Stronger Together (Kylo Ren x Reader | Maia)

Truth, Plotting, and the Force

Kylo

I continued until she twitched from sensitivity, then crawled up to her and collapsed into my original position. I felt her minor amusement at my return, as if nothing had happened. But her chest was moving much harder, her body not quite as tense around mine.

I didn't know what was going through her mind, but I knew she was struggling. I was proud of her abilities in the training room and pleased it seemed to snap her out of her fractured mind. It would seem I do not possess the same empathy as Maia, because I was not feeling anything like what was pouring off of her.

I was angry, and scared I would lose the life I'd created with Maia. But she was broken, something I hadn't thought possible. It felt like she was sinking into the quicksand of her own mind, not even trying to escape.

Finally, I sat and pulled her up too. It was unusual sitting in the pitch black with her, but also stimulating in unusual ways. It... vaguely reminded me of how we would communicate as children, as if it wasn't fully rooted in reality, yet still tangible.

"Why did I feel him, Kylo?"

I looked at her silhouette, the whisper she let out before saying 'Naboo' ringing in my mind.

A part of me thought I imagined it. I remembered the rushed message from Hux, received when we were still in transit to the Harbinger.

Tell her before she sees this, sir. That was all it said, and I had no idea what it meant—but then he sent an article. The same article Luke had tried to show us, in fact. This time when I read it, I caught the detail in the title.

I simply haven't had time to tell her and didn't want to say anything in the odd, numb state she seemed to be in before I brought her here.

My eyes had adjusted as much as they were going to in the darkness, and I could see her face enough to know she was feeling... everything. I didn't want to hurt her any further, to bring her any pain at all. My job was to remove the pain, or at least try to help her through it. But I would not be letting her discover this information on her own, especially when it would likely be presented to her in public.

I pulled her clothes to me and handed them to her, vaguely able to see her pulling the pieces over her head.

"According to... a journalist..." I cringed, trying not to sound upset. I shook my head and tried again. "I believe he was your real father." I would be genuinely surprised if she didn't already have a feeling that was the truth. She was too intuitive.

The way she had slipped in front of him when I crashed into his home, as if ready to defend the man months earlier she had threatened.

I hesitated, but she did not react in any way. It was as if she was still waiting for me to speak. Finally, she blinked, far too long since she had last, her bright eyes shocking in the dark.

"That isn't possible," she muttered. "He wasn't around until I was like, I don't know, four?" I didn't speak, her wheels clearly turning.

"I remember him arriving and being introduced to him," she said as if she could debate her way out of the truth. "And..." she stopped, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she were thinking. "My mother being happy to see him," she finally said, sounding defeated. Her head dipped slightly and her voice came out a bit softer. "She cried. I thought she was just excited."

I was about to reach out for her, to comfort her, but she lifted her head to the ceiling and let out a small curse.

I understood a moment before she moved that she was about to flip out.

"Fuck!" she said louder, hopping to her feet. "Fuck!" Her hands flew outward with power coursing off her.

Briefly, I thought to try to prevent the damage, but decided not to. Anything not held down or in its proper place was shoved away from us, the sound of the wall panels still suspended in the air hitting the walls deafening. Metal crunched and ripped as if it was fragile.