Little Bird (Kylo Ren x Reader AU)

Not My Name

You pulled on your gloves, glancing around the closet you'd lived in for the past few months. Though you weren't sure what to expect today, the glow in your chest informed you with confidence that you wouldn't be returning to this space tonight. This space, where you'd first met Commander Ren, the space where he'd kissed you, tender and anxious--you'd miss those moments. Just not where they happened.

I'll see you tomorrow, he'd said--but he was already gone by the time you awakened. When you bid goodbye to Emma and Rose that morning, that nag of guilt clung to your heart. How could you escape and leave them here? But to even hint to them you knew you might not return would put their lives in danger--after all, much easier to tell the truth about what you don't know.

Heat steamed your blood when you stepped into the sun, your chest tight. Ofarmitage said you'd know them, but you had no idea what that might mean, how they might arrive, or when. The anticipation might pull at you until nighttime--maybe they'd whisk you off under the stars, muffled voices and quiet feet. Maybe it would come during dinner, mid-meal, a knock on the door, an unrehearsed ruse. And maybe they wouldn't come today at all--maybe they'd forget about you, or just get too busy being revolutionary, or whatever.

Or maybe--you realized as you approached the Handmaid at the end of the drive--they'd come first thing in the morning.

Testing her, you began. "Blessed be the fruit."

"May the Lord open," she replied. Not an ounce of hesitation.

The woman in front of you was not Ofarmitage--but she was also not anyone you knew. Fair skin and chestnut hair were obscured by her wings, but as you peeked around them, you observed a well-defined jaw, the soft angles of her cheekbones leading up to moss-green eyes. When they met yours, your breath hitched, struck by some mixture of awe and fear, the power contained within her gaze paralyzing.

Ofarmitage had been right. You'd know these people when you met them. And whoever this was, she was here for you.

"I'm--"

"I know." She was moving, head craned to the ground, voice low and quick. "Listen carefully. When we reach the checkpoint, a van will pull up and an Angel will tell the Guardians that you and I have been identified for possible re-education. Say nothing."

Your body tensed. "Okay..."

You'd hoped that she'd elaborate on this, or provide more instructions--but she said nothing else. The short warning gave you both far too much and far too little time to panic--with every step, your heart rate ballooned, blood building in your neck, flooding your face. If you'd been hot before, you were frying, now, futilely resisting the urge to glimpse the Guardians, to see if you could spot any hint of suspicion on their faces. The closer you came, the shorter your breath, until you were within only feet, and you were certain that any bit of oxygen in a five-foot radius had combusted from your temperature.

"Your pass," said one.

It had seemed so silly to you that they asked for your pass despite recognizing and seeing you every day--but then again, here you were, with a Handmaid that was most definitively not Ofarmitage, pretending as if everything was normal. Panic choked you as your hand crawled for your pass, waiting for this fabled van--the other woman stood there, said nothing, head bowed so low the men wouldn't be able to see her face.

"Pass." The other one sounded a little more impatient.

Eager to show you could listen, you tugged at your pass and showed it in silence, and the Guardian gave a huff of acknowledgement. The other woman was patting herself, and you swallowed, mouth dry. Why wasn't she showing her pass? Did she even have a pass?