#whoops i'm sorryyyyyyyy I love a little chekov though y'know

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 24

Read on AO3. Part 23 here. Part 25 here.

Summary: Remember life before you were a Resistance spy fucking her Commander? There was so much less intrigue, back then.

Words: 2500

Warnings: Handmaid AU

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Oopsie sorryyyyyy. I gotta stick to the pacing, y'all, gotta be true to who I am.

Really happy for the feedback on the last chapter, as it was entirely new for me to write a scene with like, that many people doing that many things, haha. I'm so glad it seemed to maintain some tension. I'm out here trying to grow my writing skills namsayin'.

Anyway, I love y'all so much, as usual. I am so blessed to even one or two folks give a shit about what I write, so, thank you. <3

“Little bird.”

The sound of Kylo Ren’s voice at your door jolted you awake in the mid-dawn hours of the morning. Beyond your window, the sun was just barely beginning to crack through the horizon--goldenrod rays split through puffy pink clouds, an ombre of Easter-egg color stretching like a tapestry across the sky. Silent, you rolled out of bed, hesitating. You were in your nightgown. Should you tie up your hair, put on your dress? He’d already seen you naked, it wasn’t as if--

The door opened, and you leapt back, folding your arms over your chest as blood rushed your face. Ren stood, a barrier between you and the hallway, casting a glance over you before meeting your eyes. Jaw tensing, he stepped into the room and shut the door, sucking oxygen and tranquility from the air.

“Good morning, Commander.” You took another step back, hip hitting your mattress. 

Ren’s lids fluttered in thought as he glimpsed the sunrise, then looked back to you. “My name.”

You shrugged. “Didn’t want to test you.”

“You have an interesting way of showing it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your behavior last night.”

“My behavior?” Heat festered at your toes, climbing your spine. “What about your behavior? What about you will be safe?” There was more anger than you wanted to admit--more hurt than you were willing to acknowledge. “If your Wife hadn’t intervened, who knows where I’d be right now.”

Ren’s expression was as flat as ever. “Johana’s intervention would have been unnecessary if you had behaved.”

“I think you know very well by now that I’m not one to silence my criticisms of Gilead.” A tiny smirk tugged at your lips. “In fact, I seem to remember you being interested in those criticisms.”

His gaze drifted--he stared over your shoulder, into the wall. His hands tensed, curling in and out of fists. “Circumstances changed.”

You remembered how he’d appeared talking to Snoke, the man before you now incompatible with the boyish fear you’d seen flash behind your Commander’s eyes. You hated that this trembled your heart, urged you toward understanding--because you also remembered the atrocities he’d admitted to organizing, the bodies that hung from his hands. How could these two pieces of person find room in the same mind, how a demon could wrestle its way into humanity, tear it apart, make a home? Remembering Ren’s uncertain voice on the recording, though--Ben Solo’s voice--perhaps the demon needn’t have wrestled at all. Perhaps he’d been invited in.

Chewing your lip, you shrugged again. “Well, so have mine, Commander.” 

Ren frowned and stepped toward you, pulling something small and flat from his pocket. You flinched, throwing up your arms in defense--he snatched your hand, shoving the object into your open palm. Blinking, you examined it. It was a small, wooden handle, lined with steel bolsters, a fat silver button embedded in the scale. Tilting it in your grip, you spied the hidden blade and gasped, glaring at him.

“A switchblade?” You tried to wrench away, but he held you in his grasp. “What’s this for?”

Eyes darting over your face, he curled your fingers around it. “If the Council believes you to be working for the Resistance, their sympathy for your possible pregnancy will disappear. They will do whatever is needed to get the information they want.” He released you, nodded toward the knife. “If they attempt to capture you.”

For a moment, you were speechless, focus switching between him and the weapon. There was no way he was intending you fight anyone with such a tiny blade.

“Are you telling me to kill myself if they try to capture me?” You snorted. “Can’t you at least give me a gun?”

“Your skill with a pistol leaves much to be desired.” His tone was almost tender--you would’ve thought he was teasing you if he hadn’t just instructed you to slit your own throat if you were apprehended by the Eyes.

“Do you really think they’ll be coming after me so soon?” You pressed the button, and the blade shot out--you jumped. 

Ren took your hand again, folding the knife back into a locked position and flipping the safety, then returned his attention to you. “I’d prefer to be prepared for anything, after your performance last night.”

You sighed, tugging your arm away. “Fine. But I’m not… I’m not doing that. I hope you know that.”

“Do what you wish with it.” He turned and opened the door. His face was stone. “But you have it.”

Wiggling it in your fingers, you nodded. “I have it.”

His gaze flitted over your figure a final time, and he left, shutting the door behind him. 

The rest of your morning was, thankfully, far less eventful than your Commander suggesting you create a suicide pact with yourself. As you prepared for your walk, however, the feeling of looming dread grew heavier and heavier over your shoulders. Armitage could have made an educated guess regarding your relationship with Ren--it didn’t necessarily had to have come from a reliable source. But the idea that it was even possible, that Ofarmitage could’ve sold you out to her own illicit affair swept you in a tide of nausea. You’d have to bring it up with her. For both of your sakes.

Before you left your room, you considered the switchblade. It was thin, discreet enough that it would fit up your sleeve, but to take it seemed like you’d be agreeing with Ren--that, yes, your life was in danger, that you needed an escape plan. Yet, it was his way of giving you a choice. Of protecting you. You shoved it up your sleeve and left the house. 

Despite the continued soreness at your backside, you were able to walk normally--another fact you could be thankful for. You trudged out past the front lawn and through the front gate, noticing Ren’s car had disappeared for the day. The knife in your sleeve had already made itself at home; after only a few minutes, you barely remembered it.

You met Ofarmitage at the sidewalk, seeking out some evidence of betrayal in her demeanor, but found none. She appeared as standoffish as ever. 

“Blessed be the fruit,” you said. 

“May the Lord open.”

You sidled up next to her, scanning her, willing yourself to see into her mind. There was no good time to confront her, really. 

“What’s your relationship with Armitage like?” You kept your back straight, your eyes forward.

“Why do you ask?” No sound of tremor in her voice.

“I just…” There was some honesty in the question, despite the intention. “I wonder what he does to make you feel that he loves you.” 

Ofarmitage was silent, for a moment. No change in the shuffle of her shoes. “It’s… small stuff,” she said. “He’ll leave me things. A cube of sugar. A flower. A quarter--you know, from before.” Another pause. “He’ll make me laugh. On purpose.” A soft sigh escaped her. “He’ll make sure my uniform is straight before I leave the house.”

You swallowed. The admission brought a strange mixture of sickness and envy and pity to your chest. To imagine the awful weasel you’d met last night doing such things seemed unbelievable--and to recognize how grateful she was for such tiny concessions was crushing. And still, a whiny little voice in the back of your head bemoaned how the only things your Commander had left you were a switchblade and beltburn. 

“Knowing that he does all of that for you,” you said, “what do you do for him?”

The question brought silence crashing between you, a silence that hovered and clung to the air as you approached the Guardian checkpoint. You handed over your passes, and as the men verified them, you glimpsed her from beyond your wings. Her face was tight, chin jutting in strain. The Guardians returned your passes and you continued forward, toward the market. She still didn’t respond.

“I was just curious if--”

“Yes,” she said, “I told him. I told him, okay?”

“I knew it.” Heat--relief, rage--flooded you. “Why, though? I don’t get it.”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I think you’re right that I wouldn’t.” If she’d told her Commander about your relationship, had she told him about the Resistance, too? “What did you tell him? Did you tell him everything?”

“No!” Her hands, still holding her bag, twisted together. “I’m not trying to… I know I want to stay, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to the Resistance.”

You balked. “So, just me, then?”

“I didn’t...” She paused, lowering her voice. “I wasn’t thinking. I just… I wanted…”

“You wanted what?” You wanted to shake her. “You knew what could happen if you told anybody!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to say,” she mumbled. “I told you that you wouldn’t understand.”

You sneered. “Try me.”

“He said…” Her voice was tiny, tight. “If… If your Commander was out of the way, then he could…” You heard the distant swallow of her distress. “He’d change things.”

“Oh.” 

Ren’s words rumbled through your mind: My design is to perfect it. Perhaps every Commander was using their Handmaids in a vie for power--but Ren hadn’t pried you for information. He hadn’t even cared you were part of the Resistance. You weren’t sure who you pitied more: Ofarmitage, for capitulating--or yourself, for the creeping sense of superiority that your Commander hadn’t ever asked it of you. As if this fact made his feelings more legitimate, more real.

What did their basis in reality matter? To live them out would be to sacrifice your autonomy--to sell your soul to a monster.

“So you seriously didn’t think about what might happen to me?” You were almost at the market--you lowered your voice. “If my Commander were implicated in an illegal relationship with me?”

Ofarmitage was silent until you approached the doors. “No, you’re right,” she said. “I did think about it.” She said nothing else, and disappeared into the store.

You stood, paralyzed, for a moment. It was becoming apparent to you that love and exploitation were synonymous in Gilead. Even if there was something genuine between Ofarmitage and her Commander, it was impossible for him, in his role, to fail to abuse it. Ren had said it himself--he wanted to possess you utterly, and he planned to make you complicit in that. If only there wasn’t a part of you that was willing to risk it.

The walk back from the market was spent in silence--you were unable to decide if you felt fury or pity for her. It might have been easier to be angry if you weren’t so close to understanding how she’d made her choice. 

As you arrived at the Guardian checkpoint, you produced your passes again, taking the opportunity to check in with her. She met your eyes for a flicker of a second before staring into her feet. Pulling your lips over your teeth, you went to take your pass from the Guardian, only to find it was still in his hand.

“Ofkylo?” he said, scrutinizing it.

You’d forgotten about your knife. It suddenly felt like a boulder in your sleeve. “Yes…”

He glanced at his partner, mumbling something to him, fire coursing through your veins. Adrenaline hijacked your brain, telling you now that they’d found you, they were going to stuff you in a van, tie you up and torment you, that the only option was throw it all to the ground--forget Ofarmitage, forget the Resistance, forget Ren--and fucking run.

The other Guardian studied your pass, glancing between it and you, for some reason. Your photo wasn’t on it. “No. It’s fine,” he said to his partner. He handed it back to you. “Get moving.”

You nodded, hoping that the level of sweat at your forehead could be attributed to the weather. Turning your face to the ground, you shuffled forward, heart beating in your throat. Fury--it was definitely fury that you felt for Ofarmitage in this moment, and once you’d obtained a comfortable distance from the Guardians, it tore out of you.

“Did you see that?” you hissed. “I thought they were about to kill me.”

She shrugged. “Well, they didn’t, did they?” 

“But do you realize what could’ve happened if the circumstances were different?” you asked. “I almost just ran!”

“But you didn’t.”

“How can you be so… so blase about this?” you growled. “Don’t you see what you’ve done?”

“I know what I did, Ofkylo--”

You seized her, spinning her toward you. “You gambled with my life!”

Her eyes, shiny with tears, struck you through. “You did!” she said. “You gambled with it. All I did was tell the only person who has ever made me feel like a human in three years!” She shook her head, shoving you off of her. “I’m sorry for what I did. I am. But I didn’t… I didn’t do it so your life would be in danger, or whatever.” She swallowed. “I did it so mine would be worth living.”

The anger in your chest fizzled out, then, like you’d been doused with ice water. You drew in a slow breath through your nose, gazing at her before turning back to the sidewalk. You didn’t forgive her, no. But that feeling--desperation, emptiness, a longing to be anything other than nothing--you understood that. You understood her.  

And she was right, at least. Nothing had happened. You’d made it back to the home. At the gate, you nodded a silent goodbye to her, allowing yourself to relax, and turned into the front yard.

Ren’s black Audi had returned to the driveway. And another car was there, too--also black--a stretch Cadillac limo, the windows completely opaque. You slowed your step, fists tight around your bag, gazing at it with suspicion. The metronome of your pulse quickened with every new thrum of your heart as you crept forward, shoulders hunching--and once you approached the back door, it flew open. You screamed, hopping back. 

“Oh, there’s no need to scream.” 

That voice. Fear numbed you, plunged you into a breathless, lightless tunnel.

Commander Snoke stepped out of the vehicle, gesturing toward the door. “Come and sit, won’t you?” He glimpsed the bag in your hands. “Just leave that there for the Marthas.”

Thousands of words reeled through your head, absolutely none of them helpful. Frost coated your insides, emptied you of warmth. This was it. Ren was right. He was going to take you and torture you. You thought of the blade in your sleeve--no. You wouldn’t do that. Not yet, anyway.

Nodding, you stuck out your chin. “I’m glad you asked.” 

You abandoned the bag in the grass, keeping his gaze as you strode toward him, holding it with triumph until you bowed into the vehicle. Blood fled your face. Seated across from you, crammed against the partition, was your Commander, Kylo Ren. His eyes met yours, his expression as vacant as you felt. Watching him, your chest fell with a trembling, terrified breath. Then Snoke eased himself into the car, and shut the door. 

“Now that we’re all together,” he said, “let’s chat.”