To Tend Our Wounds: PART II OF 'TO CURSE THE DARKNESS' (Kylo/OC)

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"Keep up, Pryde," Ren called back to her as she fell behind for the third time.

"Yes, sir," Ryelle answered back between gasps, struggling to keep her pack centered and her momentum going as her legs trudged across the desert floor with determination. She marched in silence behind him, struggling to maintain the pace even more so this time with her arm damaged, but Ren didn't cut her any slack. He was moving at a rapid clip, not looking back at Ryelle as he plunged ahead.

"Commander, can we please stop, just for a moment?" Ryelle begged as she fell behind once again, unable to keep up with Ren's long strides.

"No, Pryde," he snarled at her, "not unless you want to get your ass shot off. Now, MOVE!"

"But Commander, my arm," she pleaded, leaning over and bracing herself against her knees. As Ren looked back to chastise her, he saw it for the first time – there was a scorched hole in the left arm of her parka; she'd been shot at the teahouse after all. He'd heard the pistol go off but didn't notice Ryelle had been hit.

How did I miss THAT? he wondered to himself, but then realized that he'd missed a lot of things on their last operation and he knew it was because he was high on spice. Just like he'd missed the informant entering the teahouse, missed the subtle warning signs that all was not well, missed the stirrings in the Force that would have told him Ryelle was in danger. His connection to the Force was being eroded by his deepening dependence on the spice, and he knew he needed to do something about it sooner than later.

A pang of guilt washed over him, but he pushed it aside as he turned back to kneel down and look at her wound. It was raw and open, and how she'd made it this far without complaining the whole time he didn't know, because he knew he would have. They'd been hiking for three hours non-stop so far.

"Okay, Pryde, hang on," he said solicitously, digging in his pack for a medkit. "I'm going to have to patch you up quick, and then we need to get back on the move. I know it's not ideal, but it's what we've got to work with."

"I know we're not going to make it back before sundown," she reassured him as she pulled her jacket off so Ren could help her. "We left too late in the day, but I'll be alright. I just may not be able to make good time."

Ren wasn't sure he was going to be alright. He had one dose of spice left and he'd been saving it for tonight.

"Lay down," he commanded her. It would be easier to work on her from a stable position but it also made his loins stir to see her lying underneath him again as a picture flashed in his mind of the way she'd looked the other night lying in her bed as he took her.

He shook off the memory to examine her wound. It wasn't fatal, but it was messy and he knew it had to be painful, the flesh burned and blistered around the edges and the muscle and a small bit of bone showing through the center.

"This is going to hurt," he warned her. She nodded and gripped her parka underneath of her, shutting her eyes.

Ren sprayed an antiseptic over the exposed flesh and then poured a small vial of bacta into the wound before layering a bandage over it. He heard a sharp intake of Ryelle's breath and then no more as he watched her grit her teeth against the agony he was sure she was in. She had turned pale and beads of sweat gathered at her hairline as she raggedly exhaled.

"Thank you," she whispered as the piercing burn calmed to a raging ache. She sat up and carefully drew the parka back over her arm.

"You sure you can put your pack back on?" he asked.

"Yes, I'll just hang it over my other shoulder," she volunteered.

"No, give it to me," Ren ordered her.