Contract With the Commander: Kylo x OC

Chapter 2

Quinn

It's been two days since my interaction with the Commander and I can't get it out of my head. Every shift on the bridge has me paranoid and looking over my shoulder, expecting a reprimand for interacting with him. I was told to ignore Commander Ren unless directly addressed by him, but I didn't think four seconds of looking at a helmet and cloak would earn me a demerit.

He asked me my name. Not just my officer number. I can't remember the last time I said my name, and even longer since someone has used it. A shiver runs down my spine just thinking about it. Or maybe it's just colder than usual on the bridge today.

Again, I try to shake it off and get back to work. I got caught looking at the Commander longer than I should have been, and I have to deal with any consequences that come. Surely, if he were going to have me fired, it would have happened already. And if I was to be killed over it, he would have done it right then and there.

I finish another tense shift, and as I make my way to the lifts, I force my thoughts away from the tall, broad, black clad commander, and toward something safer. Food. My stomach growls as I step into an empty lift. My personal shift doesn't align with the major shift changes. Things work a bit differently on the bridge for us high station officers.

I reach forward to press the numbered button that takes me to the living quarters deck and meal hall, but a big gloved hand slams the closing doors with a violent noise. My body reacts instinctively. I jump and scurry to the corner as a yelp bursts out of my mouth where my heart is now pounding.

My eyes go wide. The commander of the First Order is shoving his way into my lift.

"8250." His modulated voice fills the space that suddenly feels too small.

The doors shut behind him, and he presses the emergency stop button and puts in a security code without even looking. I think. His mask looks to be trained on me now trembling in the corner.

"C-commander," I breathe.

He stands before me, imposing and strong, close enough that I get a faint scent of leather and something slightly musky. Oh fuck. This is it. Whatever punishment for looking at the commander too long. He's here to torture me in a lift. I can only hope he makes it quick.

He speaks again, and I flinch away before pausing to really take his words in. "You will answer my questions. And I will know if you are deceitful."

"Yes, sir," I force out, trying both look him in the face respectfully, and also look away respectfully. I fail and find myself looking at the shiny silver bands above the thin eye visor.

His mechanical voice is clipped and harsh, filling the small lift with menace. "What is your schedule?"

I frown in confusion. He's the commander, he could just look it up from the privacy of his office. Assuming he has an office like General Hux. I have to swallow the lump in my throat before I can speak. "My shift is from 0700 to 1400." I pause. Does he mean my whole schedule? My cheeks grow hot as I divulge, figuring everything is better than nothing. "Then I eat before attending continual training and debriefing. And then I usually go straight to sleep."

"Usually," he accuses.

I flinch again, my entire body flaming with shame, my knees weak with fear of retribution or pain. It wasn't frightening to face him on the bridge in front of everyone, though I have heard that he has killed officers on the spot. But stuck in a lift with such an imposing force is agony.

I can only whisper, my eyes dropping to the shiny floor in defeat. "Sometimes I fraternize with a few personnel."

Why does it feel like I'm admitting a crime? I'm allowed to have friends, even though my spare time consists of cutting out a few hours of sleep.