Valyrie twisted round and pulled her top up, peering at her back in the mirror. 

It was covered with the consequences of an unsuccessful training session: black and blue bruises, mottled with purple. It looked dreadful - but Valyrie had experienced worse. Burn marks, open wounds - she even had a scar on her leg from a near incident with a steel blade.

Letting out a puff of air through her nose, she pulled her top over her head, dropping it onto the floor where it lay crumpled. Her trousers followed, and soon she stood wearing only her black undergarments. Then, she turned to her shelf, snatched up her ointment, and with a long handled applicator, rubbed the stuff all over her back. 

Her wounds would heal soon enough with the help of the salve. Of course, it would result to nothing when her next training session resulted in a fresh bout, and then the day after, and the day after that, and so on...

There was no chance of her wearing a backless outfit anytime soon, but then again, she wouldn't want to. Too impractical.

As she went on to carefully spread the sterile smelling ointment up and down her arms, she caught her own eye in the tall mirror, and found herself examining herself.

Once, Valyrie thought she may have been pretty. Her azure blue eyes had been bright, her features lively, delicate and feminine. Her lips were full and turned up, her nose tipped and scattered with freckles, her cheekbones shapely, her skin olive and smooth.

But now, her eyes were dull, surrounded by dark shadows. Her cheeks were almost hollow. Her lips were fixed in a permanent frown. Her skin was pale. She had become hard, near joyless.  

She looked dead.

She swallowed, and averted her eyes to her hair. 

It was jaw length and platinum - artificial, of course. Although the colour was attractive and appropriate to the First Order, the bleach wasn't kind on her hair. It was matted, and thinning rapidly. Ditching the dye and letting her natural brown colour seep back through would combat  the damage a little, true, but it was so much less interesting than having white hair. And she liked it. 

Yes, practicality would win over completely someday - she did keep it short for convenience when training - but today was not that day. 

Wincing, both at her reflection and the stinging of her wounds that had started to kick in, she leaned on the firm curved side of her pod chair and started on her legs, finally averting her eyes from the mirror. Her calves and thighs were tense with muscle against her hands, and she sucked her teeth as the ointment bit at her skin. 

When she finished, she shoved the tub back on her shelf, carefully laid down stomach-first on her bed, and the relief on her aching body was blissful. Grunting with pleasure, she folded her arms and rested them under her chin, savouring the silence and the feel of her soft mattress on her stomach. Then, slowly, her eyes drifted shut.

Valyrie was exhausted. She rarely slept most nights for a multitude of reasons. But it was her first day off from training that week, and she was free to do whatever she pleased. 

Freedom was a luxury on the Star Destroyer.

Valyrie's daily routine consisted of the following: get up, eat some protein substance, throw on training clothes, race down to the sparring room, where Kylo would be waiting, and begin her gruelling training. They would stretch, and then, for six hours, they would go through fitness, force training and connection, combat, and lightsaber and weapons practice. Then she had to bathe, eat proper food, and attempt to centre herself - and only then could she rest. 

That was what nearly each day of her life had been like for over two years, each hardly differentiating from the other.

Plus, she usually treated her own wounds, which took huge chunks out of her free time. In her early days on the base, she would go to the medical ward to have her wounds treated. But she had become ashamed of the amount of times she was forced to go, and had opted to take care of them herself. Still to this day, the chances of finding her there were slim. It was only if she had a deep, critical wound when she would cave in and let the medics see her.

In short, she tended to make the most of her days off.

In the day, she slept. Rather, she tried to sleep. Then, in the evening and through the night, she would take her ship to a nearby planet, Pandeon, where her only friend in the galaxy resided, and they would go out, to put it simply. 

She was only nineteen, after all.

*

The young man watched, his hands in the pockets of his brown jacket, as a familiar, elegant ship descended with smooth, steady movements, and touched down on the rocky ground, sending swirls of dust billowing around it. After a moment to settle, lights flickered on all around the centre, sending bright white shafts of light into the dark.  

Then, the hatch of the cockpit was swung up, and Valyrie appeared, only visible from the chest up. She smiled lightly at the man watching her, powering down the ship with a jerk of a handle.

"Henvern."

"Marlowe," the man returned.

She swung her legs out of the cockpit, pushed down the hatch, and jumped the short distance to the ground. Turning round, patting the ship twice lightly, she stood a few feet away from her friend.

"I'm still surprised you can actually pilot that on your own," he told her, crossing his arms, eyes narrowed.

"Don't you worry, sunshine, Ren was quite thorough," she said flatly, striding towards him, and he chuckled, opening his arms for her. The moment she came close enough, she crushed herself against him, throwing her arms around his neck, letting in envelope her in his.

"Ugh, it's so good to see you," she breathed against his neck, burying her head into it.

"I only saw you a few days ago."

"Yeah, but a week can feel like a month up there."

"I can imagine," Quinn said, and clapped her warmly on the back. And while she flinched at the contact on her sensitive wounds, she didn't complain. They broke apart, and began their usual trek towards the bar.

There was not a star in the sky on the small, rocky planet of Pandeon. It was where Valyrie usually spent her days off, so she knew it rather well. Unlike most planets, the population of Pandeon was scattered about in concentrated little towns rather than spread across the entire surface. The town they were heading into was called Irragine, but there were plenty more nearby. Valyrie could spot them in the distance, the lights from the clubs like pinpricks. 

Most of the towns were within walking distance of one another, packed with clubs, cantinas, and bars, and mostly dormant during the day.

But at night - they wouldn't be truly fulfilled by being described as fantastic.

As soon as the sun sunk below the horizon at any point on the planet, people would start to arrive, parking their ships and motor shuttles just on the border of any town. Each civilisation would light up with lanterns, stalls would pop up selling hot food, and huge waves of humans, creatures, and everything in between would flood in, shouts, chatter and laughter to be heard everywhere. 

Not only was the nightlife amazing, but the people were the beating heart of the small planet. The people in the towns treated the other civilisations like neighbours, and the people who didn't reside there were welcomed as friends. The widespread familiarity made the entire stretch of the planet feel almost homely.

It was one of the only places were Valyrie felt safe.

The pair made their way into the town, and were immediately absorbed by the crowd. They began to worm their way through the mass of bodies, and were met with the usual clamours and greetings. Quinn usually responded with a clap on their back or shouted a reply, while Valyrie tended to stay quiet, nodding at greetings and tugging her hood further forward to shield her face. 

While Pandeon welcomed anyone and everyone, being from the First Order made most people at least wary of her.

They managed to get through the crowd to their usual bar. It was darkened, with a singer and a man with a music pad performing a rough song about an outlaw. The moment they entered, people stood up to greet them. 

While Quinn went towards them, smiling, Valyrie averted her eyes, and went straight to the bar, ordering two pints of ale. The green skinned Twi'lek bartender barely looked at her, let alone check her for ID. He only took the five coins she handed him and set about pouring the drinks. 

Then, she took a seat on a stool, and shrugged off her hooded robe to reveal a large black roll-neck jumper that made her hair appear even more striking. Twisting around in her seat, she spotted her friend still talking to the group, a lazy smile on his face.

Quinn Henvern was a tall, handsome, lanky man, with a stubbled jaw and short blond-brown hair. He wore a heavy brown jacket, and black trousers with a compact blaster strapped to his belt. He was two years older than her, socially gifted, at least four inches taller, and the only person in the galaxy she truly liked. 

She smiled slightly, and turned back around, waiting with her head in her hand. Her fingers caught in her white hair, which she had washed and detangled. It was soft and silky against her hands, albeit thin. It was a rarity for it to be in such a neat, tidy state.

Moments after the barkeeper set the drinks down in front of her, barely meeting her eye, she felt Quinn's hand on her shoulder. She turned to see his familiar smile, and returned it. He lowered himself into a chair beside her with a sigh, and looked at the drinks she had bought.

"Val, you should have let me pay, I got the last -"

"Thanks for the ale, Val, I love you," she said, mimicking his voice. She scooped up her own tankard and tipped it up, swallowing a mouthful. She loved the way it burned and fizzed on the way down, providing the bittersweet sensation she was all too familiar with.

When she set it back down, she clocked that Quinn was gazing at her, with a crooked smile and a look of worry in his eyes.

Glancing to the side, then back at him, she asked, "What?"

"I really shouldn't let you drink," he said. It was more of a statement than a guilty plead.

"I am old enough to drink, Quinn." She glanced over at him. She held the same tone as him. "On this planet I am, anyway."

"Yes, but - "

"Besides, you ain't my mother, and it's a bit late to ask me to stop," she muttered, and raised the drink to her lips again, eyeing him over the brim.

He shrugged, as if to say I suppose you're right, and picked up his own drink. 

Almost as an afterthought, he shot her a look, and said, "Thank you for the drink, Val."

She nodded appreciatively, returning her gaze to her drink. "You're welcome."

He offered her a cheesy smile, took a long swig of his ale, and set it down heavily.

Then, without warning, he wiped the foam from the drink off his mouth, turned to her, and said, "So, how's the Tantrum Queen?"

Valyrie choked on her drink, swallowing it quickly. "Shit - don't do that," she spluttered. Quinn smiled lazily, his head slightly cocked to the side.

After a moment of regaining herself, she looked back at him, grimacing a little. "He's... himself."

Quinn's smile suddenly wavered, and his eyes narrowed. Kylo being himself, to him, wasn't a good sign.

"Show me the damage." His voice was soft, but clearly demanding. She frowned, glanced to see if the barkeeper or the group of people were looking. Then, she shifted around in the stool, letting her friend examine her back. 

Quinn tugged her dark jumper down slightly at the neck, and winced as he saw the mottled purple and black. He didn't need to check to know it was all over her back. He had seen this kind of thing before.

"Don't get angry."

"Well, I am," Quinn said through clenched teeth. She turned back around, running her hand through her hair. He pushed up her sleeves and examined her hands and neck, finding cuts and bruises all over.

"It's just me, he's stronger than -"

"Can't he give you something to fall onto?"

"I would ask, but you know how he'd react."

"It's not weak to not want to get pain inflicted on you day after day," he said firmly, still fussing over her arms.

"It is to him."

Quinn sighed, clenching his jaw. "That fuckin' man. How you tolerate him, I have no idea."

"He's a good trainer. It's my -"

"Don't you say it's your fault," Quinn hissed suddenly, locking eyes with her and grabbing her hands. She started slightly, shocked. 

"It is not your fault. He may be a good trainer, but he is a ridiculous person. If I didn't have enough sense to realise he would gut me if I went to him with complaints, I would." 

His eyes softened then, and he squeezed her hands. He cupped her face gently with a large hand, and she leaned against it, keeping her eyes fixed on him. 

"You're only nineteen, Val. Just remember that sometimes."

She swallowed silently. "I know, Quinn."

His hand lingered on her cheek for a few moments, his blue eyes boring into her. 

Then, he drew his hand away, picking up his tankard. Valyrie's gaze fell, and she swallowed discreetly. But when Quinn raised his drink to her, she mirrored him with a slight smile. 

They drank silently, listening to the faint chatter from the busy streets outside.

*

Valyrie felt tears pricking her eyes as she broke away from Quinn. He offered her a smile, cupped her face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She leaned into him as she had done hundreds of times before, wishing desperately that she could stay, be safe, be free from the endless routine and pain. 

But she smiled all the same, and when he pulled away slowly, she said, "I'll see you next time?"

He nodded, stroking the side of her face with his thumb. "Yeah. See you next time, kid."

She chuckled lightly, despite herself. "Don't call me that."

They stood on the edge of the town, laughing, hanging on each other in their drunken delirium. It was the closest Valyrie had felt to being a normal teenager all evening - a fact that suddenly hit home, causing her smile to turn sour.

Before her tears could fall, she broke away from him, and turned her back, heading to the Supernova as quickly as she could. Hauling herself up, she opened the hatch and swung her legs into the cockpit. 

Then, she cast one last glance at Quinn, who saluted her clumsily, before sliding into the cockpit and pulling the hatch down.

Piloting her ship whilst sober still proved a task for the young girl; drunk, it was even more of an ordeal. But still, she managed to navigate her way out of the planet's atmosphere and up towards the Star Destroyer.

Quinn stayed until she was off the ground, turned around and shooting off crookedly into the sky. He kept watching her as she grew smaller and smaller, until she disappeared completely.

The corner of his mouth turned up. Then, a sigh escaped his lips, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. The little sounds so much louder in her absence. 

Then, he turned on his heel and headed back into the town, the sounds of nightlife welcoming him back.

*

As she landed on the ship dock on the Star Destroyer, she spotted Kylo on the platform, waiting. 

In any other situation, this would have struck her as odd. But perhaps not with three (or was it four?) tankards of ale inside her.

Clambering out of the ship, she prayed she could walk steadily. To her relief, when her feet touched the floor and began to move, she only wobbled a little. She began to make her way over to Kylo, who still had his helmet and cape on. 

"You're drunk, Marlowe," he said, the moment she came within hearing distance.

She let out an odd splutter as she ascended the stairs from the dock to the platform. "How could you tell?" she grinned, coming to stand in front of him.

He ignored her. "I will escort you to your quarters so you don't humiliate yourself."

"That's real thoughtful of you, sunshine. I - I hope you know how much I appreciate you," she said, her words blurring into one another.

"Don't speak to me like that," he murmured, and swept off, knowing she would follow him. Making a face to his turned back, she rushed to catch up with his long stride, her robe fluttering behind her.

He led her out of the landing area through a wide entrance to the main body of the base. They passed the odd regiment of troopers, but otherwise, the corridors were bare. Valyrie took little notice, though; she was concentrating on keeping up with Kylo as he walked at a shuttle's speed towards the lift to her quarters. 

"Why are you personally escorting me, then?" she said as she hurried after him. "Oh, don't tell me you actually care about me?"

"I will let your insolence go unnoticed as you are intoxicated," he said lowly. "No one else would come to collect you - they are either asleep or disinclined to tolerate your behaviour. So I was made to come."

"Charming. And, y'know, I only had about three drinks."

"You can't control yourself under the influence of alcohol," he murmured, his altered helmet voice making him sound even more agitated.

Her attention suddenly drawn to his mask, she craned her neck to look at him properly. "Why do you wear that thing? You don't really need it. I mean, we both know you're not exactly bad-looking."

He ignored her, but she didn't take the hint.

After a moment, she raised her head. "It's just for the drama, isn't it?" she smiled smugly, nodding slowly as if she had him all figured out.

Kylo ignored her, gritting his teeth behind the helmet. 

Taking his silence as the end of the conversation, she tried to keep quiet, although the alcohol in her system seemed to have removed her filter.

It was as quiet as Star Destroyer could get. Their footsteps echoed on the corridor walls, both of their robes billowing behind them. His arms swung slightly when he walked, and didn't have much of the grace that Valyrie had.

They reached and entered the lift at the end of the corridor, and he turned to press the button for the her quarter's floor. Silence hung between master and apprentice as the lift shot up smoothly. Valyrie looked at Kylo, leaning forwards again to get a good look at him.

"So, this is a first. Good to spend quality time, isn't it? We should... we should do this more often."

"For the sake of your dignity, I suggest you be silent."

"Oh, am I embarrassing you? Sorry, sunshine."

The lift doors opened, revealing another corridor identical to the others, except behind the doors lay half-decent quarters rather than holding cells and other less comfortable rooms. Kylo led Valyrie to her own quarters, having to allow her to cling onto him as she was beginning to wobble. He ignored her spurts of senseless chatter as he reached her door.

"Go to sleep, Marlowe. Don't be late for training."

"I'll be there," she laughed, and stumbled through the open door. 

As he always did, Kylo was glad he wore his helmet. He could feel the pity on his face. He had always made sure to put it out of his mind that she was only nineteen, that she could be leading a normal life, but when he remembered at times like this, he almost felt guilt.

As he closed the door, Valyrie fell onto her bed in the darkened room, and fell asleep much faster than she had been of late.