Archive of Our Own

The air was so thick Hux could almost touch it, hanging over the swamp like a heavy, fetid blanket. Spindly orange trees grew up here and there, but for the most part, the planet was composed entirely of sediment-encrusted mud and soupy, opaque water, deep enough to reach Hux's knees in places. The whole place smelled rank, like the inside of some particularly pungent dead animal. He'd removed his greatcoat and gloves. He'd even rolled up his sleeves, the furthest concession Hux was willing to make uniform-wise. He was still sweating abysmally, soaking through his shirt and having to pause every few moments to wipe perspiration away from his eyes.

This was hell. This was also a punishment. Hux knew that very well. Starkiller had failed, so Snoke had commanded Hux to personally scout out the location for Starkiller II. The Supreme Leader had thoughtfully sent along a list of planets to investigate. This was the third, and so far, each had been more disgusting than the last.

“I've sent an advance unit ahead.” Phasma came up beside him. She hadn't removed anything, not even her helmet, and she still seemed as calm and composed as she did when they were walking the climate-controlled hallways of the Finalizer. “They should report back within the next few minutes.”

“No need. I can tell you exactly what they're going to find. More fucking swamp.” Hux lifted his boot. Every step was arduous. The mud clung to his feet like a living creature, reluctant to relinquish him. Hux triumphed, again, and pulled his foot out with a squelch.

“Will you be recommending this planet as not ideal, then?”

Hux and Phasma had worked together a long time. He still couldn't tell when she was being sarcastic. “Yes. Not ideal. Well put.” The sweat dripped into his eyes. “In fact, I think I've seen all I need to. I'm going back to my shuttle now.” Hux wanted to seethe in peace for a while.

“Yes, sir.”

He did an about face, yanking his feet from the mud's tenacious suction and heading back the way he'd came. He felt Phasma watching him. He waited until she'd turned away, checking over his shoulder to make sure, then wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. It came away even wetter than before.

This was Kylo Ren's fault, of course, just like practically everything else that had to do with the Starkiller disaster. Afterward, he'd gone off to flagellate himself in Snoke's fortress, and Hux was sent on a tour of the Outer Rim's least desirable neighbourhoods. It wasn't fair. Ren should be the one suffering this.

For a moment, the mental image of Kylo Ren struggling through the swamp with his stupid robes and his stupid mask brought a smile to Hux's face. Of course, Hux thought, he could probably use the Force to hover above it or something. Maybe. Hux didn't know a lot about the Force. He didn't choose to learn any more than absolutely necessary. It was a parlour trick, useful in the right hands, perhaps, but more often than not a crutch relied on by those who lacked proper tactical and military skills. Skilled officers like Hux didn't require it. It's just another secret handshake, Hux thought irritably, pulling up his foot so hard his boot came off. A password to another old boys' club. Who needs it? He pushed his sock-clad foot back into the boot and bent over, gripping himself around the calf. As he broke free, there was a loud splash behind him, followed by a call of, “Watch out!” An instant later, Hux found himself face-down in the swamp. Just as quickly, he sat up, gasping, spitting out the disgusting water before it could poison him.

Mud caked Hux's clothes, his hair and his face. Water sloshed into his boots, soaking his socks. His hat, knocked off completely, floated forlornly atop the swamp.

“Sorry about that,” a voice behind him said. Something was pressed into Hux's hand, a rectangle of fabric. He wiped his face with it, picked up his sodden hat, and turned to see who he was about to murder.

It was Kylo Ren. Well, it was, and it wasn't. The wound on Ren's face had gone, completely disappeared with no trace of scarring. His hair was shorter than Hux had ever seen, and rather than dressing like some hyper-dramatic deformed monk, he wore normal civilian clothes: brown pants, boots and a leather jacket. Hux thrust the muddy cloth, which appeared to be a scarf, back at him. Ren looked at it and dropped it in the water.

“What are you doing here?” Hux spat. He'd received no message Ren had returned, let alone that he would be joining them on the planet. I will protest, he decided. Supreme Leader or not, Snoke cannot just thrust this man upon me with no warning.

Ren blinked at him. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he finally said. “You look familiar, but you're gonna have to jog my memory.”

“What?”

“Later.” Ren grabbed Hux's arm, his hand firm around Hux's bicep. As Hux pushed him away, there was a whoosh and a thwang. He looked up. A spear was embedded in the narrow trunk of the nearest tree, quivering. “Come on.” Ren ran, pulling Hux along with him. Snoke's done something to him, Hux thought. But what?

Ren dove behind a tree, its trunk slightly wider than the rest.“I'm not too popular 'round here right now. As I guess you can see.”

“Yes,” Hux agreed, cautiously. What if this was a trick? An illusion, a test, something to do with the Force? But the question that followed all of those possibilities was, why?

Blaster fire rang out. Ren's eyes shot up. “You've got soldiers?”

“Phasma has two units of Stormtroopers with her.”

He shook his head. “It won't be enough.”

So not that different after all. Hux frowned. “You've made your feelings about my Stormtroopers abundantly clear, but I assure you...”

“Do you have a ship?”

“How do you think I got here?”

“Will you take me to it?”

“Of course.”

Ren grinned. “Sweetheart, I could kiss you.” Ren hesitated. “Have I? I mean, have we...”

Completely mad. Hux shook his head. There was no other explanation for it. The encounter with the scavenger girl, and whatever had happened in Snoke's fortress, had robbed Ren of what little mind he'd possessed. Hux was going to have to consider the implications of that carefully, but not now. Now, Hux heard the ululating shrieks and the blaster fire behind him, and ran for the shuttle.

It was waiting on the firmest space of land they'd been able to find. As soon as Hux and Ren jumped inside, Hux gave the order to take off.

“Wait a second,” Ren broke in, as the engines sprang to life. “You said you've got two units down here.”

Irritation rose in Hux. “Are you questioning my command?” Not that it would be the first time.

Ren shrugged. “I'm just wondering if you're planning on leaving them behind.”

“What do you take me for, Lord Ren?” There was another shuttle, a larger one, awaiting them equidistant from Phasma's last location. If they had to retreat, which Hux highly doubted, she would know what to do. He didn't travel with the Stormtroopers. Neither did Ren.

“Ren?” Ren repeated his own name like it was someone he'd heard of once, long ago. Then he sighed deeply. “Sweetheart,” Ren said again. If Hux kept ignoring it, maybe it would stop. “Do you happen to know my brother?”

“Your brother?” Hux's voice cracked. Fortunately, it was mostly hidden by the roar of the engines as they lifted off.

They were twins. Hux had heard they could run in families, although he didn't know whether that applied to identical as well as fraternal twins. He was hardly going to launch a study of genetics now.

“Ren never mentioned a brother,” Hux said, although Ren never mentioned anything at all.

“We aren't exactly friends. The biggest favour he ever did me was when he started wearing that stupid mask.”

“Who are you, then?”

“Bail Solo.”

The name meant nothing to Hux, which meant this man was an unknown entity. Hux looked at the situation logically. Solo was a relative of Ren's, which meant he could easily be with the Resistance. It also meant he could be a user of the Force.

Hux caught the eye of the guard beside him. He flicked a glance at Solo, and the guard took out his restraints.

“What? Hey, no, that's not...you don't need to...” Solo pulled his hands away, but he didn't genuinely resist, which was fortunate. They needed to be cautious, but Hux didn't necessarily want to kill the man. Not before he told them everything he knew, anyway.

The guard snapped the restraints around Solo's wrists. “I don't use that magic shit, if that's what you're afraid of, sweetheart,” Solo said. Even now, with his hands bound, he was smiling.

Hux turned to the guard. “If he speaks again,” he said, “shoot him.”

“Yes, sir.” The guard trained his blaster on Solo.

A beautiful tableau, one has to admit, Hux thought. A silent Ren,restrained, with a gun pointed at his head. Then Solo flashed him a wink, and Hux spent the rest of the trip resolutely staring out the window.

Lieutenant Mitaka met the shuttle as it docked with the Finalizer. He looked at the prisoner impassively, and Hux was glad Mitaka had never seen Ren without his mask. It made this so much simpler.

“His name's Bail Solo,” Hux said. “Get him into an interrogation room. I want everything we know about him, officially and unofficially. Send it through to my quarters. I'm going for a shower.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

Mitaka was good. As soon as Hux stepped out of the shower, having washed what felt like half a planet's worth of muck from his body, there was a file waiting on his comm. He stood at his desk, naked except for the towel around his waist, and read.

Bail Solo was a criminal. Hux couldn't say he was astonished to learn it, although he was mildly taken aback at the extent of the criminality. Drug smuggling, illegal gambling, gun running, credit laundering. Nearly all of this information came from spies. Solo's official criminal record was short— only a recent, brief stint in jail as a First Order sympathizer on some backwater planet—but there was nothing on the record to prove Solo had ever really helped them in any way. He also, apparently, had an ongoing feud with the Hutt.

Hux dried himself off and dressed. He was no stranger to siblings. He'd grown up in the shadow of his older sister. Everything Hux did was but a pale imitation of what Elissandra could do. She was a better tactician, a better pilot, a better fighter, a better engineer. A better leader. If she hadn't died, not in glorious battle but of some rare and tragic incurable illness, Hux didn't doubt she would be where he was now, leading the First Order to victory across the galaxy. But, although Hux had hated her and she thought nothing of him, they had been alike. Hux couldn't conceive of two men more different, in every way but looks, than Kylo Ren and Bail Solo. It was fascinating. Hux felt a pull when he thought of Bail Solo, a strange desire to understand the man better.

It had been a long time since Hux had personally conducted an interrogation. No matter, he thought. Effective torture, like effective leadership, was mostly in the mind. He let Solo sit until he, Hux, couldn't stand it any longer, then he marched into the room, making sure his boots tapped loudly and menacingly against the deck plating.

“Sweetheart!” Solo grinned, although he couldn't lift his head from where they had strapped it to the chair. “I gotta say, I'm totally on board with this kinky stuff, but you have to fill me in on the scenario here.”

Hux nodded at the Stormtrooper in the corner. The Stormtrooper inclined his head respectfully and left. Hux waited, biting his tongue, and let the silence stretch. Finally, when Solo opened his mouth, Hux cut him off before he could speak.

“Tell me, Mr. Solo,” Hux said, his voice icy, “are you worth something to the Hutt, or should I just toss you out an airlock now and save us all the trouble?”

Solo laughed. Hux blinked. He'd spent most of the way over working on that line. “Ooh, boy. That's a good one, General Hux.”

First rule of interrogation: don't lose the upper hand. Hux squared his shoulders and contrived a bored tone. “So you do know my name.”

“Of course. You're the pretty face of the First Order. I'd have to be blind not to recognize you.”

There was a button right there, within easy reach. Hux could push it and send Solo into agony. He didn't. “Then you must know that your brother and I work closely together.”

“I told you, I don't give a shit what my brother does.” Solo turned his head, as much as he was able, and looked at Hux. “Unless it's you, of course. Then I would be jealous.” Hux slammed down the button. Electricity crackled and Solo convulsed, writhing within his restraints. When the jolt was finished, Solo lay still, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Looking at his face, a tremor of something passed through Hux. He didn't pause to examine it. He didn't have time. A moment later, Solo's eyes snapped open. Solo swallowed, hard, and smiled. Hux couldn't believe it.

“Oh, yeah, that's it.” Solo's voice was weak, unsteady, but somehow still completely devoid of fear. “Hit me again, baby.”

Hux stormed out of the room, and ran directly into Phasma.

“Where have you been?” Her tone skirted insolence. She seemed to realize this, and added a belated, “Sir.”

“Do you have something to discuss?” Because Hux really wasn't in the mood. He walked on. She matched his stride easily.

“We just lost eighteen men on that planet.”

Hux stopped. “What?”

“It was a surprise attack.”

“They had spears.”

“And other weapons.” Phasma's voice grew defensive. “My troops fought valiantly. That's why we didn't lose more.”

“Who are these people?”

“I don't know. I wanted to ask you what Supreme Leader Snoke told you about the planet.”

“Nothing. He didn't say anything.” He certainly hadn't given any indication it was inhabited. “Get Mitaka to look it up.”

“I have. There are no records of inhabitants.”

“So they're what, ghosts?”

“I don't know what they are, sir.” Of course she didn't. But there was someone who did.

“Come with me.” Hux turned and led the way back to the interrogation room.

Solo's eyes were closed when they arrived. Phasma stopped in her tracks when she stepped into the room.

“That's...”

“His brother,” Hux broke in. “There's no time to explain.” He didn't really have any more to explain than that, anyway. The guard stepped aside. Hux took Solo by the shoulder and shook roughly until the man's eyes opened.

“You're back, sweetheart. I missed you.” Solo sounded better, a little, although there was still a dazed edge to his voice.

Phasma recoiled, taking half a step backward. Hux ignored her. “We need information.”

“Okay. What do I get?”

“What?”

“If I give it to you. What do I get? I'd like to ask for a kiss, but my sense of self-preservation tells me to hold out for a little more than that.”

The button hovered temptingly at the edge of Hux's vision. Hux didn't look at it. “You get to live.”

“My ship.” Solo replied, as if that was an answer. As if Hux had asked a question. “It's dead in the water. In orbit around the planet. I need time to fix it up, some materials. Nothing too fancy. I'll pay for what I use.”

Hux sighed. Everything inside him, everything he'd ever learned, told him not to negotiate with a man strapped to a torture device. “I'll throw you to the Hutt,” he tried, desperately.

“You wouldn't do that.”

No, he wouldn't. Not yet. “Do you really want to test me?”

Solo shrugged. It was an impressive maneuver, given his restraints. “Sure.”

“There's no time for this!” Phasma broke in. “I will not let the deaths of eighteen soldiers go without retribution.”

Hux sighed. “All right. We'll bring your ship on board, Solo.”

“Great.” Solo smiled. Then, silence.

“Well?” Hux prompted.

“Oh, I thought you were going to let me out of here first. As hot as this is, we can't really have a cozy chat with me all trussed up.”

“How dare you...” Phasma's tone was more menacing than usual. Solo, of course, didn't seem fazed in the least.

“It's all right, Phasma.” Hux rubbed his forehead. A headache was beginning to form behind his eyes. It was a common occurrence when he was in the presence of a Solo. Apparently, it didn't matter which one. “Guard, let him out.” There was nowhere for him to go, and nothing Hux had read indicated Solo was stupid enough, or suicidal enough, to make a run for it. If he was, then the Stormtroopers could blast him out of existence, and they'd be no worse off.

As Solo climbed down from the chair, Hux noticed the man's hands shaking. It wasn't that bad, surely. He hadn't even used the highest setting. Solo was still smiling, in any case, shooting a look up and down Phasma that could only be described as “appraising.” Hux's patience snapped, and he barked, “So what do you have to say, then?”

“Do you think I could get a shower? I mean, look at me.” The mud had dried, leaving his clothes stiff-looking and his black hair streaked with grey.

Phasma's hand went to her sidearm. Hux waved her down. “Just tell us. Then...” He could feel Elissandra rolling over in her grave at her brother's weakness. “Then, you can have a shower.”

Apparently, Solo agreed with that. “There's about eighty of them. They're prisoners.”

“Of whom?” Phasma barked.

“They're from the penal colony on Marchilda Four. They killed six guards and stole a ship about...ten standard months ago now.”

“I've never heard of any prison escape.” Phasma sounded skeptical.

“Of course you haven't. They don't want it getting out. The prison's worried it would encourage more attempts. And they're embarrassed they haven't caught them yet.”

“So how do you know about this?” Hux asked.

“A couple of them know some friends of mine. I did some time a little while back. For you, as it turns out.” He looked at Hux. “Well, for the First Order, and it's practically the same thing. And if that doesn't earn me some sort of recognition...” Phasma looked between them, as if she thought she was missing something. Fortunately, Solo continued before Hux had to acknowledge either of them. “I've been bringing them supplies off and on for the last few months. Not just me, they've got a few other regulars, too. They figure they're pretty safe, since no one in their right minds would stop by that planet. But they're ready to defend themselves if they have to. As I guess you saw.”

“What happened between you?” Hux asked. “When we met, you were on the run.”

“Yeah.” Solo sighed. “They weren't too happy to hear my prices had gone up.”

“Prices?”

“I told you, my ship's dead. I needed extra money to fix it.”

“So you decided to extort a captive market?” Phasma sneered. At least, Hux assumed she was sneering.

Solo laughed. “You could say that. Not my best idea, though. They decided they wanted my head on a pike and my balls for breakfast. But General Hux saved me.”

“It wasn't exactly like that...”

“You should be arrested for aiding and abetting escaped convicts.” Hux wasn't sure whether Phasma was addressing him, or Solo. He drew himself up, just in case it was the former.

“Is there anything else you can tell us, Solo?”

“I can give you names. Information about their hideout, what kind of weapons they have. But I'd really like that shower first.”

It would give Hux and Phasma a moment to confer. For that reason, and no other, Hux ordered the Stormtroopers to take Solo to the communal showers. When he'd gone, Phasma removed her helmet and looked at Hux. Now, there was no doubt as to her feelings.

“Sir, he is...”

“He is Lord Ren's brother,” Hux interrupted. “Quite clearly, lunacy runs in the family.”

“We do not know if he is trustworthy.”

“He has no reason to lie.”

“He has every reason to lie, if it gets you to bend to his will.”

Hux stiffened. “I never bend to anyone's will.” Including hers.

To prove it, he told the guards to take Solo to the cells after his shower. Phasma was chomping at the bit to get down the planet and annihilate the prisoners, but discretion, as his father always said, was the better part of valour. Nothing would be served by running down there half-cocked. They needed the rest of the information Solo could provide, but they also needed time to plan an appropriate retribution. And Solo would be more willing to provide the information, Hux assumed, with a minimum of nonsense if he had a few hours to rest.

Hux, of course, remained awake. He didn't sleep much in any case, and tonight there was too much to do. The loss of the eighteen Stormtroopers had to be noted, the circumstances recorded in detail. Then, there was the question of Snoke.

Normally, Hux would have reported the incident to Snoke as a matter of course. He didn't shy from facing the Supreme Leader's consequences, although he didn't relish them, either. But Hux hadn't heard from Snoke for weeks, not since he'd sent the list of planets to be investigated as possible sites for Starkiller II. He and Ren were holed up in his fortress, it seemed, engaged in activities to which Hux was not privy. No doubt they had something to do with the Force.

Bail Solo had said he didn't use it. So far, Hux had seen no reason to doubt his statement. Why would he have let himself be imprisoned, and why would he have let Hux torture him, if he could use the Force to end it immediately? But Hux didn't know enough about it to be completely sure. Were all members of a family susceptible to it? If they were not, then what would it have been like for Solo to grow up as he had, with a brother who was so apparently gifted? Had it been like Hux and his sister, one fawned over and adored and the other left to pick up the crumbs?

These thoughts were ridiculous, born of exhaustion and stress. In any case, it didn't matter. Bail Solo was a criminal and a maniac. Hux would use him, as far as he could. He ordered Solo's ship found and brought into the cargo bay, because Hux was a man of his word, but that didn't mean he wouldn't blow it to smithereens the moment Solo left the Finalizer. Hux was the master here, he was the one in charge. Solo answered to him. To prove it, he ordered Solo brought into his office at 0630 the next morning.

He looked better. Someone had given him a pair of plain black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, but he was clean, and his hands no longer shook.

“No sleeping in with the First Order, huh, sweetheart?”

Just like that, annoyance returned. “Were you under the impression this was a hotel?”

“No, I can't say I was. The thread-count on those sheets was pretty low. And I think they gave me a piece of sandpaper for a towel.”

“You have more to tell me about the escaped prisoners.”

“Okay. So we're all business today.” Solo looked around the office. “Where's your friend?”

Hux gestured to the holorecorder on his desk. “I'll make a recording for review by Captain Phasma and the others.” Hux hadn't wanted to invite her to this meeting. Her attitude with regards to all of this was unproductive.

“Did you get my ship?”

“Once again, Mr. Solo, I'm not sure you understand exactly what...”

“I trust you, sweetheart, really, but it'd definitely improve my memory if I could make sure my ship was on board.” Solo grinned. “Please?”

The ship was a mess. Small, old, badly damaged. Hux was no expert in this class of ship, but he could see the dents and scorch marks that covered it, and he knew it would take a lot of work to make it space-worthy again. Still, Solo ran to it like a parent to a long-lost child, caressing the hull and actually leaning up to kiss it. “There she is. My old girl.” He looked over his shoulder. “What do you think?”

“It looks like a piece of junk.”

“Don't listen to him, darling. He's all looks and no taste.” Solo turned back to Hux, his eyes shining and his smile was so wide, Hux nearly took a step back.

“Thank you, General. So much.”

Gratitude was not an emotion Hux tended to inspire. Fear, yes. Anxiety, disgust, hatred. He was familiar—and comfortable—with all of them. He didn't know how to react to this. His mind went, strangely, to Solo's brother, bleeding in the snow. Hux had gone down personally to retrieve him. No matter his feelings toward the man, Kylo Ren was important to Snoke, so he was important to the First Order. It hadn't been enjoyable. The wind was so cold, it brought tears to Hux's eyes when he found Ren unconscious, his face, neck and shoulder burnt and blood gushing from his side. Hux had angrily wiped his eyes with one hand and nudged Ren with his foot. “What's the matter with you? You can't do anything right.”

Ren's eyes flew open then. Hux expected a caustic retort, but instead Ren just looked at him, eyes wide, expression indecipherable to Hux, who had never seen anything like it. Until now, from Bail Solo.

They're twins, you idiot,

Hux reminded himself sharply. Of course they look alike. “I trust your memory has improved sufficiently to make a report now?”

“Yes, sir, General, sir. I'll tell you anything you want to know.”

Solo was as good as his word. Hux recorded his detailled descriptions of the convicts' hiding places, their weapons, their leadership and their weaknesses. He played it back later that morning for a meeting of his officers. While he did so, he allowed Solo to work on his ship. There was no point in making him languish in a cell, and there was the possibility they might need him again.

When the holoprojection had finished, Hux waited for the officers to offer their thoughts. The first to speak was a young captain, newly promoted, named Ranja. Hux had reviewed her personnel file only the morning before. “Was this information obtained through torture, General?”

The table was silent. Hux blinked. Nobody would have ever made such a comment before the Starkiller disaster, let alone a new captain. They wouldn't have dared.

“It's not your place to question the General's methods,” Phasma snapped.

Ranja reddened a little. “I'm not. I just wanted to ascertain how reliable it is. We don't want to risk more troops unnecessarily.”

“No.” Hux smiled tightly. “No, Captain Ranja, we do not. And I can assure you the information is the most accurate we have, or are likely to receive.”

“Of course.” Ranja nodded, looking a little sheepish. If Ren was here, Hux thought, she'd be dead by now. Or maybe he would have found her insolence amusing. In any case, it wasn't acceptable.

When the meeting had adjourned, Hux pulled Phasma aside. “That new captain...”

“Will be dealt with, sir.”

“Good.”

“But you do believe Solo is reliable, sir?”

“Why is everyone determined to undermine me?”

“Perhaps, sir,” Phasma replied, her voice neutral, “you should ask why you are so determined to find this man believable.”
Irritation gave way to true anger. Unlike Ren, Hux didn't express it through mindless destruction. He had self-control. Instead, he stared at Phasma through her mask. “If he is not, Captain, I will personally dismember him in front of any crewmembers who care to watch. And then I'll do the same to any mutinous officers who may be lurking on my ship.” He wanted to stalk off, but was worried it might appear to be flouncing. Instead, he stood his ground until Phasma nodded. “I expect a plan of action on my desk in an hour,” he added, knowing she'd have one in half that time.

She did. Three hours after that, sixty-four former convicts of Marchilda Four were dead and fifteen were aboard the Finalizer, locked in the cells with no further losses to the First Order. “Get a message to Marchilda Four,” Hux told Mitaka. “Tell them I'm not running a prison ship, and if they want their inmates back they'd better come and get them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hux looked over at Phasma. A lesser man would have gloated, but Hux had not made it this far by taking the low road. “Well done,” he said, magnanimous, and sat back in his chair.

The warden of the penal colony responded quickly. He gushed so effusively about the First Order's efficiency and about Hux's personal qualities as leader that Hux was almost embarrassed for the man. Still, it put him in a good enough mood that Hux decided to give Solo another twelve hours to work on his ship. After that, he would go down personally and tell him he had a further twenty-four hours before Hux was going to throw him off the Finalizer.Bodily, if need be.

***

When Hux entered the cargo bay twelve hours later, the two Stormtroopers assigned as guards snapped a salute. Hux returned it and looked around. A mechanic droid was screwing new plating onto Solo's ship. Hux wondered, briefly, whom Solo had conned into letting him use it, and called, “Solo?”

There was a long pause. Just as Hux was about to call again, the ship's hatch popped open and Solo appeared. “General! I'll be right down.” He disappeared again. Hux shifted, awkwardly. Then, Solo emerged, and the awkwardness increased tenfold.

Bail Solo was, apparently, a man who preferred to work half-dressed. Well-defined muscles shifted beneath his freckled skin as he climbed down the ladder, and when he came to stand in front of Hux, Hux had to use every ounce of his considerable restraint to keep his eyes from wandering Solo's body lasciviously.

“Hi.” Solo grinned. There was a streak of grease across his face, approximately where his brother had his new scar. Or so Hux assumed.

Hux cleared his throat.“You have twenty-four hours to finish your work. Then you will need to leave.”

He expected an argument. Instead, Solo nodded. “Okay. Sounds good. I should be all set by then.” He held up a squat, translucent brown bottle. Hux had been so preoccupied, he hadn't even noticed Solo carrying it. “Here, this is for you.” He held it out. Inside, a thick, viscous liquid shifted. “It's honey liquor, from the bees of Varania. You'll love it.”

“I couldn't possibly accept a gift in this situation.”

“Why not? I want to say thanks for all your help.”

“It would be...inappropriate. And it's against regulations.”

Solo's face fell. “But I really owe you one. If you hadn't picked me up, I'd have been killed down there. How did your assault go, by the way?”

“Fine. Yes, it went well. Thank you for your information.”

“Happy to give it.” Solo licked his lips. Hux looked away, but that just put the man's neatly sculpted chest back in his line of sight. He brought his eyes up again. “There must be something I can do, though.” Solo furrowed his brow. “Could we maybe...have dinner? Surely that would be okay.”

Hux did, on occasion, invite visitors to the ship to dine with him. Those visitors did not generally include people who had come aboard as prisoners. Hux was about to demur, when a delicious thought struck him. Imagine having that in my back pocket. The next time Ren was being particularly maddening, Hux could casually mention, “Oh, yes, I had dinner with your darling brother. He told me some wonderful family stories.” Wanton property damage be damned, Hux smiled just thinking of the apoplectic rage that was bound to incite.

“All right. I'll see you in my dining room, 1900.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hux left before he could change his mind, and before he could revel too deeply in a member of the Solo family actually calling him “sir.”

By 1900, Hux had decided this was a terrible idea. But, while his father had taught him strength of character, his mother had taught him manners, and he would rather chew through his own arm than rescind an invitation. So he sat, and waited.

His private dining room was not expansive, but it was large enough for an impressive table, inlaid with the insignia of the First Order, surrounded by a dozen chairs. He expected Solo to be late, but the moment the chronometer flicked to 1900, the doors opened and the guards pointed him in.

Solo was dressed in his own clothes, the ones he'd worn when they first met. Hux hadn't thought to wonder what had happened to them, but evidently they'd been laundered. Solo, as well, looked cleaner than he had before, the grease washed off his face and his hair swept back. They really are criminally attractive, Hux thought. It's a pity Ren hasn't found something productive to do with that.

“I brought this, just in case,” Solo said. He put the brown bottle down on the table. “I figure it's not a gift if we share it, right?”

“I suppose.”

“Good.” Solo sat. Not at the opposite end of the table, but immediately next to Hux, as if they were expecting many more guests. The lack of symmetry was mildly disconcerting. “What's for dinner? I'm starving.”

The first course was a thin vegetable soup. As one serving droid wheeled it in, another brought spoons and napkins. Hux would have expected Solo to ignore the napkin, but instead he draped it carefully on his lap. When the droid placed the bowl of soup in front of him, he said, “Thanks,” which caught Hux so off-guard that he heard himself say the same. The droids, unmoved by gratitude, rolled away, and the doors shut behind them.

“Looks great.” Solo picked up the spoon. “I always hated soup as a kid. They used to make us eat this shit at school. Sticky and white, with these little...I don't know, tendrils in it. Looked like bantha spunk.”

Hux choked on his soup. He took a drink of water and said, “Mehthanian rice soup.”

“That's it! You know it?”

“It was a staple at the academy.”

“Of course. Eating shit probably builds character, right?”

“That's one school of thought.”

“Yeah? What's your school of thought?”

“That discipline is essential to a cohesive military.”

“But...”

“Morale is equally important.” It was what had bothered him so much about the Stormtrooper defecting. They weren't badly treated, not in the way Hux had suffered poor treatment.

“So you're a kind-hearted General?”

“I don't know if I'd go quite that far.”

“You must have your hands full with my brother.” Solo finished the soup and pushed the bowl away. “He doesn't respond to anything.”

“Your brother isn't under my command.” And he never passed up an opportunity to remind Hux of it.

“I'd be grateful for that. He's...well, you know what he's like.” Hux did. “Our parents couldn't see it. They thought he was the most brilliant star in the galaxy. It was always, 'Ben is this amazing person', 'Ben has this amazing power.' While I was the kid who had to actually get off my ass because I couldn't Force-float the world to me.” Hux sipped at his soup. It was a very familiar story. “Then,” Solo went on, “when he lost his shit, my parents split up. They couldn't cope without their precious Ben. Never mind that I was still there. We even look the same, you know?”

“I had a sister,” Hux said, without really meaning to. He never told anyone about Elissandra. He hadn't even spoken her name since she died. “She was like that. Everybody adored her.”

“What happened to her?”

“She died. Beautifully, of course.” She had been a picture of loveliness even in her coffin. Elissandra would never have been selfish enough to die of some gangrenous wound or maiming illness.

“But it didn't make your parents love you any more.”

“No.”

Hux felt something. He looked down to see Solo's hand on his knee. “I get it,” he said. He squeezed once, then let go.

Over the main course, Hux asked Solo what he'd wanted to since they'd met. “You went to prison as a First Order sympathizer,” Hux said, taking a forkful of Kommerken steak, “but you aren't a member of the First Order.”

Solo laughed. “Not exactly. Some snitch on the wrong planet heard me talking about how you guys have the right idea. There's too much disorder within the New Republic. That's why I'm stuck doing what I do. I can't find decent employment in that system.”

“You could join us.”

“Can you see me in a uniform?” Briefly, Hux allowed himself to imagine it. “But I'll be the first to cheer when you take over the galaxy. And,” Solo caught his eye. “I'll be the first to get on my knees for the new Emperor.”

Hux's face grew hot. He tried to cover it behind his glass, but he knew himself too well to think he was anything less than dark red.

He had pictured it, of course, alone in his quarters. Hux had looked in the mirror and shamelessly indulged himself, wondering what he'd say in his first speech, practicing particularly regal turns of phrase and appropriately inspiring anecdotes. Strangely, since the Starkiller incident, this desire to imagine himself as royalty had become even more insistent, and Hux frequently saw himself standing on a balcony in front of the adoring masses, wearing long, fur-trimmed red robes with a circlet of jewels adorning his head.

Now, an image of himself on a massive throne came to Hux's mind, but instead of being alone, Solo stood at his side, grinning, blaster in hand. In his mind's eye, Hux turned to the other side and saw Kylo Ren, scowling and brandishing his lightsaber. Twin attack dogs, Hux thought, and the idea made his heart race.

Fortunately, Solo seemed not to notice. Instead, he turned away and reached for the bottle he'd brought. “Let's give this a try,” he said, “I promise, you'll love it.”

Hux did. The liquid was thick and gold, almost syrupy, but rather than being sweet, it had a dark, smoky flavour, and the pleasant burn of a good whisky. “Don't worry,” Solo said, as he poured their third glass. “It won't get you drunk. Not unless you drink the whole bottle. And you won't get chance with me here.”

“Good.” Staying sober suddenly seemed like a very important thing indeed.

Important it may have been, but it didn't help. As they were finishing their hanava fruit soufflé, Solo looked at him. “You've got some cream on your face.”

Hux was certain he didn't. He ate fastidiously, another lesson taught by his mother. Still, Solo said, “Let me help you.” He reached out, not with his napkin as would have been expected but with his bare hand.

His thumb landed on the corner of Hux's mouth. Hux's eyes locked with Solo's. If it had been Ren, Hux would have worried about Force manipulation, because he couldn't look away. If it was Ren, Hux corrected himself, we would have killed each other before the soup arrived.

“Sweetheart,” Solo said, not moving his eyes or his hand, “this is a come on.”

“Of course it is.” Hux knew that. Just because it had been a long time didn't mean it had been forever.

“Is that okay?”

Solo wasn't under Hux's command, he was at least vaguely First Order, and he would be gone in less than twenty four hours. “Yes,” Hux said, and he leaned in for a kiss.

Solo was great in bed. Hux would have expected that, if he'd paused to think about it. The good thing about one night stands, Hux had found, was that one didn't have to worry about where this experience had been obtained. One could just concentrate on enjoying it, and enjoy it he did. Afterward, when Hux had come into Solo's skilled, eager mouth and Hux had returned the favour, stroking Solo to a loud, shuddering completion, Solo settled down as if he planned to stay the night. Hux hesitated, but didn't object. He lay down, allowing Solo to cover him with a heavy arm, and fell into a deeper sleep than he'd had in weeks.

With deep sleep, of course, came dreams, and it didn't take long before Hux was immersed. He was in his bed, in his quarters, but rather than the utilitarian First Order bedding, the bed was made up with glossy satin sheets, sumptuous covers and thick, warm furs. Solo was there, naked except for gold decorations on both biceps, the warm ambient lighting creating red highlights in his thick black hair. Raising a hand to his own head, Hux felt the crown he'd imagined wearing so many times, although never under quite these circumstances.

“Your Highness,” Solo murmured, as he rolled Hux onto his back. Hux buried a hand in Solo's hair and Solo began to make his way down Hux's body the way he had in life, planting open-mouthed kisses onto Hux's ribcage and sucking red marks into his pale skin. Hux leaned back, savouring the sensation. As Solo moved further down, Hux felt the mattress shift. He looked up to see a tall, muscular figure standing beside the bed, his distinctive scar dulled in the dim light.

“Your Highness.” While Solo's voice was light, Ren's was rough, almost gravelly. Solo sat back and Hux allowed Ren to lift him up, to move him until Hux was kneeling on the bed. Ren's hands gripped him tightly, so tightly Hux knew they would leave bruises. Ren's cock, identical to Solo's, of course, and already hard, pressed against Hux's body, wet against him as he and Hux kissed.

There was nothing gentle about it. Hux loved it. Loved the scrape of teeth against his lips, loved the demanding tongue that pushed into his mouth as if staking a claim. While they kissed, a body moved to kneel behind him, and another pair of hands trailed up Hux's back then around to his stomach. “Let us serve you, Your Highness,” Solo whispered, his tongue tracing the shape of Hux's ear. Solo's hand dipped lower, taking Hux's cock in hand. Hux felt Solo's erection against his back, almost lined up with his brother's, as if they meant to run him through. Hux gasped with pleasure, and woke up to the ringing of his comm.

“Shit.” Hux sat bolt upright. He had an erection, like some randy cadet. He could only feel lucky he hadn't actually gone off in his sleep.

Beside him, Solo snored, his face pushed into Hux's pillow. Hux fumbled for the comm, took a deep breath, and hoped he sounded at least halfway professional when he said, “Yes?”

“Mitaka, sir. Lord Ren has returned.” Of course he had. “He says he has important information to share with you. Immediately, he said.” Of course he did.

“Tell him to go to my office.”

Mitaka hesitated. Hux did not like hesitation. “What is it?”

“I asked him to wait, but he refused. He's on his way to your quarters.”

“He can't just barge in here in the middle of the night. What time is it?”

Another hesitation. “0835, sir.”

“What?” That wasn't possible. The latest he ever rose, even on his days off, was 0600. He looked at his chronometer, ready to chastise Mitaka for strangely poor timekeeping. 0836.
Hux ran a hand through his hair. “All right, fine. When will he be here?” The buzzing of his door chime, followed immediately by heavy banging, answered that question.

“I don't know—”

“Thank you, Mitaka.” Hux sighed and got out of bed.

He didn't have time to dress, clearly, not if he wanted his door to remain in one piece. Hux pulled on his dressing gown and affected a carefree air as he opened the door and caught Ren in mid-bang, his fist raised and his mask firmly over his face. Hux could feel Ren's eyes boring into him, even if he couldn't see them, but he didn't acknowledge it. “Yes? How can I help you?”

“Are you sick?”

“I'm sorry?”

“Why aren't you on the bridge?”

“What makes you think I belong on the bridge?” Bluffing. An invaluable weapon in the officers' arsenal and, if he said so himself, Hux had always been good at it.

“You're always on the bridge at this time of day.”

“You've been gone for weeks. You can't possibly tell me you know the new duty roster through the Force.”

Ren didn't reply. He tried to look past Hux, into his quarters. Hux shifted to block his view. “Did you have something important to tell me, Ren?”

Ren ignored him. “He's here.”

Hux didn't blink. “What are you talking about?”

“I can feel him.” But he sounded unsure. Hux could still bluster his way out of this.

“As I said, I don't know what you're talking about. Now if you don't, in fact, have anything urgent to impart...”

“Hello, Ben.” Hux turned around. Bail Solo stood behind him, wearing nothing but a grin. “Nice mask. I was telling Hux how lucky I am you started wearing that thing. Isn't that right, sweetheart?”

Hux didn't need to be Force sensitive to know what Ren was feeling. His fury was palpable, surrounding him like a dark cloud. Hux braced himself for the onslaught, but rather than say—or do— anything expected, Ren turned around and stormed off. As he passed, he launched a nearby sanitation droid into the air. With much mechanical squealing, it barrelled into a nearby access panel, and both collapsed in a dramatic shower of sparks.

***

Nothing was served by avoiding an issue. Hux knew that very well. He still took longer than usual to dress, arming himself in everything including his greatcoat and hat before he went to find out what Ren had wanted.

“He's crazy,” Solo had said, when his brother had stormed off. “Totally out of it.”

“You need to go.” Hux didn't have time for morning after niceties. “I mean, leave the ship. At once.”

“Come on, sweetheart. You're not upset he caught us, are you?” Solo looked at him. “Wait...are you into him?”

“Of course not,” Hux snapped. He'd never heard anything so absurd. “Get out of here.”

Hux assumed Ren would be in his quarters. He wasn't. He wasn't on the bridge, either, but since Hux wasn't in the mood for a game of ship-wide hide and seek, he asked Mitaka to locate him via his tracking device.

“Lord Ren is in the lower level gymnasium,” Mitaka replied. Hux sighed and made his way there.

Ren was alone in the gym, which didn't surprise Hux. Anybody with any sense would have cleared out the moment he arrived. The room had not, Hux was pleased to see, been decimated by lightsaber, but Ren appeared to be doing his best to tear apart a heavy gym bag with his bare hands. His mask was shoved haphazardly on a bench against the wall, along with his cloak and gloves.

“What did Snoke have to say?” Hux asked, without preamble.

“What do you think you're doing?” Ren barked, without looking over.

Hux pressed his lips together tightly. “Inquiring as to the nature of our orders. That is all that is necessary, and all I am going to discuss with you.”

Ren went on as if he hadn't spoken. “I can't believe you would sink so low.”

“Again, the nature of my private life is not something I intend to talk about. We will return to the matter at hand...”

“He cares about nothing but himself.”

“As opposed to you, the great philanthropist.” Hux regretted the words as soon as he'd said them. He wasn't going to let Ren bait him. He wasn't going to talk about Solo at all.

Ren turned around. Sweat curled his hair. The scar, which Hux had last seen when it was fresh and red, had faded to a dark pink. “We have a purpose, you and I. We serve. Bail serves nobody. He's a liar and a traitor who is out for whatever he can get.”

“Right. Thank you for that helpful information. When you're ready to share the pertinent details of Snoke's orders, I am prepared to listen. Until then...” He turned. Behind him, Ren had the nerve to sigh, as if he were put upon.

“Snoke is cancelling Starkiller II.”

Hux froze. “What?”

“He says that large-scale weapons are too risky. We're to concentrate on traditional warfare from now on.”

“Traditional warfare.” The words were like poison on Hux's tongue. “We will lose thousands of men.”

“Snoke says it's sacrifice we have to make.”

“Snoke isn't the one who has to make it.” The words were dangerously close to criticism. If Ren planned to report him to Snoke for them, he didn't show it. “This is because of me, isn't it? Because Starkiller failed. That wasn't my fault.” If anything, the lion's share of the blame lay at Ren's feet. Ren, who, like his beloved grandfather, had brought petty personal issues into what should have been an impersonal battle and doomed them because of it.

“The Supreme Leader did not assign blame.” Ren's face was neutral. Hux longed to go over and punch him. He wondered what would happen if he did. Ren would kill him, probably, but he knew he could at least put up a good fight. He sublimated the feelings, breathing deeply until he felt some sense of control return. He left, saying nothing more. He didn't trust himself to, not when he knew every word would surely be reported back to Snoke.

Hux stalked through the halls toward the bridge, scattering droids and underlings as he went. As he rounded one corner, into an already deserted passage, he ran directly into Bail Solo.

“Why are you still here?”

“I just wanted to say good-bye, sweetheart.”

“How's this for good-bye? If you're still here in ten standard minutes, I will open the airlock and send you floating into space.” Hux couldn't believe he'd ever slept with this ridiculous man. Ren was right, in that way. How could he have sunk so low?

Solo affected a wounded expression. “That's not very nice. Has darling Ben been telling you stories about me? I hope you didn't listen.” Solo gripped Hux's arm, preventing him from walking on. “Besides, I need to ask you something.” He stepped forward, using his body to crowd Hux into the wall. Before Hux could do anything, Solo's hands were on his face, forcing Hux to look at him. “Tell me everything about the First Order, sweetheart.”

Ren had been in Hux's mind before. The sensation then had always been one of vague irritation, like being repeatedly tapped on the shoulder. This was like being run over by a star cruiser. The entire contents of Hux's mind cascaded forward, like water from a burst dam. He stood by, helpless to stop it, as access codes and duty rosters, personnel files and top secret plans—including Snoke's recent dedication to traditional warfare—flowed from his mind into Solo's. Hux was weak. His life force was ebbing away with his thoughts. He was furious at his uselessness, but unable to do anything to help himself. As Hux's vision grew dark around the edges, there was a loud noise and a sudden flash of light, and he passed out.

When Hux awoke, he was in his darkened bedroom. Someone had removed his hat and boots, but other than that, he was completely dressed. A radiating pain seemed to begin behind his eyes and encompass his entire head, down his neck and onto his shoulders. He tried to sit up, only to find that made it worse.

“You need to rest.”

Hux jerked his head to one side. It was a bad move. The pain came over him again, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he snapped, “What are you doing in my quarters?”

“I saved your life,” Ren replied.

“So that gives you the right to sit in the dark and stare at me?”

“I just arrived.”

Hux sighed. He wished he could say he didn't remember what had happened. “Did you kill Solo?”

"He's unconscious. I'm stronger than him.” There was a note of pride in Ren's voice.

“He told me he couldn't use the Force.”

“He lied.”

“You don't say.” Hux sighed. “You have to kill him. I...told him everything.”

“I've wiped his mind. He doesn't remember a thing.”

Hux opened his eyes. Through the dark, he could make out Ren's shape, sitting on his chair. “Why did he do it? He went to prison for supporting the First Order.”

“I told you. He's not loyal to anyone. He'll do whatever helps him in the moment. He just wanted information he could sell to the Resistance.”

The idea of it was repellent. Hux loathed the Resistance, of course, but at least they had ideals, deluded as they were. To be completely amoral, without any ideological attachment whatsoever, was an unnatural state of being. “We should kill him anyway.” Such a life was worthless. “Or,” Hux added, “we could sell him to the Hutt.”

Ren made a strange sound. It took Hux a long moment to realize it was laughter.

“You like that idea, do you?” Hux said. The thought of Solo in the greasy, flabby hands of the Hutt brought a shadow of a smile to Hux's face, as well. A quick death was too good for a man like that, anyway.

Ren stood. “Get some sleep,” he said, and left.

Revenge, Hux's father had always told him, was a dish best served remotely. It was the final twist of the knife, proving to an enemy they weren't even worth the time it took to kill them. Or, in this case, to ensure their death. He allowed Ren to hand over Bail Solo to a very excited, extremely slobbery Hutt named Gloma or Gloda or some such thing. Hux didn't care. All he wanted to do was forget Ren had a brother.

Ren seemed to appreciate the gesture. Afterward, he was slightly less abominable than usual. Hux wouldn't go so far to say he was genial—that word was ludicrous when associated with Ren—but he did seem to be making an effort. Later, on the bridge, Hux even witnessed Ren power on his lightsaber, ready to smash some innocent console to pieces for some trifling reason. As Hux watched, amazed, Ren switched it off again and stalked away, leaving the console unmolested.

A few days after Solo's departure, as Hux was about to leave his office for the evening, Ren banged on the door.

“You could knock quietly, you know,” Hux commented, mildly. Ren ignored him, as expected.

“This is for you.” Ren slammed a holoprojector down on Hux's desk.

Hux regarded it suspiciously. “What is it?”

Ren turned it on. A projection sprang to life: Bail Solo, encased in carbonite, his face captured mid-scream. As the projection rotated, allowing Hux to enjoy it from all sides, Ren said, “The inscription says, 'Like father, like son.'”

Hux smiled. “Thank you.”

“It wasn't your fault.”

“I'm sorry?”

Ren shrugged. “He's good. Always has been. My---His parents worried about him, when he was young. Thought he might turn to the dark side, but he was too selfish for that.”

Hux shifted uncomfortably. He didn't need Ren's kindness, and it was unnatural to receive it. “Well, he's determined, anyway. He allowed me to torture him rather than let on he could use the Force.”

“You should have tortured him more.”

“I wish I had.”

A pause, then Ren said, “There's something else.”

“What?”

He hesitated. For the first time ever, Hux wished Ren wasn't wearing his ridiculous mask, and that he could see the man's face. “I am meeting with Snoke shortly,” Ren said, at last.

“I see.” Hux refused to show any emotion. “And he did not ask for me?”

“No.”

“All right. Well, if you get the chance, please remind him I still exist.”

“Yes.”

“That was a joke.”

“Oh.” Another pause.

“Anything else?” Hux prompted.

“No. Good-bye.” Ren spat the word like it was a profanity. Hux had never heard him use it before. When he'd gone, Hux allowed himself to put his head in his hands and sigh.

Professionally, Hux had never been out of favour, not with anyone who counted. Fortunately, his personal experiences had habituated him to the emotions he now felt. The gnawing anxiety in his stomach, the prickling at the back of his neck, the worry that kept him from even his usual brief periods of sleep. Hux had never been a paranoid man, but the longer Ren spent as Snoke's favourite, the more Hux envisioned he and Snoke plotting against him. I won't go easily, he determined. I'll fight them to the very end.

Hux was lying in his bed, staring the ceiling, when he heard the familiar hammering on the door. Ren stepped back when Hux opened it in his shorts and undershirt. “You were asleep.” He sounded as if that was an eventuality he had never considered, even as he banged on somebody's door at 0200.

“No.” Hux stepped back, deciding he wasn't going to beg for information. He wasn't even going to ask. He was going to wait, cool and collected, until...

“I told Snoke you don't like the idea of traditional warfare.”

“What?”

“You don't.”

“I didn't mean...” It was useless. Clearly, “discretion” was not a value prized among the Knights of Ren. “What did he say?”

“He said he'll consider your point of view. He might invite you to speak with him about it soon.”

Hux blinked. “That's...it?”

“What did you expect?”

“Death.”

Ren reached up and took off his helmet. He moved it beneath his arm, like a decapitated head, and looked at Hux. “You are a valuable asset. Snoke is too wise to waste you.”

Hux laughed. If there was one thing he didn't need, it was pity. “Come off it. Starkiller failed. I failed with your brother.” It was only thanks to Ren that Hux was still alive and all the secrets of the First Order, right down to the Finalizer's sanitation staffing rota, weren't in the gleeful hands of the Resistance.

“It does not mean you are unworthy.” Ren frowned. “You have qualities Snoke and I lack. While our skill with the Force means we will of course always be superior, you speak to the people in a way we cannot. You have an important place at our side.”

“That's lovely, really. Allow me to wipe away a discreet tear.” Hux rolled his eyes, hoping Ren couldn't sense that he was sincerely touched, a little. While Hux had long ago resigned himself, personal feelings aside, to working with Ren or not working at all, Ren had always seemed more than eager to toss Hux into an engine core the first chance he got.

Now, Hux he expected Ren to storm off in a huff, annoyed that Hux hadn't fallen to kiss his feet at this display of basic civility. He didn't. He stayed where he was, his gaze unnervingly fixed on Hux. When he spoke, his voice was neutral. “I had a vision. When I was on the planet, after my...battle with the scavenger.” Rout seemed a more accurate term, but Hux didn't say so.

“What sort of vision?”

“I tried to pass it to you when you came to get me, but I was weak. You were standing on a balcony, in robes and a...”

“A crown.” Hux had thought this was his vision, born of pure vanity, but perhaps not.

“There was more.”

Hux looked up. Ren was actually blushing, a line of pink stretching across his nose and touching the tips of his ears. As much as part of him longed to revel in Ren's discomfort, to make him spell out exactly what he'd seen, he already knew, and Hux prided himself on not being a petty man.

“I know.” Ren by his throne, Ren in his bed. But he hadn't been alone. “Would it be possible for your brother to insert himself in those...visions?”

Ren's eyes snapped up. “Why? Did he?”

“I don't know. Perhaps.” Or perhaps Hux's subconscious had done that all on its own. It didn't matter. “You really think these things will come to pass?” Hux would love to think so, but this was the Force. Magical, mystical and far from the solid reality in which Hux dealt.

“The future is never guaranteed.”

Hux let out a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “It's treason.”

“There's nothing in the vision to suggest we will murder Snoke,” Ren replied, defensively.

Hux snorted. “You think he'll walk away? Give us his blessing?”

“Snoke is very old. There's no telling what might happen.”

“No. I suppose not.” Not that he expected Snoke would be eager to hear it. Hux rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired.

Ren licked his lips, his tongue darting quickly out and back in again. “As for the other...issue...”

“Yes. The other issue.” It was a quaint turn of phrase. Bail Solo had clearly been well-practiced but Hux wondered, not for the first time, whether Kylo Ren was a virgin.

“I am not,” Ren snapped, then frowned. “Sorry. I didn't mean to...after what Bail did...” He sighed. “I hope you know I would never wish to harm you.”

“Really?” Hux frowned. “Isn't that an assurance I ought to be making you?”

For a moment, the question hung between them. Then, in one smooth movement, Ren dropped the helmet and lifted Hux from the ground, large hands digging into his hips as Hux locked his legs around Ren's waist.

It was quick and sticky, over in a flash. If Ren was disappointed, he didn't seem it and, strangely, Hux wasn't, either. It'll be better next time, he thought. There was no point in pretending there wasn't going to be one. For good or ill, the two of them seemed bound to one another.

But he shouldn't let Ren stay. Hux knew that. He certainly shouldn't let him fall asleep, but it was so late, and Hux was so tired. It was so easy—frighteningly easy—to lie beside him, their bodies barely touching, and allow himself to drift off in the net of warmth cast by the other man's body. “Darth Vader and Palpatine,” Ren murmured, a tone of satisfaction in his voice.

“They killed each other,” Hux reminded him, and let himself sleep.

***

Bail Solo was blind, and colder than he'd ever been in his life. Someone—something—muttered and shifted in the blackness, and he reached out a shaking hand. “Who's there?”

“Someone who just paid a fortune to ransom you from the Hutt.” The voice was clipped, irritated.

Solo smiled. “Mom.”

“We're lucky Globa is greedier than he is vindictive. We should never have gone through with this. It was far too dangerous.”

“The intel about the escaped prisoners was good. And nobody had a better shot at it than me.” Solo would never have sent anyone else to do the job. A honey trap for the General of the First Order was
a gut-churning, repulsive mission. The death of Bail's father had changed a lot of things. Namely, Bail had gone home, and he'd grown up. He wasn't going to order someone else to do what he didn't want to. “It would have worked, but Ben came back. I had to accelerate things, and it got out of hand.”

“Ben?” There was a note of hope in his mother's voice, even now. “How is he?”

“He's the one who sold me out. And he's fucking Hux.” Solo felt a twinge of adolescent pride to tell her that, a schoolboy tattling to his mother. “Or he will be by now, anyway. He thinks he wiped my memory, but he didn't get all of it.” The valuable First Order intelligence was gone, but maybe, Solo thought, it would resurface when he felt a little less on the verge of death. There was one thing he did remember, as clear as day. “Ben believes the two of them are going to rule together. The galaxy's next power couple. He thinks he had a vision.”

Leia sighed. “What are we going to do, Bail?”

“We'll get him back.” Solo was sure of it. He hated the man for the anguish he'd caused all of them, every day since they were fifteen years old, but Ben was still his brother, his twin. He belonged with them, not as the loyal lapdog to some insecure despot.

He rolled over and threw up. Leia put a hand in the middle of his back and rubbed, and Bail pretended not to hear her crying.