#infectus

Kylo burned through pilots almost faster than they could be supplied to him. While most were competent enough in the cockpit for his purposes, they tended to be more curious than their infantry counterparts, quicker to question orders, and invariably useless once removed from their flight controls for ground combat. For their insufficiency, they’d been either blithely dismembered or ejected into space, depending on his mood.

Sure, he could fly his own shuttle, but as the newly minted Master of the Knights of Ren he ought not have to do menial things himself when he had other tasks to accomplish. It didn’t befit his title. It didn’t befit his power.

When he arrived in the small hangar bay where his shuttle (and TIE fighter, though that wouldn’t be of much use to him for the immediate future) resided, troopers were in the process of trotting up the boarding ramp with the supplies he’d need for the weeks-long assignment Snoke had designed for him. Sealed, unmarked crates of machinery and food, mostly, though one particular piece of equipment was of much more substantial importance to the Knight. He scanned the hangar for what was to be his latest pilot. Give me no less than your best, he’d growled at Colonel Hux, or I’ll continue to burn through your air troops until I find what I’m looking for. Soon, he’d find out if the greasy weasel had delivered.

A glinting flash of red on black caught his attention immediately, the hallmark helmet of a special forces pilot. Already, Ren was pleased. Hux didn’t like to spare the more highly trained fodder for Ren’s purposes if they were merely going to be eviscerated anyway, which meant this one wasn’t expected to fail. He strode forward until he was half a meter from the pilot, mask tilted in curiosity as he felt how the Force wove around the man, testing his mettle before anything else. “Your designation?”

Colonel Hux had probably meant for it to be a short conversation. A quick yes sir, despite whatever apprehension a pilot might have felt. A snapped salute. Hux would then dismiss the pilot, before getting back to whatever it was he really did around here. It was one of the greatest cases of nepotism Poe would ever witness in his lifetime. So really, it’d been just a little satisfying to watch those distinct brows leap in surprised when the order was questioned.

And not just the order, but the command’s judgement.

The problem was they had all heard the stories. Despite regulations created to specifically discourage and dispel, there were just some things you couldn’t keep the pilots from doing. Gossip was probably the least of the Order’s worries, anyways. After all this time, Poe wasn’t interested in becoming another statistic.

He’d spent years carving his place in the navy. He’d become irreplaceable. So why take the risk? He didn’t exactly share the colonel’s confidence that this would be a successful match.

But had he actually been able to get out of this assignment? No. So he’d spent the morning preparing for the trip, from packing his ready bag to making sure his affairs for the week were in order. Someone else would have to take over training the promising young pilots accepted into the program, and you could bet he’d be checking in on those same pilots the moment he was back.

The First Order had made an art form out of conditioning soldiers, sure, but Poe still knew he could do better. Not only that, he’d proven it. His pilots were the best, and he wasn’t excited to place them in someone else’s hands for whatever amount of time he’d be chauffeuring Snoke’s favorite around the galaxy.

Lord Ren’s initial approach wasn’t totally unlike a fighter to its target, a demand immediately on his lips. Provided the guy had lips.

“SP-3477.” Colloquially, Poe. Hux provided hadn’t provided that information, it wasn’t really officially on file. 

In the meantime, he didn’t give away much. His answer had been polite, although he couldn’t help tipping his head towards the shuttle while he spoke. There was a curiosity nagging at him already. He’d piloted several craft like this one, the old imperial style that the Order liked to drag around for officers; but Poe could see that this one was different.

A simple answer for a simple question. It suited Ren just fine. The mask remained trained on SP-3477 for a moment longer and the air grew noticeably heavier around the pair, but it was gone the instant he brushed past and continued forwards. “We leave now.” The troopers, having completed their task, scuttled away like beetles before him as he ascended the ramp, though not so hurriedly as to appear unprofessional. SP-3477, for the moment, went ignored.

He’d upgraded the weapons and hull armor of his Upsilon-class shuttle specifically for this mission based on rumors about his destination; even someone who thrived on chaos as he could learn to prepare for the worst. Upon reaching the cockpit, he entered several nondescript coordinates into the nav computer, a path that would avoid the popular hyperspace lanes through the core worlds in favor of a meandering route hugging the outer rim that would take much longer, but offer superior anonymity if needed. Minimal manpower meant even Kylo Ren would have to be careful. The path terminated at a planet named Lehon.

Satisfied, he crossed his arms and waited for the pilot to catch up.

He had to admire how those troopers could hustle once they’d been dismissed, their boots clicking against the floor as they departed the hangar bay.

SP-3477 had been itching for a little adventure for a few months now, but he probably should have been careful what he wished for. Things had been quiet, and the First Order had a way of laying low when it wanted to. It often wanted to.

There was so many details to drink in now that he’d ducked aboard the ship. Little tweaks, screens in places he hadn’t seen them before, and those supplies crammed in every nook. It wasn’t really a vessel meant for a journey this long, but it’d have to do. Poe had already staked out a chair that might be comfortable enough for the long series of naps that’d replace his normal sleep cycle.

“Did upper management provide you with any of my background?” He stood somewhat respectfully in the back of the cockpit, waiting to be invited further within. From here, he could see that their route had already been dropped into the nav-computer- something he’d usually like to be consulted on, but he figured it was a little early to nitpick Lord Ren’s plans.

Though his arms were tightly crossed, Ren leaned against one of the chairs in the cockpit and let his head tilt to the side, still measuring the worth of this pilot. “Nothing,” he said with a dismissive shrug, pushing off of the chair and retrieving a datapad inset in the wall of the cockpit to comb through whatever information happened to be relevant at the time. He noted SP-3477’s distance, and let it continue. “I only care if you can complete the tasks I give you, nothing more. You’re not to change any of the coordinates I’ve programmed unless otherwise ordered, and you’re not to touch the cargo. Your cabin is port, mine is starboard.”

Having been given this shuttle to do with as he pleased, Ren had taken it upon himself to refit the craft as a vessel for personal use. Taking advantage of the deceptive roominess this class of shuttle possessed, he’d had two tiny, but functional, cabins installed, and the resulting corridor between them could even have been called a common room, with a half-moon booth and a large table with bits of errant machinery still scattered on it from whatever Ren had been tinkering with last.

He wasn’t really sure what he’d expected.

Alright, maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate. He’d expected to be dead by now, organs lodged under a crate in the hangar bay before Ren had even taken off. It wasn’t a stretch to wonder why he was even here when the man was such an adept pilot. Poe had witnessed first hand what he was capable of.

Colonel Hux hadn’t really bothered to explain when asked, either. He’d seemed content to remind SP-3477 that it was his duty to do as he was told, without question.

Cabins, though. That was cozier than expected, maybe he wouldn’t have to resort to the chair after all.

“Does she have a name?” All he had to do was complete the tasks given to him. Well, he hadn’t been tasked with shutting up just yet.

Ren ignored the question, largely because the answer was no. He’d named his fighter easily, but even though he’d owned this shuttle for a standard year and a half, it only had its standard factory designation to go by. The fact that he’d accidentally modeled it after a certain Corellian freighter lent to the problem, more than likely.

This new train of thought was enough to distract him from the fact that SP-3477 was already far chattier than the Knight would have liked.

He raised the ramp and didn’t even bother to conceal the curt sigh that hissed through his modulator. “Get us under way.”

“Yes, sir.” The fact that Ren had said nothing at all, well. It said plenty. He’d be traveling in style, but it was likely also in silence. As he dropped into the seat, he realized it was probably better this way; after all, he was lucky his mouth hadn’t gotten him killed yet.

“This is SP-3477, departure code has been submitted for evaluation. En route to,” A glance downwards, before he thought better of it. “A classified location. Acknowledge.”

At least the launch itself came to him as easily as breathing. A mild mannered ship, launching from the complete safety of a friendly hangar, into familiar space. They had sheltered in the harbor of this system, heavily populated with inhabitable celestial bodies and not much else.

At least the launch itself kept the pilot busy for awhile, and minimized the number of curious glances he’d sneak Ren’s way. Eventually, even that had run its course. His gloved finger tips wandered the panels, summoning and dismissing the ship’s status over and over.

“Are we planning on making any stops along the way, or is this a straight shot?

SP-3477’s discretion over the comm didn’t go unnoticed, even though Ren had retreated to the booth to busy himself with the motley collection of tech there - it wasn’t terribly far away from the cockpit. He hadn’t partitioned the interior of the shuttle exactly to his liking yet, another project in the growing pile of busy work he kept for himself. The cargo space led into the “commons” which led directly into the cockpit, with no style to speak of. All function.

The brief seconds between the destroyer’s artificial gravity tapering off and that of the shuttle’s kicking in was always an unpleasant sort of float in the pit of his stomach, but it was still the familiar, welcome experience of flight.

At some point, a soft click indicated that Ren had grown frustrated enough with the limited visibility his helmet afforded him to do away with it. He swiped his hand through his hair a couple of times out of habit immediately after, vexed by something entirely unrelated to the pilot’s constant questioning, though he was sure that would start to grate on him within the hour. “No stops. Time is... somewhat of the essence. It will take us five days to reach our destination as it is.”

Five days.

No wonder even Kylo Ren had needed a primary pilot. With the ship now comfortably navigating one of the quieter hyperspace channels, he figured it was alright to put a few meters between himself and the cockpit. And if it wasn’t, he’d probably hear about it from his new and temporary boss.

There were more surprises to be found here than there had been on the exterior. It was more reminiscent of someone’s personal work space rather than a tidy military craft. A soldering tool lay on top of a small pile of wires and a computer board, a project that wasn’t anywhere near recognizable. Some swatches of dark fabric. A trunk with ornate hinges shoved half behind a week’s worth of food.

And an unfamiliar face.

He was surprised, but decided against commentary. He didn’t know what he’d expected to ever see beneath that mask, but it wasn’t anything like that.

Five days. He glanced into his cabin, surveyed it momentarily, and gently half rolled, half kicked his ready bag through the doorway.

Ren wasn’t that old. That was the first thing. Somehow he felt a little safer thinking about it out of sight. He was probably younger than the pilot, even. It’d take a few more looks to figure that out for sure. Those thoughts persisted even after Poe had pulled his helmet off and washed down his face and the back of his head. No matter what the Order promised, the damn helmets just wouldn’t breathe.

Where even was Lehon? With a towel around his neck, he wandered back out to find where the star charts projected against a bulkhead, flipping through them in what was increasingly beginning to feel like a vain pursuit.

“Rakata Prime,” he muttered abruptly, never taking his focus off of his work yet following the pilot’s every movement all the same. Movement, general vein of thought, the stronger emotions that flickered to the surface; every facet of SP-3477’s existence within this ship was being monitored, whether it was made obvious or not. Ren clarified his statement. “The charts will call it Rakata Prime. Quadrant H14. We’ll stray close to Wild Space to get there.” Never a sentence any pilot wanted to hear.

Finally, Ren opted to lift his eyes to get a more literal look at the man he’d be spending these next weeks with. A mop of curly dark hair and quick, deep-set eyes that hid little. He may have encountered SP-3477 in passing at some point, he realized, but couldn’t place the time. The drilling stare that followed SP-3477 didn’t waver. “I trust that won’t be a problem.”

“Not a problem, sir.” There was a little restrain behind the reply. If they planned on dropping out of this channel and just beyond the edge of civilized space, Poe couldn’t hang back and make chit chat with his delightful host.

“I’ll be in the hot seat if you need me.”

And so for the next forty eight hours, the cockpit became his home away from home. Ren seemed insistent on the fact he had enlisted Poe’s service for a reason, and that he was too busy to monitor the systems.

They barely spoke, and that might have been the most difficult aspect of this for him. Alright, maybe it was second to constantly having to stay glued to the screens watching for unfriendly contact, but it was a close second. Even among the ranks of the First Order, Poe’d managed to build comradery; sometimes, even dangerously close to friendship.

“We’re nearly there,” He called as he wandered back into the common area, although he lingered close enough to keep an ear out for any alerts.

Did Ren ready know that? He probably already knew that. Poe rubbed one hand against his face, already well aware of just how strained his eyes were from watching the scanners. “Have you been here before?”

Nothing happened at first. An eyebrow cocked in what seemed to be amusement while the curious particles still danced between Ren’s hands. “Actually, yes.”

He hadn’t moved a centimeter, but a phantom hand began to close around SP-3477’s throat, slowly yet inevitably. Ren took his time as he stored his project in a small wooden box and swung his boots off of the table to regard the strangling man. “I wanted to remark on how quickly you seem to have forgotten your place - if you knew it to begin with, pilot.” Thinly veiled rage hid behind a mask of boredom as Ren spoke, as much as he tried to keep his voice low and level. Just before SP-3477’s face had a chance to turn uglier shades of purple, he allowed the man breath.

“And to think we were getting along so well.”

People had always told him that he was lucky. There was no denying that he had unmatched skills as a pilot, sure, but there was something else to it. He’d been born under just the right star, and therefore had a _way_ of getting himself out of situations that no one should have survived.

Once the vertigo began to ebb, Poe realized he could definitely chalk this up as one of this situations.

His knees ached, and he now realized he’d ended up on them. His hands braced against the cold metal of the floor, struggling to hold himself upright as he took one greedy gulp of breath after the other. There’d been a time like this before, his canopy cracked and split in a foreign atmosphere, the planet trying to strangle him before he’d even set foot on it.

Still, he’d never felt a hand close around his throat like that. Even if it’d been in his head, it’d been a human hand. It’d been the most personal attempt at his life yet.

He had to fight off a smile, something that was relieved and tired all rolled into one. “Permission to prepare for arrival on Lehos, sir?” One of those hands struggled to find purchase on the back of that booth so that he might pull himself back up, trembling even then.

No panic. Not even a remotely worthy amount of fear emanated from the pilot, and oddly, Ren found himself almost impressed. Most of those on the receiving end of such treatment wet themselves at least a little. His previous anger returned to its customary simmer when it became apparent he’d made his point. "My Lord was nice, keep using that one,” Ren drawled. He stepped around SP-3477 to take a seat in the cockpit before the pilot could recover.

Rakata Prime glittered bright as any jewel. Its seas and archipelagos came into view as Ren eased the shuttle into atmosphere, briefly surveying a map he’d thrown up on the display before choosing to land on a fragmented slab of duracrete that had once been a proper landing pad. It remained serviceable enough, despite the havoc the elements had wrought. The palms surrounding the pad shuddered with the impact and sent golden birds tumbling into the sky.

Even from the cockpit, one could see the abuse the planet had suffered; the landscape had not been formed by natural means, but rather systematically destroyed over millennia by ancient civil wars and conflicts much more recent. The history of it Ren knew intimately, but it hadn’t prepared him for how the planet felt. The very air was steeped in the Force, something that gave Ren more dread than reassurance, thanks to previous experience with this sort of world. Snoke had failed to mention that he’d be contending with this.

He wouldn’t grant any more attention to the doors, as much as he felt the need to thank Brendon for closing them. Instead, he studied the flourish of bubbles rising in his hand, the thin glass against his fingertip. “Must feel like a waste of time, now that all is said and done.”

Ben laughed once, settling comfortably back in the sofa with a foot propped on the opposite knee and taking a healthy sip of champagne. “Your table is safe with me.” It was difficult not to observe Brendon when his former attorney had his back turned to him, his stance and the things his eyes found outside as the light waned. “I’ll do my best, but as you know, trouble seems to find me.”

That amusement was contagious, and he dipped his head while trying to stifle a chuckle. Brendon had never been a man with a sense of humor, but it was hard not to laugh at the situation. The prosecution had reminded him more of a circus than a team of professionals, and he was delighted with the outcome. The work of a public defender was rarely gratifying, but as he glanced back towards the long limbed man reclined on his couch, he found himself feeling dangerously close to content.

“It doesn’t have to be a waste, you know,” As he spoke, he took the time to retrieve another coaster, setting down the nearly empty flute. Evidently, he’d done a piss poor job of sipping the expensive drink. “It’s already paying off. Handsomely, actually.”

Shadows played across the ground as puffy clouds passed over head, promising rain before tomorrow. These things had a way of happening quickly, and he knew it was better to wait here than to bother crossing the mountain passes where he might find swirling snow- wouldn’t kill him, of course, but it was incredibly challenging when one couldn’t see where they were going. Inconvenient, at best.

What a surprise to find a settlement here, tucked so carefully away in this northern valley. It was fair luck, really. He wondered how hard they fought to live here in solitude, to see the same small pool of people every day. A thing that sounded like more of a conviction than a sanctuary.

As cliche as it felt to be perched in the trees like some crow, there was reason within it. It was comfortable, and the heavy branches on the lower limbs of the trees gave him a wonderful vantage to watch the people go about their business. A wispy spirit had visited him at some point in the morning, bringing with her the over whelming scent of pine and a series of breathless questions as to why he was bothering. They wouldn’t do anything more different than they had yesterday.

All the same, he ignored her. It wasn’t really something he liked doing, talking to the locals like that. Not when there were errant young men to watch playing at war behind their stone cottages, nearly impaling each other in the name of sport. Idly he wondered if they’d ever really know what it was like. She left after a little while, and the forest quieted around him once more. A horse nickered, but the noise was from behind him, and he had to crane his neck to have a good look at the man wandering into the forest, leading his animal companion along.

Oh, he recognized this one. There’d been a small spat with one of the village women- the man’s mother, from what the fae had gathered. His shoulders were an open book, his dark mood impossible to ignore. Relius followed, footsteps hushed, not exactly eager to die at the hands of some startled manchild.

His leave had been a long time coming. The rites passed, Ren had become a man in the eyes of his village, but his mother required more evidence of the fact– several more years’ worth, it would seem, if her need to keep him rooted to home was anything to go by. He’d already deemed the girls of the village not worth more than a night of his time each, and simple trades held no interest for him.

No, he wanted to go beyond. Over the mountains. Through the forest he’d hunted all his life and away from the perpetual fog that clung to the lake and made it whisper. And so he would, if his mare hadn’t had other ideas.

Sensing the impending weather (or some other foolish animal nonsense, Ren didn’t particularly care) the mare had trudged to a halt, refusing her master’s efforts to goad her into continuing. Her load of foodstuffs and supplies neither heavy nor unwieldy, he tugged harder at her mane, though she seemed intent on backtracking, even; frustrated, Ren followed her attention. Briefly froze. Placed a hand on his dagger.

This man was not of this village, that much was clear. He wore a verdant cloak stitched of oddly-shaped leaves, his hair a startling shade of sorrel Ren had only ever seen on horses. Regardless, he spoke with a terseness belying his impatience to get on. “Don’t follow me. I’m not going back.”

Ah, the beast. Relius could have moved away, had he wanted to, and disappeared into the trees before he’d even been noticed. Despite this, he lingered, and stood confidently even as he was greeted with hostility.

“What does one have to do with the other?” He hummed playfully, a foreign lilt on the fringe of his words, and his eyes as green as the foliage draped around his shoulders. It was different, to be the subject of the man’s attention rather than some distant observer. Pleasantly different.

When no weapon was drawn on him, Ren resumed his insistent tugging of the mare’s mane, even as she snuffled around in the stranger’s hair and sampled the leaves of his cloak. He spoke like no one Ren had ever heard before, and irritatingly buoyant, at that. “Stop following me. Is that clearer for you?” None of this did anything to lighten Ren’s mood. If it was a ploy to gain a traveling companion, it wouldn’t work.

Beast that it might have been, the horse was nothing short of curious. Relius’ hand touched to her muzzle, before gently guiding that hungry mouth away from his clothing.

“Your eyes are on the mountains, but you should haunt the low lands tonight.” Why would he bother cautioning this one? Relius couldn’t help but feel it would be a waste to have that handsome dark head lose the already faded road and freeze to death alone.

Obediently, the mare ceased her explorations and once again attended her master. Now, though, Ren’s curiosity had been captured– or his superstition. He rubbed the horse’s neck anxiously. “I’m not soft like you. I can weather a storm.”

Pointed ears. He hadn’t noticed before, not until a gust tousled the man’s hair. A modification, a mark of his tribe? The sun had painted freckles across the bridge of his nose as well. The result was altogether unsettling for Ren, who came from a people hewn from stone and silt. He cast his eyes to the clouds. “The village by the lake doesn’t take strangers. You’ll have no place there.”

“And neither do you, Ren.”

It wasn’t clear which of the stranger’s sentiments he was referring to, but the name rolled smoothly off his tongue. The villager’s anxiety was writ on his brow, and the way in which his fingers flexed around the mare’s lead. Relius knew he wasn’t helping his own case by toying with the boy like this, but he failed to see the harm in it!

Confusion narrowed his eyes, even as anger twisted his lips into a sneer. Before he took his next breath the point of his dagger hovered before the stranger’s navel. “You don’t know me. Who are you that you think you can follow me?”

“What do you know of killing?” A step forward, holding no weapon of his own, but letting the point of the blade press softly against his stomach. All the while, those too bright eyes remained locked with Ren’s. Clearly, he wasn’t afraid.

“I know I’ve gutted bigger men than you,” Ren answered simply, content to place more pressure on the dagger and draw first blood as he did so. If the stranger had a death wish, Ren would be happy to offer his services, for as irritated as he was.

Thunder cracked against the mountain, otherwise he might not’ve paused the push of the blade. Those eyes unnerved him. Perhaps he ought to cut them out first?

There was an honesty in the press of the knife, and despite himself, the fae felt his breath hitch. He slunk backwards, bare feet silent against moss and broken branches.

“I’m here to help you.” The words weren’t spoken so much as they were whispered, like a restless wind. There was no guarantee this man would listen, and maybe Relius had already ruined his chances- in any case, he wasn’t finished with Ren. Not yet.

Point made, Ren lowered the dagger, but did not sheathe it. He tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Though his eyes lacked the baffling depth of color the stranger’s held, they were just as intense, still narrowed in skepticism. The man was too pretty, too sure of himself, too odd. “With what? I’m leaving. I doubt there’s anything you could offer me.”

“That might be so, warrior.”

Relius could feel the potential this man carried with him, and the hot blood that coursed through his veins. Neither of these things were lost on Ren, were they? That’s why they stood on this over grown path, the human uneasy and clearly eager to leave this valley.

“You can decide for yourself, as every man has the chance to. I am only here to provide an opportunity.”

Relius couldn’t help but realize he was playing a folk tale role, a creature dangling temptation before the dashing village hero. Had the boy paid attention to any of these in the past? Did he believe, or even care?

If any of that was so, perhaps he would realize that he fell short of the heroic ideal.

“What do you intend to do, Ren? Outside of this vale? What do you imagine you will find?”

“Freedom. The only thing there is to find.” Ren held his breath for a moment, giving the stranger another once-over. Wariness didn’t even begin to describe what Ren felt towards him, but suffice to say he was now intrigued, as well. Ren’s identity was no secret. There was a possibility any question the stranger asked was merely for show, but Ren had nothing to hide. That he should have to explain his reasons for leaving behind that forsaken little village was an irritation nonetheless.

With a resigned sigh and a roll of his shoulders, Ren leveled sharp eyes at those green ones. A cold wind began to gust from the north, tousling hair and mane alike. “Who are you and where do you come from? What opportunity? State your business quickly or I’ll be on my way.”

That answer was exactly the sort that Relius had hoped to find. As the wind moved down the granite face of the mountain, it met his back, and he felt encouraged to step forward again, his hand moving to Ren’s arm. The notion of fear did not even occur to him, confident in the lure of his words. Mortals could be so malleable.

“The freedom to be the only one who commands  you,” Ironic. Ironic, these circumstances considered. “I am a happy man, for I have finally found a warrior worthy of the power I can give him.” Rough fabrics, hand woven, moved beneath his fingers. Distantly, he could feel a pulse beneath skin, and it was hard not to smile.

“Do you know how long I have been searching?"

The doors to the deck had been left open thanks to an unseasonably warm evening, the air heavy with the smell of decaying leaves and smoke. Even Hux had rolled up his sleeves in an attempt to cool off, without necessarily needing to dress down.

“Could you use the coaster? They’re under the coffee table, on the shelf there.” He’d looked up from the champagne bottle’s label just in time to catch his client staking out a seat in the living room.

Former client, he reminded himself. Hopefully this new change was a permanent one, and it was refreshing to see Mr. Solo away from the dusty, wood paneled walls of the county courthouse.

“Anyways, congratulations.” With the bottle still in one hand, he lowered his glass down towards Ben with the other, offering a toast. “To both of us.”

He’d dropped his sweater across the arm of the sofa in deference to the heat, but Ben still tossed his hand through his hair from time to time, dislodging the heavy locks and the warmth trapped there. A coaster– he really shouldn’t have been surprised. Pulling one from the shelf to set it on the table with all necessary drama involved in an action one takes in feigned exasperation, he fell into his seat and mirrored the angle of Hux’s glass with his own. A smile only just threatened to surface. “To you, really.” He took a modest sip.

“It’s exhausting, this legal shit–” Ben paused suddenly, glass halfway to the table, eyes flicking to the open doors before resuming the action. “But it shouldn’t be too hard to continue keeping my nose clean.” Finally that smile broke, faintly mischievous. “Don’t let yourself get too bored, now that this is over.”

“Your case was just one of twelve this week,“ The glance to the doors hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Brendon stepped over to draw them shut with click. "While yours was definitely the most interesting, I seriously doubt I’ll be bored any time soon.”

He didn’t seem prepared to sit down, instead lingering near the doorway, eyes on the horizon. Smoke from a half dozen chimneys created an eerie sort of dusk, and he inwardly wondered who wasted their time with a fire when it was this warm. “You’d think a carpenter would inherently know how to keep condensation from damaging a table. That is the sort of trouble you should stay out of, at least while you’re here.”

He wouldn’t grant any more attention to the doors, as much as he felt the need to thank Brendon for closing them. Instead, he studied the flourish of bubbles rising in his hand, the thin glass against his fingertip. "Must feel like a waste of time, now that all is said and done.”

Ben laughed once, settling comfortably back in the sofa with a foot propped on the opposite knee and taking a healthy sip of champagne. “Your table is safe with me.” It was difficult not to observe Brendon when his former attorney had his back turned to him, his stance and the things his eyes found outside as the light waned. “I’ll do my best, but as you know, trouble seems to find me.”

That amusement was contagious, and he dipped his head while trying to stifle a chuckle. Brendon had never been a man with a sense of humor, but it was hard not to laugh at the situation. The prosecution had reminded him more of a circus than a team of professionals, and he was delighted with the outcome. The work of a public defender was rarely gratifying, but as he glanced back towards the long limbed man reclined on his couch, he found himself feeling dangerously close to content.

“It doesn’t have to be a waste, you know,” As he spoke, he took the time to retrieve another coaster, setting down the nearly empty flute. Evidently, he’d done a piss poor job of sipping the expensive drink. “It’s already paying off. Handsomely, actually.”

That had sounded better in his head, really, but it was too late to backtrack now. His fingers had already found Ben’s shoulder, without even an ounce of permission on the man’s part beyond the bedroom eyes they’d shared under rows of  fluorescent lights. A little push nudged Ben’s jacket down, towards the curve of his shoulder, pulling the fabric of the shirt underneath with it. He’d seen the edge of that collarbone before, stark against the fabric of a button down shirt while they discussed legal fees and proceedings. Details that had remained withstanding in Hux’s mind long after he’d left the detention room.

Brendon hadn’t needed to seek permission; he’d saved Ben the trouble of initiating what he’d assumed to be inevitable, really. It’d been an effort to keep his thoughts out of the gutter during the entire fiasco, knowing there’d be no evidence to convict him of crimes he clearly didn’t commit and oh how the prosecution had spun and spun and still, in the end, couldn’t even manage to explain why a cop had smeared Ben’s face across the hood of his patrol vehicle for no legal reason.

His good mood persisted through Brendon’s attempts at– flirting, was it? endearing– and solidified as a curious touch sought him out. Just as methodically as the fingertips at his collar, he raised his hand to curve around Brendon’s jaw, drawing him close enough to taste, lips soft and searching. A challenge, not to rush headlong into it, but Ben had a feeling it’d pay off. This was a start.

Pausing, he murmured against Brendon’s mouth to offer a latent, humored retort. “Can we consider this a down payment, then?”

“Mm. Not exactly.” Brendon had only just barely withdrawn, so that while he spoke, his lips still brushed against Ben’s. It’d been years since he’d brought his work home with him like this; and if he was being honest with himself, it’d been even longer since it’d been a man.

“Not the sort of,” Ben’s long legs made it difficult for Hux to stand close enough to engage in this particular brand of contact. “Reputation I was looking for with the defendant crowd.” Another kiss, and now he had to prop himself up.One of his own legs dropped onto the sofa a little awkwardly, narrowly missing Ben’s thigh.

To set foot on a planet was… strange.

It had been years, after all. It had been easy to become caught up in the daily routine of keeping an entire organization running smoothly, rising and falling in time with the ship’s regimented schedule.

But some things had to be settled in person. These were the demands of the planetary counsel, and it was easier to send a small group of shuttles instead of relocating one of their precious destroyers in a grandiose show of force.

Grass was a surreal sensation beneath the sole of his boot. It gave, and shifted, and he couldn’t help but glance down at it over and over as though he’d already forgotten what was causing this. All while the diplomats were speaking amongst each other, nothing important, something about leisurely pursuits on this continent.

So the General curtly excused himself, only after double checking that he had both his blaster and his cigarettes. A small handful of specialized troopers followed, and they all stepped down into the dusky gardens.

Hux found himself somehow unsettled by all the new scents that mingled with his cigarette’s particular blend, pacing the stone paths while he cleared his busy mind.

“You’re sure that’s him?” He peered again at the pilfered surveillance holovid and the little man that paced within, authoritative but unremarkable. Rumors of his ferocity and terrifying presence were, so far, unfounded, much to Ben’s disappointment. This might not be as difficult a job as it’d been made out to be.

We need him unharmed, Ben. Keep an eye out. We don’t know what he’s capable of.

Sure, mom. I got this. I’ll be careful.

With the aid of the binoculars he could see General Hux and his extremely modest retinue, taking a stroll of all things. Politics must wear on even the most notorious of them. Somehow, Ben almost found time to sympathize, but there’d be no better opportunity to act than now. He flicked a signal to his men, shifted forward like a predator, and the trap was set.

Between the dense cover of the hedges and the nightfall, Hux had been handed to them on a silver platter. This was the ingenious, illustrious General of the First Order? Not likely, but– they weren’t through. Silenced blasterfire perforated the still air of the gardens from the cloak of the shrubbery, felling half of the troopers where they stood, while Ben’s own blaster took out the remainder with the sort of uncanny aim that could only be explained by the Force.

Perfectly orchestrated, simultaneous and effective, all before their position had been discovered, let alone before the General could return fire or shout for help. Freezing him in place took care of those particular details. Ben emerged from the shadow with the beginnings of a smirk on his lips, hand lazily outstretched to keep the man still while a resistance fighter cuffed him and another relieved him of his blaster. He was quite handsome, wasn’t he? The holovid hadn’t done him justice.

“You made this a little too easy. Wanna go for a ride, General?”

The clatter of a rifle against the overgrown path was the only warning Hux had. The General’s hand moved reflexively for his blaster, but his fingers fell just centimeters short. Muscles immediately began to strain and pull against unseen restraints, and attempting to keep a clear head at this point felt like gulping for air in a room with low oxygen.

Faces swaddled in cloth appeared in the growth surrounding the garden, exchanging hand gestures before they swept forward to apprehend the officer.

A woman clad in worn leathers pried the cigarette out from between his fingers, immediately dropping it onto the stone steps. It was crushed beneath the heel of her boot, her vindictive gaze locked firmly with his. There was some small conversation in hushed voices about souvenirs, coupled with pointed looks at the patch on the General’s shoulder. What an incredible lack of discipline.

Too easy? The validity of it stung. A dozen excuses could be made, but they’d be just that. Excuses. In the end, this rag tag group of thugs had not only found him, but made child’s play of his protection. This had been a failure on his part, inexcusable and… well, in this light, potentially catastrophic.

“We need to move.”

He missed who’d said that, his focus entirely on the man in front of him. The Force sensitive man in front of him. It bothered Hux that he should have known who this man was, but there was nothing in those striking features that felt familiar.

Oh, how he wished he could say some thing, any little bit of the spiteful and barbed dialogue running through his head.

Ben took a moment more to survey his gaunt prisoner, to feel his anger and defeat, before stepping forward to give him a friendly pat on the shoulder that contrasted with the righteous triumph set in his features. This man’s capture was monumental in its victory, in its accomplishment, but there would be time for celebration later. “See you on the other side,” he said simply, and passed a hand over Hux’s head to lull him to instant sleep. Two soldiers were there to catch him, each taking an arm over their shoulders and joining the others who had already begun to dart back to the ship. They would make it. They would make it.

Taking one last look at the fallen troopers and their pretty resting place, Ben took his leave, too.

As testament to the operation’s success, they hadn’t been followed back to D’Qar. A welcoming party came out in full force for Ben and his detachment, cheering and jeering at the still-unconscious General; not one among them didn’t wish to see him dead, but his capture would sate them for now. He was ferried to his cell, dumped, and abandoned by all save for a single guard to watch over his still form while Ben attended a debriefing.

It was not that guard, however, who Hux would see upon waking, but Ben himself. He lounged against the far wall as Hux stirred in that dim cell, having only just begun to deconstruct his blaster for cleaning to while away the time in wait for this moment. Two other empty cells and the bench Ben occupied made up the dingy little room, the clattering and electrical hum of the base’s operations distant.

“Hey there. Sorry we had to meet like that.”

Hux’s dreams, in the past, had always been a continuation of his work: the hushed voices of his subordinates debating trajectories, the click of boots against the floor of a crowded corridor, panels that periodically displayed numbers and commands before dimming. This time, it was unfamiliar.

An unfamiliar storage compartment, filled to the ceiling with unfamiliar duraplastic crates. He couldn’t have possibly been aboard a First Order vessel, everything seemed wrong. The General knew he needed to find an exit. His gloved hands gripped the edge of the cargo as he searched for a door or a hatch, anything; instead, he came face to face with a torn Resistance banner.

Hux woke, acutely and immediately aware of his surroundings. His face was pressed against the rough surface of a wall, and every muscle in his body ached. Was it from the paralysis? With his head bowed, he stared at the hands bound in his lap.

He preferred the dream to this.

That voice forced the officer to take in his greater surroundings, his usually carefully slicked back hair now falling forward against his brow. It was the Jedi; that’s what he had to be, after all. He couldn’t even imagine the value of a resource like a force sensitive individual.

“We weren’t even introduced.” Hux spoke slowly, but he kept his voice steady despite the circumstances. He had no intention of showing weakness, not even now.

Ben could already feel the General’s thoughts stirring, absorbing the surroundings and the situation at hand. He continued to lovingly pass a cloth over the burnished metal of his blaster as he spoke, quiet and conversational. His eyes never met his captive’s.

“I already know you. The illustrious, decorated General Hux–” Here, his lip turned briefly, despite the thick sarcasm in his words; “–and an easy catch at that. Your little entourage put up no more of a fight than a handful of womp rats.”

As he continued to deconstruct the mechanisms of the blaster and inspected each piece, a new cockiness entered his voice. “As for me, I’m Ben Organa-Solo, and I’m your new best friend.” He finally dragged his gaze to Hux, a lazy, self-assured smirk on his lips as he settled against the wall. “Do they teach you friendship at brainwashing school?”

Humiliation wasn’t a familiar emotion for the General. Even the handful of, honestly complimentary, adjectives that Ben had to offer felt more like a mockery; in fact, there may have even been a marked eye roll as he turned to put his back against the wall. It served to help support his weight, straighten his spine, and regain some of that lost pride. Circumstances be damned, he still represented the Order.

The Order. Relius refused to welcome the cold tendril of doubt lingering at the edge of his mind. It was quiet, but persistent in its orbit. Are they coming for me? Of course they were, he would argue, but a thought is a powerful and relentless thing.

Hux could ignore the majority of his captor’s monologue (did he think himself charming?), but that introduction grabbed greedily at him. That senator’s son. He could see it now, in that sharp gaze, that same face he’d gone toe to toe with a handful of times in the political ring.

“I want to speak to her. I am a political prisoner, correct?” He didn’t need to specify, or at least he believed it was clear enough.

The General’s attempts at piecing his dignity back together didn’t go unnoticed. Futile, but admirable, Ben supposed. He’d expected no less. He tapped a fingertip against the blaster’s muzzle, tracing the nicks where it’d clattered to the ground countless times in either neglect or the simple rigors of battle.

“Who?” He dragged his eyes languidly over the General’s form, so slight and so defeated. Disappointingly human despite the (likely exaggerated) tales of the man’s cruel exploits. An acute mind, and perhaps not much more than that.

Her. There was only one her, but Ben wasn’t through having his fun. “Sorry to disappoint if you were hoping for a prettier guard, but we’re fresh out of them.”

He was being toyed with. Hux’s complexion had gone ruddy in the wake of this realization, his frustration all too clear. In all of his effort to remain dignified, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had spoken to him this way.

“Then you can expect nothing from me until I’ve spoken to the Senator.” His heels were dug in now, and he had no plans on budging. “Or who ever wants to pretend they’re in command of this rag tag organization.”

For all his sardonic humor leading up to this point, Ben slipped easily into a harsher tone while managing to maintain that grin, just as stubborn with the added bonus of nothing to lose. Smiles came easy to him, just as authority came to the General. “There you go already, thinking you have any say in how this goes down. You’re pretty rude for a guy everyone wants dead anyway.” He began to unhurriedly reassemble the blaster. “Mom’s busy. And you can call her General.”

There was nothing surprising about the taunts Ben had tossed around. Power attracted a variety of enemies, this was the natural order of things. Still, it did illuminate one fact: Hux was alive. That meant they’d be expecting to extract information from him, or use him as some kind of a bargaining chip- a ploy the First Order would never even entertain.

Was it up to himself to escape? There was that persistent doubt again. The General swallowed slowly, refocusing his attention on the lanky man near by.

“Ben Solo-Organa.” He repeated the name, deliberately slow, as though committing it to his memory. Force sensitive, force trained. A proper Jedi, even, perhaps.

They had been working to eradicate them. Hux himself had spent countless nights pouring over pilfered, ancient texts- all to try and gain any understanding of this archaic warrior. Training manuals had been pieced together, procedures had been put into place. Many troopers had died, only for Hux’s staff to collect any and all data surrounding the incident so that they could so that they could reevaluate.

The small pieces and parts of the newly trained Jedi had been a stubborn thorn in his side, but the First Order proved stronger and more organized. They undoubtably had the upper hand.

“Why are you here, then?”

Something he was honestly curious about. Was the man skilled enough to read minds, to manipulate Hux’s actions? He found himself on edge now, fists clenched, wondering just what sort of precautions could even be taken against such a thing.

Ben didn’t expect to hate quite so much how the General tasted his name like that. While the dark side didn’t cling to him like Ben had anticipated (as force sensitive as a blade of grass, this one,) it was difficult not to feel the weight of death on him. Not by his hand, no, but by his command. Such evil tended to cloud the thoughts, especially the thoughts of those sensitive to it; the handful of those who were left, at any rate. They were being picked off byhim.

A question. He’d almost missed it in his musing and the brush of anger he’d had to ignore. Ben scoffed, as if it should be obvious. “I’m babysitting you, should you try anything heroic. Not that I think you’re capable of it. You’re going to bide your time, see if your friends will come rescue you, but I have bad news for you, pal.” The blaster was holstered at his thigh, leaving his hands free to lace behind his neck. He cocked his head, giving Hux a cool, assured look. “They aren’t.”

He’d be harangued for chatting with the prisoner so much, he was sure, but Ben could glean a lot of information simply from the General’s reaction to his half-baked razzing– a level-headed man, but capable of terrible things– and besides, there would be no need to showcase the extent of his power by simply extracting the information he needed.

It wasn’t as fun, either.

Oh, anyone on this miserable base could have babysat him. There was something personal to this, and it didn’t take much effort to piece together why. The Resistance ran in this boy’s blood. The force swam in that handsome head of his. He had to have hated Hux, exceptionally hated him.

“You’re correct.They’re more practical than that.” Was it true? Did he believe it? Perhaps he did, but this response wasn’t for his own sake. He wanted to gauge Ben’s reaction.

“So you would have been better off killing rather than capturing me. Or are you people planning on something more public?” He didn’t seem nervous or bewildered anymore, in fact he wasn’t even flustered.

Perhaps he could yet live up to the reports of his intelligence, if he truthfully realized how hopeless his situation was. “I have no idea what’s in store for you yet, but it’s not going to be an all-expenses-paid trip to Spira. Sorry.”You’re lucky it’s not up to me, his eyes said, despite the lingering simper. It was becoming more difficult to pretend he wanted anything for Hux other than a swift death.

Ben had, up until this point, remained in his own thoughts, an automatic courtesy extended to Hux for far too long. Now, though, he let himself stray.

…And Ben found nothing but surety when he let his consciousness brush against Hux’s, something the man might’ve not even felt. It told Ben all he needed to know. “You’re not apprehensive about what might happen to you?” The question was posed in honest curiosity as the Jedi continued to search the General’s eyes and, more subtly, what lay behind.

After years of commanding, it was impossible for Hux to miss those minute changes in the way Ben regarded him. It seemed that suave attitude Ben chose to hide behind had developed a few cracks.

“No. It wouldn’t serve any purpose.” The General spoke slowly, with continued confidence, his chin kept high. Even with his hands bound behind his back, his shoulders still proving an aching distraction, he held himself as any officer should.

“I’m interested in progress, Ben. I’m interested in speaking to someone who actually maintains some authority here.”

Tiring of Hux’s shows of confidence (and even moreso of the actual confidence that radiated from him), Ben straightened where he sat and rolled his shoulders, cocking a brow. “Just because I don’t have the final say doesn’t mean I don’t have a say. And unfortunately for you, I’m not interested in helping to soften the sentence you’re likely to get. You have a lot of information we need.”

Here Ben picked up the blaster again, though not by any physical means; the threads of the force lifted it above his lap, and slowly, it came apart in midair just as Ben had done with his hands earlier. He didn’t raise a single finger.

“The mind isn’t so hard to pick apart, either,” he mused quietly as the gleaming components clinked against each other and sought their place once more.

It took an enormous amount of self control for Relius to keep still, to not make some sort of tiny exclamation in a gasp or a flinch. This was what lay in his cards, and there wasn’t even a bluff left for him to make. He wish he had more time to think, time alone and without this distraction-

“Now you’re just showing off.” As usual, Poe didn’t wait for an invitation. He unshouldered his flight bag, letting it hit the floor with a solidthwump, before taking a seat next to Ben. Fresh off of a sortie, he hadn’t even changed out of his gear- he’d figured that his friend would be in need of a little company. An unconscious, evil overlord wasn’t about to do the trick, anyways.

Except the General was awake. He wasn’t looking at the pilot, he’d only spared him a quick glance before setting his sights on Ben all over again, but that was fine. Poe shifting his weight forward, elbows braced against his thighs. “So, is he talking?” Like the General wasn’t even there.

He would’ve liked to enjoy the General’s surprise a little longer, but suddenly Poe was there, as Poe was inclined to do. The blaster dropped into his lap, concentration scattered. He found himself locking eyes with Hux even as his thoughts strayed quite away from him.

Poe came back. Poe always came back. Still, to have him physically here was reassuring in a way Ben found consistently difficult to ignore.

“It’s like trying to hold a conversation with a Jawa. They talk, but all you hear is this high-pitched chattering, and they never say anything important.” At last he glanced sidelong at the pilot. “Gotta say I’m disappointed.”

“Would you rather I take on a vow of silence?” There was no small amount of chagrin in Hux’s tone, his lips drawn in a sneer. As a matter of fact, that should have been his first course of action, but the situation had over whelmed him.

“Yes,” Poe’s reply was immediate, one finger raised in the General’s direction, before it was half lowered. “Actually, I’ll level with you. It’s probably better to just get the important confessions out of the way. Anything about, I don’t know, those ion flux cooling systems your squadrons are using.”

Hux’s eyes slowly rolled into the back of his head, and then closed.

“We should keep moving.”

And yet the General lingered, squinting at the dark passageway carved into the rocky side of this foothill. It was cold in the shadows of the mountains, enough to prickle goosebumps against his bare arms. His jacket had been removed hours ago, carefully wrapped around his neck and the lower half of his face. Already it was covered in a dust that’s colour nearly matched Hux’s hair, but it helped keep that same dust out of his lungs.

This was the third ruin they’d come across, crumbling reminders of the civilization they’d come to study. Now they were stranded among them. There was still a fresh wound against the back of Kylo’s hand. Every once in awhile, when Kylo turned just the right way, and Hux would catch sight of jaggedly torn skin against the back of his hand. Wounds he had acquired protecting Hux, yes; but since Kylo’s temper laid waste to the shuttle in the first place, Hux found that he had little pity to spare.

What little survival supplies they had were tucked in a hinged, metal container that Hux insisted on carrying; bacta patches in damaged packaging, water purification tablets, survival rations. It wasn’t much, but at least they’d had the peace of mind to salvage something from the burning wreckage of the shuttle, along with a rifle for himself.

“I’m not sure it’s any safer in there than it is out here.” Hux continued in his muffled voice, turning away from the cavernous entrance. “I have a bad feeling about this. All of it.”

He would’ve sneered, had he the energy to be combative. If Hux had a bad feeling, Kylo Ren was crawling with the same sensation as weak, erratic tugs pulled at his connection to the Force in strange and unsettling ways. This planet felt wholly wrong, alive with the dead, shrieking at him. Beckoning him home, filling his limbs with strength he couldn’t use.

It made focusing on anything else a challenge, to say the least.

“Do you, now.” The remark crackled through the helmet’s modulator as sand and dust clogged what crevices it could find. The back of his hand stung horribly, and something ached in his lower back; shelter from the wind sounded enticing, as did any amount of respite from their hike. He hadn’t been warned about the gravity. “We’re going to need shelter sooner or later. We don’t know when the sun will set.” Pulling his cowl tighter against the lower half of his mask, Kylo began to trudge towards the ruins, refusing to cast a glance back to see if Hux had decided to follow.

The pull became stronger the closer he drew to the entrance. Runes lined the monolithic stones on either side, but he had eyes for nothing but the wide tunnel that lay within, receding down into the earth and into the shadow. He thought he heard a trickle in the depths– the faintest whisper of water– and that alone was enough to enthrall him. He removed his helmet and held it under his arm, peering acutely into the dark that echoed his labored breath.

Something… called. Sinister. Fond. His words sounded distant. “We should follow it.”

Ignoring Kylo’s haughty reply, Hux took in their dusky surroundings, all the while adjusting the pilfered rifle strapped against his shoulder. The runes littered around them had caught his attention, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of it, so they proved more of a frustration than anything else.

While Kylo wandered closer to the entrance, the General didn’t budge from where he’d originally stopped. “Follow what?” Hux immediately replied, surprised to hear Kylo’s unfiltered voice. Why take the helmet off?

“The tunnel. I hear water.” Among other things. He finally twisted to face the General, arching a brow in question before slipping out of the wind and into the abyss. Half a moment later, red light flared and flooded the cavern, accompanied by the saber’s signature snap-hiss, before Kylo Ren began the gentle descent deeper into the ruin and disappeared from sight altogether.

It wasn’t silence that was left behind in Kylo’s wake. A chilled wind echoed through the canyon, the sound not unlike a TIE fighter as it departed Finalizer’s hangar bay. Already uncomfortable on any planet, this eerie place provided no exception.

Relius was more afraid than he’d ever admit to.

They’d left the wreckage reluctantly. There hadn’t been time to organize a distress signal before the craft had spun out of control, and little could be utilized of the burned out wreckage. The First Order would be looking for them, but there was no telling how long they would take.

Better to look for water now, rather than when they were desperate later on.

The General began to move again, into the shadowed pathway. He could distantly make out Kylo’s form, silhouetted in crimson as he stalked away. It was difficult to hear anything, much less a trickle of water, over the sound of the stone crunching beneath their feet.

With some reluctance, he caught up to the other, failing to suppress a violent shiver.  “It can’t be that far down, if you hear it.” If it’s water you’re even hearing. The commanding officer gave off an air of excessive doubt, and caution.

“Opted to join me?” Hux must’ve known how fragile his life was when separated from someone who knew how to actually defend himself from the more aggressive fauna inhabiting this planet. Whether he could use that rifle to any effect remained to be seen, but Kylo supposed he was glad Hux had retrieved it at all.

“It’s… close.” It sounded more like a question than he’d intended, as his concentration scattered whenever he attempted to collect it. Relius’s emotions rolled off of him in waves Kylo wasn’t accustomed to feeling sobrightly, for lack of a better descriptor, a curious phenomenon he’d dwell on later. The scuff of boots and the sparking hum of his blade made it difficult to pinpoint, but the trickle was definitely growing closer, and the tunnel leveled out in time to open into a small, circular room, bathed in red with razor shadows thrown across the opposite wall where more tunnels diverged. In its center was an ornate well, but no water sprung from it, and the trickle he’d been following had vanished without his notice. The stone hadn’t seen water in thousands of years. Kylo stared, incredulous. “It was– it–”

More tricks! In a burst of frustration and snarls he lashed at the well, cleaving it in two with a scream of his lightsaber and watching the top shatter upon the ground in miserable satisfaction as the din reverberated about the chamber. “I heard it!”

“Ren!” Hux hissed under his breath, as though there was still some value to staying quiet even as the clatter of carved stone filled the cavernous atrium. His gloved hand clawed at the uniform wrapped around mouth.

“Ren, your reckless behaviour is going to get us killed,” There was an edge of exasperation to his voice, clearly still a little shaken. “We know only a little of what inhabits this planet, and none of it is anything I’d want to attract, so for our sake-”

His hoarse pleading fell silent, as he had just turned on his heel back towards the way they’d come in. No longer was the dusky canyon beyond visible- instead there was only an impenetrable darkness. Whatever he’d meant to say afterwards had caught in his throat. This was their shelter, then.

He changed course.

“Why is… Why was this here?” The general began to circle what was left of the well, stepping carefully over cleaved stone.

Hux’s rapid words fell on deaf ears. Kylo had returned to staring at the broken well, sifting through the formless whispers that still drifted in and out of his thoughts most unhelpfully. Brushes of anger, of laughter and taunts. The General didn’t seem to be suffering from this, something Kylo was already coming to resent.

A muted chittering wafted from one of the further tunnels before growing silent again. It didn’t seem worthy of Kylo’s attention.

Sighing through his teeth, he placed his helmet on the ground (far more careful with the noise now than he had been, despite having ignored Hux’s protests) and spun the lightsaber in agitation. “It doesn’t matter. It serves no purpose to us.” He dropped into thought for a few moments before continuing. “We can’t access the water belowground, but the beasts must have a source. We’ll follow them to it in the morning.“

The General had been privy to at least one of those sounds, and he turned on his heel towards the hallway where it had originated. There was no immediate threat, yet he found himself struggling to breath steadily. Hux forced himself to mentally take a step back and analyze their surroundings, particularly the other corridors.

There were four of them, not counting where they had entered, and each was as indistinguishable as the last. While Kylo paced like an agitated animal, Hux toed one of the well’s carved fragments back towards where they had entered, wanting to be sure he didn’t forget where it was. Even if it did seem closed off. Or, had they really ventured that far below the surface?

Their supreme leader had warned them to be watchful for these things while here, that old magic had been ingrained within the very existence of this planet. Now Hux found himself staring into the shadows, painfully aware it must have been his own imagination that made them shift and move like fabric falling to the floor.

“I won’t sleep. It’d be a waste of time to stop here.” Exhaustion pushed back against his claim, pulling at every muscle in silent protest, but Hux believed in what he had said.

Kylo’s breath left him in a rush that could’ve been either laughter or exasperation. “You will sleep. You’re useless to me exhausted.” He looked like he wanted to elaborate on the exact nature of Hux’s uselessness in their situation, but kept it to himself. Fatigue would claim him, too, if he didn’t sleep, and the exhaustion he felt had to have been even worse for Hux, who knew nothing of physical hardship as far as Kylo Ren knew.

He only hoped the dead would let them sleep at all.

“Then you should sleep first.” Hux retaliated obstinately, running the edge of his thumbnail against the leather strap that crossed his chest. “I might be tired enough to sleep after first watch.”

The words felt like someone else’s because, well, they were. This wasn’t his own experience speaking. Relius had flipped through his share of military novels and training manuals, and this was the right decision for the moment. After all the survival simulations he’d endured as a teenager , they felt felt like a full life span ago, and he mentally grappled to try and draw upon those memories- what few there had been.

“Will you even be able to sleep?” This was asked as he carefully unshouldered his rifle, finally giving in to the fact they weren’t venturing further for the time being.

Logic would prevail in this situation. The nastier inhabitants of Korriban wouldn’t show themselves until further into the night, if his information had been correct, and thus it made sense to allow Hux to take the easier shift. Ren conceded with a scowl.

Would he be able to sleep? It was a good question, one he didn’t have an answer for. His thoughts still lay scattered, eddying about his consciousness as if tossed by the winds outside. Tugged by phantom hands. Half-formed howls and hums that had no voice. The racket would give him no peace.

No, he likely wouldn’t be able to sleep, but explaining any of this to a simpleton like Hux wasn’t worth the effort. Instead, he shook the remaining sand and debris from his clothes, strode to the opposite side of the room, and extinguished his lightsaber, plunging the tunnels into total darkness. Kylo could be heard lowering himself to the ground and pillowing his cowl beneath his head. Trusting Hux to watch his back for any length of time was abhorrent. Necessary, but abhorrent. “Alert me immediately if you hear anything out of the ordinary.”

The abrupt darkness had been an unexpected consequence. How was he supposed to keep watch when there was nothing to see? Without even the smallest bit of light, it felt hopeless to try and adjust to any of it, but Ren was right about one thing: without the snarl of the light saber, Hux could listen.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed while he sat at rapt attention, his rifle balanced carefully atop his knees. Never before had he experienced anything like this, without any sort of monitoring or supportive equipment to assist.

In the mean time, his fingers traced the unfamiliar dips and curves of the rifle, remembering when they had created the order for this particular model. It’d been a volatile affair, one that him and the Captain had been unable to agree on. It wasn’t really in Relius’ nature to admit he was wrong, but perhaps he’d have to thank her later. The light weight build really had been worth the resources….

Unable to tell whether it had been an hour or any other unit of time, Hux pushed himself up to stand, using the pock marked wall behind him as a guide. Of course he’d taken note of the direction the warrior had skulked off in, but he wasn’t about to approach him while he slept.

So instead, Hux lifted a foot, blindly feeling with the toe of his boot for one of the smaller stones scattered against the floor. Once one was found, it was immediately kicked across the floor in that general direction.

“Ren.”

He’d slipped into half-consciousness, at best. Restfulness wasn’t destined to find him. Even as Kylo lay still, clearing his thoughts in impromptu meditation and making every effort to silence the din of the planet, thousands, millionsof voices clamored and whispered for their brother to join them in eternity. To become a devoured, fractured thing like the rest of them, formless. A lullaby of screams, loneliness–

Something collided with his back. In tandem with his name, it was enough to rouse him from whatever shadowy stupor he’d been lulled into and, in an instant, he lurched to his feet with ignited lightsaber raised in hand, erratically surveying the tunnels for whatever could’ve caused Relius to call for him. He didn’t feel anything, didn’t see anything, and for that, Kylo dropped his stance. “What?” he hissed, free hand clenched in frustration he ought not to have felt. He should’ve been… grateful, to have been stirred. A hungry planet, this was, ready to claim him. He feared it might, and even worse, he feared he might allow it.

“Did you get anything out of,” There was the sharp click of a boot heel, as the General stepped through the threshold and into that dim room. “This?”

At least it wasn’t in shambles. Hux had fully expected to see iron hot rents in the bulkheads, or their state of the art restraint device cut up into ragged little bits. There was blood speckled along the floor- it drew a line from the gurney to the door and out back into the hallway. Sloppy, really.

Unseen, but very much heard, Kylo Ren lifted his lip in a snarl beneath the mask. “I need more resilient subjects, not this fodder. They died before I was able to learn anything.” Useless, all of them. He needed officers, pilots, anything better than the worthless ground troops the Resistance saw fit to employ.

“They told you, didn’t they?“

Kylo Ren’s robes pooled around his kneeling form, his energy clearly spent. Behind him, a severed cable spat sparks, scattering them across the icy floor.

“Look at you.”

Only hours before, Kylo had been safely tucked away in the medical bay; now, radar panels lay shattered around them, and torn ventilation hubs hissed lowly. Even without his saber, he had torn through the control room of this desolate, frozen base- only to come to a halt before the General.

Alone, there was no need to mince words.

“You command the power of the force, yet you couldn’t manage even just a little command over your petty vendettas.” Hux’s words were like venom, practically spat out from behind clenched teeth.

Hux, of all people, had to be here. Hux couldn’t have done him the courtesy of dying on Starkiller and letting him fall to the same fate. Had he the energy, Kylo Ren would’ve torn through the General, as well, but once his momentum faltered there was to be no more destruction. Still recovering from his wounds and bearing fresh ones on his hands where he’d ripped machinery from the very walls, Kylo Ren fell spent to his knees, lacerated palms facing skyward. Everything about him abruptly wilted and withered.

“That machine of yours was flawed. Destroyed by a handful of rebels.” The normally bright intensity of his gaze had fallen prey to despondency and the leftover vestiges of rage, newly bisected by the deep red of a scar. Without his mask, there was no hiding any of it from the General. “Answer for your own failures, Hux.”

“Everything has a weakness,” He knew his emphasis would not be lost on the crumpled figure before him. “That is why you protect against its exploration.”

“You were mere meters from the source of sabotage, I have the reports-” Just shy of truly raising his voice, Hux’s words came to an abrupt halt. Kylo was now subject to the unwavering scrutiny of his gaze, without so much as a scrap of metal to hide his face behind.

“Was it justified? Was it worth it, Kylo Ren?” The question might as well have been rhetorical, for the General’s sentiment on the matter was absolute.

“You know nothing!” he roared in answer, though it seemed to expend whatever energy he’d mustered to do it and his body shook with a brief coughing fit when he attempted to rise from his knees. He’d foolishly refused all but the most necessary treatments for his wounds once he’d been conscious enough to do so.

Kylo knew that stare, and it did nothing to assuage his fear that he may have truly, finally, outlived his usefulness. It might not be worth it after all. Pieces of him were newly missing, left on a planet that no longer existed, and he’d never have the chance know what those pieces might’ve been.

Clenching ruined fists, he clawed at the Force to make the General leave, but found only a whisper of his power. Too brittle, still, to even do that much. He muttered darkly in spite of it. “Your purpose pales in comparison to mine. You will never know the strength I know. You will never see what I see.”

His patience was finished.

Hux groped and tugged at the front of Kylo’s clothing, yanking him back down to the floor and forcing him to kneel again. It was an uncharacteristic physical outburst, one borne of desperation and rage.

The General was doing everything in his power to pin this failure on Kylo Ren. The man was powerful but unstable, and it was much easier to fault his behavior than it was the failure of his own troops. In time, amendments would be made to training and procedure, but for now…

“I served my purpose. You childishly made a ruin of it all.” As Hux spoke, he roughly grasped at the knight’s chin, so that he might look down on the man who had been a thorn in his side for years.

A frustrating and mysterious variable in his otherwise perfect war machine.

He was perhaps more stunned by the action than affected by it, so much so that he made no further attempt to stand. How far would Hux go to demean him…? Hux was getting brave, seeing his weakness for what it was and lording his power while he still could; there would be consequences.

Far from having it in him to be the bigger man, Kylo lifted his lip and snarled at the General, wrapping long, bloodied fingers around Hux’s wrist to ruin that perfect uniform. An edge of something just short of sanity crept into his voice as his grip became a vice. “Your toy—“ an unseen pain wracked him for a moment— “was nothing compared to my objective. Remember your place, General. Your power is an illusion.”

Hux’s fingers flexed, before they slid downwards, tightening around Kylo’s throat. It’d be a lie to say he hadn’t conjured this very image, all while coiled against the picturesque porthole in his quarters with a glass of Corellian wine.

It was somehow very different from what he had envisioned, Kylo’s neck less delicate than he had guessed.

“What is your objective? Enlighten me. What could have possibly been more important than rebuilding our Order?”

A warning growl reverberated beneath the General’s grasp. This was new, and Kylo was entirely sure he didn’t like their positions being reversed, regardless of where the blame for this incident lied (with the Resistance, of course, but Hux obviously needed a more tangible victim to express his frustration upon). His other hand rose to close around Hux’s arm as well, constricting, ever constricting. No small part of him wondered how much strength it would take to snap the man’s insubstantial wrist. Far less than he possessed, surely.

“The galaxy will be mine,” he murmured harshly, defiant against the pressure at his throat. “Not yours. Not Snoke’s. Stay out of my way if you want to survive to see it.”

There had been a sincerity in the Knight’s confession, but all the same it was madness. It had to be. His own grip slackened in disbelief, even as those bloodied fingertips dug painfully through his uniform. “The galaxy. You can’t even succeed as a right hand man, and you expect to rule it all?” Hux didn’t even try to suppress the scorn in his voice.

Strangulation was no longer a threat, but the edge of his nail bit into the skin just below the man’s jawline. He even dared to draw closer, until his thigh came to rest against Kylo’s shoulder, and the metallic smell of blood pooled in the back of his throat.

He saw red. The man’s tone, his face, he wanted to tear skin from bone, to devour the General whole, to shove his hands through his chest and close his fingers around a heart, if he could find one– instead, Kylo waited, incensed gaze flickering briefly over the blaster holstered at Hux’s hip. So near.

I am no one’s right hand.

His eyes drifted shut, and an uncanny calm smoothed his features. The hold on Hux’s arm weakened, becoming almost tender, when Kylo Ren abruptly hurtled the last vestiges of the power he’d been pooling for some minutes directly into the General. A final, wild push, to toss, to obliterate, it didn’t matter anymore.