Threads of Silver

Force

His grip translated his anger and impatience extremely well. 

While he was somewhat tolerant of your bleeding wound, he scolded you several times, complaining of the blood in his ships hallways. You stumbled as he moved you forward, hissing as your leg began to prevent any further movement. Your body was beyond pissed at you, rejecting the will to walk. You found yourself gripping onto his dark-clothed arm for balance and relief from the weight on your leg, to which he scoffed under his mask. 

"It hurts to fucking walk. I can't keep up this pace." You hissed under your breath, and he shook your arm slightly. 

"Watch your tone." He ordered, glaring down at you. He stilled, allowing you to rest for a moment. But with an exacerbated sigh, his patience snapped in half. He made a quick movement, sweeping the back of your knees into his other arm, steading you with the other, as he picked you up into strong, clothed arms.

"No no no, you don't have to-"

"I don't have time." He silenced your opposition quickly, and you didn't have the fight in you to argue. 

You tensed, feeling the warmth of his chest and arms around you. Reminding you that there was, in fact, a living breathing being behind the mask. You weren't sure if this was comforting. The embrace itself was nothing short of terribly uncomfortable, for the both of you. He glided through the hallway, a black cloak trailing behind him as the pace became twice as fast as it was with you hobbling on the ground.

You dared a glance upwards, looking upon his terribly dark mask through your lashes, hoping he wouldn't notice. The shine of chrome reflected parts of your face, but the rest of the mask was lost to the color of dead, dark space. You adverted your eyes. 

"Guard!" He suddenly yelled, and a Stormtrooper stood at attention as you both approached. 

"Commander Ren." The white mask retorted respectfully. 

Ah, so the monster's name is Ren...? 

"Clean the conference hall. Her blood is staining everywhere." He retorted through his mask, annoyance laced in his tone. You couldn't help but slightly roll your eyes, making sure your gaze was downwards to avoid him seeing your expression. It wasn't like you were bleeding on purpose. 

"Yes, Commander." The white armored solider saluted, immediately beginning the task he was assigned. He didn't even glance your way. Does this masked creature carry bleeding women through these halls, often? You didn't want to know. Perhaps it was from blood loss, or the acceptance of near death, you felt your quiet tongue begin to sharpen. 

"I'm still bleeding everywhere." 

Immediately his grip tightened, warning you silently. You heeded this, and bit back any further retorts. The door to your right opened with his approach, and you were quickly carried inside. 

It was a hospital room, the bright environment housing a small railed bed, cabinets with medical supplies, and florescent lights. Suddenly, you were roughly placed back on your feet, much to your distain. You didn't need to be ordered further, and made your way onto the bed, wincing as you adjusted yourself and lifted your bloody leg. Now that you were in a reclined position, you saw just how bloodied you were. The gauze, once bleach white, was completely scarlet, and little rivulets of bright red were tracing down your ankles and over the tops of your feet. You exhaled, and leaned back against the stiff pillow, barely opening your eyes to see the enormous figure looming in the corner. He stood still as a statue, waiting. Observing you.  

You didn't push for conversation, the silence would suffice. It felt good to be off your leg, but you had long since begun the acceptance of your impending doom. This must be a case of mistaken identity. They think you're Resistance, but by the gods, you most certainly were not. Sure, ILLEGALLY acquiring rare, sought after ship parts was nothing you were a stranger to. Such is a scavenger's life. 

You were anything but Resistance. 

But no matter your insisting, the shadowy form of Commander Ren would not budge in his assumptions. Speaking of the devil, he maintained a sharp glare at you as he sat in a leather chair near the door.

'Is he babysitting me now?' You thought to yourself with a bitterness. 

What did he mean, lying to him? About what? General Hux, interrupted with "we found it." Found what, exactly?  You weren't sure, but you would be just fine not finding out. Surely they'll realize you have no part in whatever they think you have. Surely. 

The pale faced, sandy haired doctor entered the room, swiping a keycard on the interior of the doorframe. The familiar face was anything but relieving. Instead, he glared down at you, seemingly looking directly through you. Like an animal needing to be put down. 

You found enough saliva in your dry mouth to swallow. 

"Unacceptable wound care." The deep voice emitted from the mask caused you to jump ever so slightly. You realized he was directing the jab to the medical professional, who seemed unaffected. Or maybe, he was just used to the constant critique from Commander Ren. 

"The wound dressing did not take into account walking around the halls of the ship, Commander." The doctor spoke. You felt the intention of bitterness in his words, but his tone revealed nothing as he made his way to your bedside. 

"She is not a guest of The First Order, and will not be treated as such." The Commander retorted quickly, daring the sandy haired man to challenge him. But he was met with nothing of the sort. The doctor, instead, began undressing the blood soaked gauze and bandaging, ignoring your slight whimpers of soreness. 

"She will need rest. Possibly rehabilitation, but mainly rest. She is in no spot to travel." The bandages were peeled from your skin, sopping wet and scented of iron. You brought your hands above your head, gritting your teeth as your aching wound was treated. You could barely feel your toes, and the tautness of your skin around the ankle helped to show just how much it had swollen. You refused to lower your pride enough to ask for something to relieve the pain. Through gritted teeth, you glanced upwards, eyes in pained slits, meeting the gaze of the Commander, who was watching you intently. 

"How long until she is healed?" 

The old bandages were thrown away, and the wound was cleaned thoroughly.  All under the careful watch of Commander Ren. The doctor took his time to answer his question.

"She's lucky it didn't break her leg. These traps were designed for large game animals." His eyes darted down at you, seeming somewhat satisfied with the freshly wrapped leg. His gaze held some sort of emotion, but you couldn't put your finger on it. Your mind was exhausted. "Regardless, the wounds are pretty deep. I'd estimate a week before she could manage putting weight on both legs."

The Commander remained silent at the doctor's recommendation, still not leaving your figure. 

You shifted under his gaze, suddenly feeling very aware of the thin gown you were currently wearing. The pain had lessened after the doctor administered the pain medication- the same syringe he was interrupted with previously. Your eyes were growing heavy, and before you knew it, you were out.