sure of your answer, you nodded anyway. "Yes, yes I can. Yes, sir."

"Go," he said. "Now." With that, he rushed onto the ship, accompanied by two Stormtroopers.

Swallowing a wad of apprehension, you glanced between Minks and Sam. "You guys coming, or?"

Sam shook his head. He still didn't want to risk it. "We'll take the transporter. We'll be fine." He looked to Minks, and she nodded, before he turned back to you. "And hey--you got this. You can do it. We'll see you on the Finalizer. O-okay?"

Warmth washed over you as you gazed at them--their earnest faces, hiding an undercurrent of dread, a question lingering: would they ever see you again? You had an overwhelming urge to draw them both into your arms and squeeze them close. Another crack--the ground shifting. There was no time for hugging. You had a ship to fix.

"You will," you said. "Good luck."

One more time meeting their eyes while you etched their faces into your memory. Sam's--still so handsome, so kind, taut with an uncertain hope. Minks'--round and sweet, the tenuous belief in your ability shining in her blue irises. And then you turned and ran, feet pounding the ground as you flew up the ramp to the shuttle, fighters whizzing above you.

Inside, Hux was glaring at his datapad, mumbling under his breath as he stood inside the cockpit.

You slipped around him, holding your breath. "Uh, I need more room, sir." He sneered and joined the Stormtroopers in the back.

The ship was a hologram inside your brain, your mind's fingers spinning and twisting it while you devised a plan of attack. One engine was down--but the ship had twin ion engines, and you knew that just one had enough power to fly the entire ship. If you shut down the other engine and re-routed the energy from those fuel cells into the working one, it might be enough to get the ship going. Might. But you had to try.

There were still panels hanging from the center console by exposed wires and you haphazardly threw them back onto the dash. What you needed was the engine panel--your hands and eyes scanned the controls, the tempest in your mind fogging your ability to discern what you were looking for. Then a screech, and the ship keeled, knocking you to the other side of the cockpit. The clanging of armor hitting durasteel echoed behind you.

"Engineer!" Hux's voice was like rust to your ears. "What exactly did you spend all of your time on this ship doing?"

Your jaw locked as heat burned your face, fingers itching to rip off one of the dangling panels and bash him across the chin with it. But you sucked in a breath and returned to the consoles. The engines. Starting the ship. The controls you needed were right in front of you. A long sigh of relief escaped you as your hands worked in time with your thoughts. You recalled sitting up front when Kylo Ren had flown the ship--and following it, unbidden: memories of his soft lips, his hot breath, his saber deep in your cunt, his tongue cleaning his cum from your belly.

Sharp claws sunk into your heart, shredding it. He didn't want you. Not anymore.

Shaking your head free of him, you pried off the engine panel and walked your fingers across the wires. There were only two you needed--you ripped them both and tied the exposed ends together. A torch, or literally anything that could solder them would have been ideal, but you hoped it would hold for a short flight. It had to.

Finishing that, you slammed the panel shut and raced to the back of the ship, pushing past the troopers and popping open the rear access to the malfunctioning engine. All you needed was to disable it, and then--

"Pilot!" you called over your shoulder. "We got a pilot?"

Without a word, one of the troopers was up and in the cockpit. Behind you, the ramp pulled in with a whirr. "Ready for departure--"

"Not yet!" The switch wasn't moving. "Fuck--" You heard a chunk of the bay crumble to the ground with a terrible crash, the shock rippling through your flesh. "Fuck!"

"Time is of the essence," Hux chided.

The thought of punching Hux in the face was more appealing by the second--but you didn't need to. You punched the switch, instead. Like magic, the engine was off, and every bit of energy it sucked from the generator would feed into the working side.

"Go!" you said, climbing out of the access port and flinging the door shut. "Go!"

The ship lurched, and you crumpled onto the floor, your head bumping the wall. Another memory: Kylo Ren's thick cock throbbing in your mouth as his weight shoved you into the durasteel, his heavy, hot breath through his mask. You groaned, gripping the sides of your head as if to pull the thoughts out of your skull. Now you were leaving Starkiller in his ship--without him. The ache in your chest wondered where he was, but growing bitter vines in your brain reminded you he was a pilot. A Force-user. The Commander. He was fine.

"Coordinates, General," said the trooper in the cockpit.

Hux relayed the information while you stood, brushing the dirt from the floor from your arms. The ship coasted, floating low over the surface, and through the cockpit, you could see the destruction of Starkiller unfolding in front of your eyes. Red hot cliffs formed as the core swallowed massive hunks of land, light dying over the landscape as even the emergency generators failed. The ground was breaking apart at its ragged seams, loud claps of terrestrial thunder tearing through the atmosphere. And still, the ship had yet to breach the barrier of space.

Despite your heart hammering in your chest, you were far too nervous to question the logic of this maneuver. You sat in a passenger seat, leg practically bouncing between the floor and the ceiling.

"Here," Hux said. "Stop. Drop the ramp."

You sprung from your seat. "What?" Looking out of the cockpit, all you could see were blue-black trees and the impending implosion of the ground you were about to be parked on.

But no one responded, and the ship stilled when it hit the uneven terrain. The ramp plummeted to the snow, and before it even hit the ground, Hux and the troopers were already charging down. Cold, shallow air gusted into the ship, and you winced, retreating to the cockpit to escape the chill. The lack of information wasn't helping your leg jiggling--neither was the violent shuddering of the ship, stopped on an unstable foundation.

It had only been seconds--the longest seconds of your life, maybe--before you heard boots on the ramp again, stomping into the ship. You moved to leave the cockpit, but the sight of the troopers froze you. Well, not just them. It was what--no, who they were carrying.

There was only one person you knew who was that big--and wore that much black--but you couldn't reconcile the reality of what he looked likenow with the person in your memories. You watched helplessly as the troopers laid him out across one of the benches built into the ship, strangled groans leaving his chest while he gasped for air. Red fire arced up his shoulder onto his neck and cheek, the smell of singed flesh already apparent, even in the thinning air.

Fuck. He wasn't fine. He wasn't fine.

"Kylo," you sputtered. "Fuck, Kylo!"

You hadn't even realized you were moving until the General stepped into your field of vision, a barricade between you and Kylo Ren. His cold, green eyes found yours through your panic, locking you in place with his stare. You felt the Stormtroopers bolt to the cockpit, heard the ramp lifting.

"Leader Snoke would not approve." Hux's voice was a warning.

"Fuck Snoke, and fuck you," you snarled.

"Take-off in five!" came the pilot's voice. The lone engine was roaring to life. You really hoped it didn't blow up once it hit full speed.

Hux snorted. "They're your consequences to receive." He stepped aside, sitting in a passenger row.

Your eyes snapped to Kylo again, and you dashed over to him, collapsing to your knees at his side as the ship jerked and surged into the air. He seethed in pain as turbulence jostled the ship--the planet was minutes from death, now--and you hovered over him, hands grasping at the air as you searched for a safe place to touch. You weren't even sure there was one.

His dark, wavy hair stuck in sweaty, bloody clumps to his face, and the arc you'd seen before was a giant, burning gash, running from his shoulder up between his brow. Sharp flames had sliced his robes open, embers still licking ashes into the cloth, and on his torso you caught two holes in his armor--his shoulder and abdomen. Seething again, he sucked in air through clenched teeth as his lids fluttered open to meet your gaze. Those brown eyes were storming with something terrible, so awful and dark you couldn't even know if it had a name, only that it was made of rage and sorrow and hatred, and that it was filling him until it was spilling out in waterfalls.

He mumbled your name, voice scraping at his throat, and you nodded, sitting higher.

"Yes, Kylo, yes, it's me," you said, hands still unsure of where to rest. You settled a palm on his stomach, then snatched it back. Cold. Wet. Your skin was red. "Fuck. Kylo..."

Breath stuttering in his chest, his gaze drifted over you, lids struggling to stay open. Every muscle in your body was shivering with fear, chin quivering, water welling in your eyes while you fought to steady your lungs. You couldn't stop looking at your hand, couldn't stop thinking about how much blood--his blood--had soaked into the black wash of his robes. A thought flashed in your mind: at least you were spared the visual evidence of his hemorrhaging. Vomit almost spewed out of your mouth.

Kylo said your name again, this time, louder, clearer, and you nodded once more, a tiny smile breaking across your face.

"Yes," you said. "It's me. I'm here. I'm with you." Carefully, you pushed the nest of clotted hair from his face, heart pounding in your throat. You hoped that Starkiller's temperature was to blame for how cold he felt.

In the chaos of your mind, you nearly missed it--the icy reality of loss, seizing your blood in your veins, short-circuiting your brain. Kylo Ren could die. Kylo Ren could die.

And to your pure shock--you were absolutely fucking terrified.

In your frenzy, words fell from your lips uncensored. "Kylo, please be okay. Please." You were still plucking away threads of hair matted to the gaping wound on his face. Staring into it made you dizzy. "You know what, no, you will be okay, you're going to be fine. We'll be landing soon, and they'll take you to the medbay, and--"

Jaw firm, he sputtered your name a final time, glaring through you. His body was trembling with frustration and pain.

"Yes, Kylo," you cooed, leaning close to him so he wouldn't have to use energy to speak. His lips were at your ear. "What is it?"

He wheezed. "Get. Away. From me."

Color drained from your vision, blood and shame and fury pooling in your face. You withdrew, blinking, hoping his rasping had distorted the words. "W-what?"

Kylo was forcing the swelling of his chest to still while he bored holes into your skull. "Get away. From me. Now."

Your mouth dropped open, eyes not leaving his, even when you felt the ship shake to a stop. In the distant corner of your mind, you heard the ramp lowering, heard Hux ordering the troopers to rush Ren to the medbay--and then you were knocked to the side, falling onto your butt as you watched them lift Kylo in their arms. His face was tight with pain, but he was silent, glued to your gaze until he disappeared down the ramp.

Back up against the wall, your feet splayed out in front of you, you stared into your red-painted hand, studying the way the blood congealed in the wrinkles of your palm. Hot tears were slipping down your tingling cheeks. Kylo Ren's words were ricocheting in the empty confusion of your mind, growing louder. Get away from me. Get away from me.

The soles of Hux's boots reverberated through the floor, stopping at the head of the ramp. He turned and looked at you, a malicious smirk on his face, before walking down to the Finalizer, back straighter than a rod. You scowled. Dickhead.

Seconds, minutes, hours--you weren't sure how long you spent in the Command Shuttle, memorizing the creases in your flesh. Below you, you heard the cheers and cries of relief, the hushed murmurs of bad news, the bustling commotion of hundreds of people who'd just had their home for months--some years--disintegrate before their eyes. You supposed you'd be living on the Finalizer, now. If you were going to be staying at all.

Sighing, you wiped your bloody hand on the leg of your pants. Then a realization, your heart sinking. You'd left your belongings on Starkiller.Shit. Now the only pair of pants you owned was stained with Kylo Ren's blood.

Thinking of him made your heart twinge in pain, made more tears sting the corners of your eyes. You didn't want to leave the ship, didn't want to face anyone or do anything. But you knew Sam and Minks would be worried, so you grumbled wiped your face, pulled yourself up and made your way into the hangar of the Finalizer.

The ship was wild with noise and motion. Long, impatient lines of exhausted people were filing through impromptu check-in stations, receiving temporary passes to guest quarters. You were impressed with the efficiency of their droid programming on such short notice--but then, you figured you should expect nothing less from the First Order. You shrugged, hopping in line and waiting for an assignment of your own. The anonymity in the crowd was almost a relief. In the anxiety to find refuge, you supposed that people had little time to gossip or pay you attention. Perhaps you'd even be forgotten in the next 24 hours.