Chance

An Imaginary Rathtar

Only two days and you were on the brink of insanity.

Not that you liked Kylo's presence or his history of disturbing you whenever he pleased, but the solitude was a nightmare. It was so painfully boring that you actually would have preferred Kylo's obnoxious ass instead of the silence shrouding your quarters.

Nurses came and checked every once in a while, and that was all the social interaction you had. One of them had just come by maybe half an hour ago and you'd managed to convince him that you were practically good as new. Not even close to the truth, but he bought it.

You could be real convincing when you wanted to be.

The truth was, you weren't good as new. But you were sure that the stir-craziness wasn't helping by any means.

The dreams were the worst part. The dreams and the sudden rush of memories to the surface of your mind. As skilled as you were at keeping things buried, your psyche didn't share the same traits.

The nurse had left, believing that you were feeling better, meaning that he didn't stay to make certain you took your medication—the one that made you feel insanely sleepy.

You waited a little while after he left, just to make sure it was all clear, before you took a quick shower and got dressed, medicine left behind on the nightstand.

It was a nice change to have a fresh set of training clothes on rather than a well-worn, wrinkled t-shirt. Just the change of clothes had you feeling a bit more put together. Not good as new, but getting there.

Kylo was in the middle of the training room when you walked in, using the bottom of his shirt to dry his face. A face that looked both surprised and displeased to see you.

"What are you doing here?"

"Solving galactic hunger, obviously," you replied. "What does it look like I'm doing here?"

"I told you to rest," he said. "It's been two days. You shouldn't be training."

"I'm fine," you snapped. "I don't need to rest more."

He crossed his arms over his chest, his shirt sleeves stretching across his biceps. "You need to recover."

"I'm fine."

He tilted his head. "You don't look well."

You glowered up at him. "Thanks. You don't look too great yourself."

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

You did know it. Looking in the mirror this morning, you noticed the sallow look in your face, the dewy sheen of sweat you'd woken up with, the unnecessarily labored breath. Felt the weakness in your arms just from tying your hair up. You attributed it to your restless sleep, or maybe your body readjusting to the lack of medication.

The area around the incision on your stomach was sore too, much more sore than it had been the day after the stitches had been done. You applied an extra amount of the pain relief cream you'd been given, rewrapped your bandages and hoped the discomfort would subside.

"Well, I'm here and I'm not leaving," you announced. "So I suggest you make good use of the time and train me."

He studied you for a moment, his lips pressed together in a thin line and his forehead creased.