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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"None of that's going to matter soon," Rog says. "After a stunt like this, General Landa says I can have my pick of assignments." He grins at her, hopeful and crooked and beautiful. "I could even be assigned to the Finalizer. That is," he adds, "if you think you could use a Hero of the First Order on board."

He reaches out to Hux, fingers grasping, pleading. "What do you say, General?"

Hux stares at Rog's hand. She reaches out in return, almost unthinking. Something with Rog could be so easy, so comfortable. "Rog, I--"

"General." A black, leather-clad hand comes between them, catching Hux's hand.

Kylo Ren bows low at the waist and brushes his lips over the back of Hux's hand, eyes cast down low. His lips are surprisingly soft, and the sensation stays on Hux's skin even after Ren has straightened up. "Colonel Zoller," he adds, acknowledging Rog with a brief, curt nod.

"Huh," Rog says. He looks Ren up and down, lips pressed in a thin line. "Where'd you get the fancy manners, friend?"

"My mother was a deposed princess. She did manage to teach me a few things," Ren says.

"A princess. My, my," Hux says. "That makes you a prince, doesn't it?" She silently gives sincere and thorough thanks for Ren's unerring penchant for the dramatic moment.

"If she hadn't married one of the most feared pirates in the galaxy and given up her throne, yes," Ren agrees.

"Now, why would a princess do that?" Hux gives Rog a sidelong smile. Isn't this droll? Aren't you glad I'm winding him up instead of breaking your heart again?

But Ren's eyes are fixed on her, curiously intense and dark even without the shadows of his hood. "There are so many who will give up so much in the name of love. Don't you find it strange, General?"

"I try not to ponder it too much," Hux says, at the same time Rog slings his good arm over her shoulder.

"Excuse me, Mister Ren," Rog says. "But my old Academy friend and I were having a private conversation. Think you could give us a little breathing room?"

Hux holds her breath, just a little, as Ren glares at Rog.

"Certainly," Ren says finally, and sweeps past them with a flowing flick of Phasma's cape. "Enjoy your conversation, General Hux."

The door slides open and then shut. Hux is once again left alone with Rog in a silent corridor, the warmth and weight of his good arm something real and solid in the middle of an airless, hostile void. She gives in, relaxing against his chest, her body remembering the way she used to fit against his side.

"Charming guy," Rog says.

"A complex fellow." Hux leans her head against Rog's shoulder. Ren has always been complicated and hard to read, his strange moods and whims impossible to predict. Rog has always been as predictable as the slow turning of the galaxy, happy when he's got his arms wrapped around her and wistful when he doesn't. "Let me think about it, Rog."

"What's to think about? You get a real live hero on your roster, and I get my girl back." Rog squeezes her shoulders. "We don't have a whole Galactic disc separating us anymore."

"It's not that simple, I'm afraid."

"Sure it is. You're a general. You call the shots. You want me, I'm here."

"I'm sure this isn't your last stop. Landa probably has a whole tour planned out--"

"Landa can--well, he can go piss out of an airlock, for all I care." Rog presses a soft kiss to Hux's temple. It's warm, chaste, comforting as a mug of steamed bantha milk. "He wants me to be in his holovids. I'm not a holo star, Hux. I'm a pilot. And I may not be the best in the galaxy, but I'm damn good at it, and I want to fly for you."

"You want me to send you to your death," Hux says. She twists out from under Rog's arm, a little too fast, a little too shaky. "That's what happens to pilots, Rog. They die."

"I know, Boudi. I've seen men go down in flames before." Rog rubs his injured arm, the motion seeming almost unconscious. "That asteroid wasn't the first time I thought I was going to die. It won't be the last."

"I can't, Rog. I can't be the one to send you on the mission that will kill you. It's too much to ask of me." Hux presses her heels to the durasteel floor. It's not a very sincere out, but it is an out. "I know you wouldn't be able to do the same in my place."

"Send the person I love to die for the Order?" Rog's eyes gleam, or perhaps it's her imagination.

Hux wants to slap herself. It's the perfect, perfect trap. Heads, she doesn't love Rog, but he'll be draped all over the Finalizer. Never demanding, never brusque, but she'll feel those sad eyes and open arms everywhere she goes. It will be too easy to give in. Tails, she loves Rog, and she has to admit it.

"Rog," she says. "Don't make me make that choice."

"C'mon, Boudi." Rog's smile is crooked. "They wouldn't have made you a general if you weren't good at making the tough choices."

"I can't do it. I'm sorry, Rog." She turns on her heel towards the door to the Officer's Lounge. Perhaps she can maneuver Phasma and Admiral Anson into a conversation; she'd rather like to see the old salt try to flirt with her fearsome corps commandant.

"I'm going to die either way, Boudi," Rog says. "Pilots don't get old. Let me do it for you. Let me be near you before it happens. That's all I ask."

Hux blinks rapidly. It's unfair of Rog to use that tone, that pleading and desperate tone. It's unfair for her eyes to prickle and water like this. She doesn't answer Rog before she steps through the door.

Arg, you're making me ship Rog and Hux. I'm going to be sad when he goes. :(

OP

Then I have succeeded \o/

What's your impression of Rog? :) Just curious. I feel like it's easy to write even AU versions of characters who have a lot of canon or fanon behind them, but it's a little harder to be sure you've hit the mark when you're writing an OC. I might use him again for something.

Ahh, I love how Hux was relieved to have Ren barge into a private conversation just so she didn't have to deal with Good Guy Rog™. Like, "Oh thank god, some Ren nonsense to side-eye, haha this guy amirite?" but nope he just increased The Tension.

And ohhh I love The Tension. Maybe it's because I know the prompt and where this fill is going, but this is like watching Final Destination: Rog -- I am 100% here to see this man die in a glorious mess of his own creation. The more he pushes to be with Hux the more I'm yelling, "Don't go in there, Rog!" totally on the edge of my seat as he essentially pries open the doors to the abandoned haunted slaughterhouse and wanders around talking about how defenceless he is.

Let me be near you before it happens.

*evil cackling* Well... if you insist, dude.

Hehehehe thank you :D I'm really enjoying streeeetching it out. The more Good Guy Rog™ (LOVE IT) barges into Hux's life, the more dead he is...

The reception drags on and puts Hux on edge. A glass of champagne turns into another, and something sweet and caustic from Admiral Anson's silver flask to take the edge off ("you're clenching your jaw, Cadet. This'll help. Don't worry, it's healthy, made from fruit--") . Hux doesn't drink much as a rule, and she's aware of the intricate calculus of these functions--how much to drink to make them remotely bearable, how far to abstain to keep a clear head. Whether a clear head is, at this point, desirable at all.

She does calculate that it's ceased to be a reception and turned into a party when Anson decides to lead his Imperial comrades in a rousing chorus of "The Green Hills of Urth." Mitaka is showing people the holos of his shore leave on Ghibli Prime five years ago, Phasma's makeup is running and she's backed Officer Unamo into a corner, and Ren is skulking around the perimeters of the room like a misfiring security droid.

Rog has been leaving her alone to brood over his offer, at least. He's been at Landa's side from the moment he stepped back into the officer's lounge, and every time she catches a glimpse of him he's got a new drink in his hand and a new audience for his tale of bravery. It's fine, she thinks. Rog deserves his moment to shine. Maker knows she'll have hers soon enough. And I will shine so bright I will eclipse everything else in the sky.

"Let's have a speech!" Landa raises his champagne glass. "From the man of the hour," he adds, smirking a little. "Speech! Speech! Speech!" The cheer spreads to the other officers, and soon the room is a clamor of demands for Rog to speak, accompanied by the clinking of glasses and the rattling of ice cubes. Hux is far from the center of the action, but she can see Anson and Mitaka helping Rog climb up onto the of the tables.

"For kriff's sake, this isn't a mess hall, Rog," Hux mutters to herself.

"Another speech? I would have thought a man of action like your Zoller has had enough of those for one day."

"He's not 'my' Zoller," Hux says, without turning. "And he deserves to have a moment to speak. Maker knows everyone else did."

"Yours was shorter than usual," Ren says.

"I'm flattered you paid attention."

Across the room, Rog rises from a crouch. "Gosh, this table is kinda wobbly." Everyone laughs. "But that's all right. If I can stay in my TIE fighter when it's spiraling down to the surface of Gamaar, I can stand on a table for a few minutes to say my piece." The room quiets down.

"I've devoted my life to serving the First Order," Rog says. "Every fight I've ever been in has been for the good of the Order, to defend the men and women who are working to--to secure the existence of our people and a future for human children, isn't that how we say it, Landa?" Landa nods, and Rog goes on. "And we've been winning a little at a time. We've been securing planets on the Outer Rim, and we're moving towards the Core. We're taking out the Resistance piece by piece.

"I always thought I'd die for the Order. I still know I will. But when I was lying there in the wreckage of my TIE fighter with a bomb in one hand and a blaster in the other, I realized that I wasn't ready to die yet." Rog stops to wipe away a single tear. "I thought about what I wanted for my children, and my childrens' children. How I didn't want them to fight for the scraps that the Empire left us. I wanted them to hold the galaxy in their hands. And if I was going to make that happen, I had to make sure I did my part for the Order. I had to live to see the future go on, and I had to put that future in the hands of just the right woman. Someone who was just as dedicated to the future of humanity."

Hux's mouth goes dry. She snatches a champagne flute from Ren's hand and downs it in a single gulp.

"I came here because the Order and Supreme Leader Snoke have honored me with this." Rog touches the medal around his chest. "But I also came here to do the best and most important thing I'll ever do--to carry on the future of humanity. Not just to die, but to live. To give the galaxy the children it deserves." A stray beam of light glints off his teeth when he smiles.

"And I want to do it with the woman I've always seen as the embodiment of the what Order stands for. She inspires me. She always has. And I've done it all for her." Rog stretches his hand out, and Hux takes a few steps backwards as though she could escape the focus of his attention. "Boudika Hux, will you marry me?"

The entire lounge erupts into cheering and whistling. Hux's eyes dart around frantically--she can't melt into the crowd, not now. Not with this much attention on her.

"What are you waiting for?" Landa calls over the din. "Say yes, General!"

Clarity snaps back to Hux like a rubber band. Rog is a war hero and he's devoted to her. The room is full of sentimental old men who are willing to dig deep into their pockets to fund the First Order if Hux puts on the right song and dance for them. Rog is in front of her, bent down on one knee like some swain in an Old Republic opera, and Hux can still feel Kylo Ren's breath on the back of her neck.

"Rog," she says. "Oh, Rog. Of course I will."

So happy to see this updated! And oh nooooo, Rog, you magnificent idiot! That's the first nail in his coffin, for sure. (I am cackling madly.)

This is why I've always hated those super public marriage proposals -- so much pressure to say yes. That kind of arm-twisting coercion is probably standard procedure in the First Order, now that I think about it.

OP

You give me life, anon! :D

It's coercion wrapped up in gooey romanticism, too. It's so deceptive. And of course Rog would never imagine that his ex-girlfriend wouldn't want to marry him and have his Imperial babies. Bad move, Rog! :D

The congratulations do not end, and all blur into one. Hux hangs on Rog's arm, her face numb from smiling after only a few minutes. Landa bustles up to them with even more sickly sweet tipple, his smile blinding and sincere. "I didn't know he was going to do that!" he tells Hux, clapping her on the back. "I really, truly did not."

Hux doesn't even raise her glass. "Oh, didn't you?"

"Don't be modest, Landa." Rog nods at him. "I nearly got cold feet. He talked me into doing it after all."

"I merely suggested that if he was serious about this whole marriage scheme, he ought to pop the question before it was too late."

"Too late for what?" Hux asks.

"Before some other guy swept you off your feet, of course." Rog puts his arm around Hux.

Despite herself, Hux relaxes against Rog's body. It's hard not to. "Please. Do you really think I'm the type to be 'swept off my feet' by anyone?"

"I was kind of hoping you'd make an exception for me." Rog kisses her on the cheek.

"You can do all the sweeping you'd like after Starkiller is safely finished and operational."

"That long, Boudi?"

"It's less than a year."

"I don't know if I can wait that long." Rog kisses her again, pressing his mouth to her neck.

"You'll have to. Starkiller can't be delayed. Our wedding can." The word feels strange in Hux's mouth. "Our wedding," she says again, trying to get used to the phrase.

"Er, General?"

Hux vaguely recognizes the officer who's trying to get her attention as one of Mitaka's junior officers. She doesn't think she cares to be congratulated by someone so subordinate. "It can wait."

"It can't--I'm so sorry--" The officer squeaks. "It's a KR situation, General. Room TVC-15." She must be new, Hux thinks. And spending too much time around the stormtroopers.

"Oh, for--" Hux pulls away from Rog and smoothes back her hair. A few strands of her copper coif seem to have gotten loose, and they're frizzing to life in the close, humid quarters. "I'll just be a moment, Rog." Two. Three. The rest of the party.

"Cadet." Anson detains her with the lightest touch of his metal hand as she's about to leave the lounge. "You aren't really going to leave your fee-ancy all on his lonesome in this crowd of old buzzards to go deal with some foofaraw, are you? That's what you've got lieutentants for."

"Duty first, Admiral," Hux says briefly, trying to step around him. "If Rog could hold off a swarm of Resistance fighters, he can certainly suffer another round of whiskey and claps on the back."

Anson's pointed eyebrows drew together. "Must be a big one, then. Need backup?"

"Thank you, no."

"I'm serious, Cadet. This old war boar's got some life in him. I won't have you running off to face mortal danger by yourself--come to think of it, if your man was any kind of man, he'd be right at your back."

Hux takes a deep breath. She knows it will sting when she says it, and she curls her hands into fists behind her back. "I am no longer your cadet, and right now I've put myself on duty. If I wanted backup, I'd get my own men. This matter needs to be dealt with by me, alone."

She expects Anson to chide her, even to detain her if he was bold enough. It's something she remembers from the sodden academy on Arkanis, the nights when she'd do her level best to slip out of the human womens' dorm, run through the rain and let Rog reward her with an offer to take her wet clothes, to dry her off with his body heat. Half the time, Anson would stop her at the door with a metal hand and an outstretched arm; half the time, he'd cough and look the other way. She pinches her hand to steel herself for the sting of his disapproval.

"Well." Anson puts his metal hand behind his back, formally, and gives her a two-fingered salute. "General, as you were." He turns on his heel and swings stiffly back into the lounge.

Hux breathes out and starts to walk, very quickly. Of course the idiot would be in the observation deck. She cannot have this on her ship. It's one thing to rub shoulders uncomfortably with an unpredictable masked man with extremely odd psychic powers--whatever "the Force" might be--but it's another thing to have him thinking he's got some kind of say in her personal life. That's a path to disaster.

She reaches TVC-15 and slams her hat onto her head. The door slides open to the sound of buzzing Dopplering from top to bottom. A few small explosions form and fade in her ears.

The durasteel bench is twisted, torn from its position, hovering in mid-air. Kylo Ren is taking vicious strikes at it with his lightsaber, his pale skin glowing in the spitting red light. Several slices out of it already glow red.

At least it's not something important, like an instrument console. Hux can probably mount this as a piece of neo-Imperial art, something about the brutalism of form. She'll put a damn sofa in here. Nearly nobody but her comes here, anyway. Kylo Ren's anger problems aren't her issue; it's when they interfere with the functioning of her ship that she has any reason to care.

After a few minutes, Ren's shoulders slump and his lightsaber lowers. Hux can see him panting, his chest heaving. There are beads of sweat on his chest. It's ridiculous and utterly dramatic, and she might as well leave him here alone until he tires himself out or throws himself out into space. Then perhaps she'll seal off this useless compartment forever.

Oh noooo, Kylo's destroying their bench! Their gazing-at-planets-I'm-gonna-blow-up-one-day bench! Their not-date bench! Hux don't you see, he's not being ridiculous and dramatic, he's being ridiculous and dramatic and sentimentalllll!!! She's just a magnet for (terrible, unstable, doomed) sensitive fellas.

I really like how Hux dealt with Anson btw -- 2 cool 2 professional -- I'm sure she'll pay for it, but the fact that he's calling her "general" now instead of "cadet" is definitely an improvement. And can I say I love how Landa clearly loves being the absolute worst? I'm sure he was planning the whole proposal while editing Rog's newsclip together, probably thinking it was a good story but needed a romantic angle. Hmm who should he cast as the leading lady...? Starts calling Hux, really rubbing in all the "Miss" shit, all "no u have to be in close proximity w/ ur exboyf, for reasons lol." Landa, you shipper trash.

Also I just want to say this whole fill is A GIFT and I can't believe you've been making chill regular updates since FEBRUARY and the quality of each update is just A++++ and this is the Fem Hux of MY DREAMS and she's forever associated with David Bowie and that's THE BEST. The kink meme is so lucky to have you! <3 <3 <3

*hacks a durasteel bench into a ugly lumpy sculpture to express my ugly lumpy love*

OP

Hux really is a magnet for terrible men. I had a friend compare what I was writing to "Pride and Prejudice in Space", and I'm thinking, no, it's like "House of Mirth"--the story doesn't really have the "right" man to choose, it's more of an illustration of a bunch of fairly bad choices. The only reason Kylo Ren might be the right choice is that Hux is also, frankly, his wrong choice. Hahahaaa!

I'm glad you liked the bits with the two old dudes! I'm having a lot of fun with Anson and Landa--this story has let me indulge my love of fun OCs to a satisfying extent. I think Landa is actually kind of a romantic, just also the WORST. And I don't know if you made the connection, but I'm basing Anson off a sort of Heinleinian attitude towards the Space Marines tropes--there's a lot of casual chauvinism for also Respect for Hot Redheaded Women In Authority in his Gender Neutral Space Marines worlds.

I'm really glad that you've been enjoying this so much and leave such amazing comments! I know I can count on great feedback and encouragement from you, and it gives me a very good incentive to keep on going with something that's become an unusually long story for me. So thank you for that! :) I've never written a character quite like Fem!Hux, and it's been a hell of a ride.

(Psst! I'm kleenexwoman.tumblr.com if you're interested in following me! Send me a message. You seem really cool and I love that you love the Bowie connection!!!)

Hux leans against the doorway and gives a long, slow clap. "Are your renovations finished, Ren?"

Ren whirls around, his borrowed cape flaring, his lightsaber hissing in his hand. The ruined bench drops to the floor with an alarming clatter. "Go back to your party, General."

"I thought it would be more interesting down here." Hux can't help her gaze being drawn to the sparking red weapon. On an impulse, she holds out her hand. "I'd like to have a go, if you're done."

Ren's face goes as blank as his mask. "With my lightsaber?"

"It looks...relaxing."

"This is a lightsaber, Madame General, not a stress relief exercise. It's ancient, mystical--" Ren shuts up suddenly, tilting his head to the side. Hux has the unpleasant feeling that she's being appraised for something. Then Ren steps forward, powering down the lightsaber and holding it out to her with a flourish. "Very well. If you can handle the weapon, of course."

Hux closes her hand around the handle of the lightsaber, her fingers pressing against Ren's. She's a little relieved that they're both wearing gloves, although her slender hands are still dwarfed by Ren's. "It's a sword made out of light--the blade should be weightless. I can't imagine anything easier to use."

"You'll see. Don't turn it on until I tell you to." Ren lets go of the weapon. The metal is warm in Hux's hand, lighter than she thought it would be. Ren moves behind her, and she can see the cape flapping out of her peripheral vision. "It's not made of light. It's a loop of plasma, powered by a khyber crystal. It works the same way as your precious Starkiller does, but as a grounded circuit instead of a one-way journey."

Hux thumbs the button on the handle, but doesn't press it. "Fascinating. Starkiller disrupts its power sources' matrix of dark matter and dark energy that hold the plasma in place, and then the plasma's off-gassed as a by-product of the phantom energy conversion. But of course, there's no sun in your saber. What is its power source?"

"It's not for the uninitiated to know. But you must be able to hold the blade steady with your mind. With the Force. Those who don't have the strength of will to do it cannot control this weapon for long." Ren's hands slide down Hux's arms, his body pressed against her back. "Turn it on. I'll ground you."

Hux presses the button, arms stiff, holding the saber out from her body. The beam of red light climbs out of the metal casing, and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Her arms are crackling with static electricity, and there's a kind of cold fire running down her arms.

Ren slides his glove over hers, steadying her grip. "Do you feel how it jumps in your hand? That's not just an idiot weapon. It's guided by the Force. Many may wield it, but few may truly wield it."

Hux turns the weapon over in her hand, flexing her wrist. "It tingles. The power source isn't very well shielded."

Ren's breath is hot on her ear, her neck, his voice low and soft. "You'd be ashes by now. Let me guide your hands."

Hux lets him. The pressure of his arms around her is nothing compared to the cold thrill that sizzles through her body when the plasma blade slices through the twisted wreck of the ruined furniture. There's virtually no resistance when the blade hits metal, but she can feel it twisting in unexpected ways as it moves through the air.

"Do you like it?"

Hux feels as though she could slice through the hull of the Finalizer, slice through space and time itself somehow. Like she could deliver a killing to blow anything in her path, even a sun. "It's incredible. Do you feel like this whenever you hold it?"

Ren doesn't respond at first, but slides off his glove. Hux is equally transfixed by the impossibly bright light of the blade and Ren's fingers. They're not stubs or mutations; they're just pale, broad fingers, with slightly ragged fingernails and a few scars. He draws the sleeve of Hux's uniform shirt up, exposing her wrist.

Electricity hits Hux with the touch of his fingers, it sparks invisibly off her skin to die out before the bright spot of heat ever touches the floor. Hux is sure she's hallucinating. Fire races through her limbs, a pinprick of searing currents anchoring her to the charged metallic floor of the gigantic ship. She stands in the center of a column--no, a complex web--of light.

That's when Ren whirls her around and presses his lips to hers, a sudden rush of light connecting their mouths. Hux can feel her own nervous system hooked into his body like a Gnithian tick, and something warm begins to seep into her veins, her nerves. She's thrumming with energy, crackling with it. It's not hot like lightning, it's hot like fire--

Ren is facing the door, and Hux can see it frame a thin string of light in slow motion. She knows that Rog is behind it. Anson must have gone back and talked to him.

"Lord Ren!" She pushes Ren away, holding the crackling saber between them like a fencing foil. It's steady and calm in her hand, but the warmth in her veins ebbs, leaving her chilled. "I am engaged, sir. Control yourself."

Rog is framed in light in the doorway, holding a blaster with his good hand. His eyes dart from Hux to Ren, and back again, centering on the lightsaber. "Stand down, Ren."

"I am the one with the sword, Rog," Boudi says. She tucks an errant lock of hair behind her ear, the point of the lightsaber still aimed at Ren.

"Surely you wouldn't shoot an unarmed man," Ren says. He raises his hands, his mouth twisted into a mocking smile.

"Stand down, Zoller," Boudi says, because Rog still grips the blaster, his hand trembling.

"I'm sorry, General," Rog says to her. "But I'm not going to stand down when my fiancee is in danger."

"Does your fiance know what I can do to him if he tries to shoot me?" Ren asks casually. "I'm just curious."

"You're escalating hostilities, Zoller. Leave."

"I'm escalating hostilities?"

"The happy couple's first fight. Charming."

There's a thunderstorm building in Hux's chest, her arms itching to swing and shatter whatever stands in their way. The lightsaber jumps in her hand. She gives in, wrenching the plasma blade through the air. It connects with the twisted ruins of the bench in a shower of sparks. Hux strikes again and again, carving slices out of the metal, until there's nothing left but slivers of glowing red slag.

Ren's pale raw hands wrench the lightsaber from her grip. Her hands shake and flex convulsively, her skin prickles. Someone wraps their arms around her and pulls her back. She recognizes Rog's body against her before she recognizes her own.

"Don't touch my fiancee, Ren." Rog's voice is stern and deep and his arms are strong and warm, and Hux's body is melting into his. For a moment, the bliss of being so utterly protected is the only feeling in the world. But Ren still has the saber in his hand, a crackling and potent spear of light. Hux reaches out for it, wanting the tingling feeling of power in her limbs back. She squirms against Rog's grip, reaching out to Ren, to the weapon. She's seen him move things with his mind. If she could just get that power back, feel that energy coursing through her skin again--

Abruptly, Ren powers off the lightsaber. He turns on his heel and strides out of the observation room, Phasma's cape drifting behind him.

"Boudi." Rog's fingers are warm and gentle under her chin, turning her face to meet his. Anxious blue eyes search hers. "Did he hurt you?"

"I was the one with the sword, Rog."

Rog doesn't reply. He holds her. Hux lets him.

nice!!!

Rog escorts her to her quarters. Hux feels like she's walking in zero-g, disconnected from the ground. The floor. There's never been anything but a thin layer of durasteel between her and empty space. Why shouldn't she feel like she's floating?

Her fiance is like a planet, generating his own gravitational force, an anchor in nothingness. She tilts her head slightly and she can smell him. There's something to him that smells like bread survival rations, and something like the petrichoric rain on Arkanis. It must be sweat, she thinks, and wrinkles up her nose. Everyone on Arkanis was crammed into dormitories, into mud and grass that seemed to go on forever, the dim promise of trees a smear of dark green on the horizon. Soap and water were mandatory. If deodorant sprays and shots ran out, everyone suffered in a haze of sweat, like canned lunch meat gone rancid. Being on the Finalizer was a revelation--a human being's skin needed so little to sustain its own ecosystem. The smell of human filled the corridors without the taint of alien fungus or microbes, rich and diverse and then almost subconscious. Hux had stopped thinking about it until Rog rocketed in, smelling like a planet. Like ground beneath her feet.

Hux waves away the stormtroopers on guard outside of her quarters. They aren't large, but she has a few rooms to herself, more than anyone except for Phasma and Kylo Ren themselves. She could have moved in a romantic partner, theoretically. But there's something more enticing about having two whole rooms and a separate bathroom to herself, all things considered.

Rog ushers her into her quarters. Hux sees the anteroom for the first time with new eyes--the sagging leather couch she sleeps on if she needs to be up late and up early. The brushed durasteel desk. Unfinished, First Order chic--when all you have is salvage, make salvage fashionable. The crude stone sculpture of a downed Imperial Star Destroyer, collected from a cargo cult of scavengers who had lived on the fat of its larder. They'd been bought off easily for a constant drizzle of the cheapest nonperishable rations the Order could find, Hux remembers. She's a little proud of how tastefully minimalist it is, and wonders if Rog will like it. A man in the field must be used to harsh quarters, might prefer something more plush, comfortable, inviting--

Hux pushes the thought away. She enjoys the starkness of her quarters, the sharp aesthetic choices. The only time she wants to wrap herself in something fluffy and soft is when she's taken a Perkium. During the occasional cycles when the close quarters and buzzing fluorescent lights make her grind her teeth and press her sharp nails into her palms, she dips into the stash of her mother's doctor presented her with as a graduation present. They don't make her sleep for twelve hours like they did when she was a cadet, but they make the edges of the world soft and kind for a while.

"You must think the place is decadent," she says, "sleeping in a barracks full of other pilots. Or do you have your own room now?"

"I was never fond of sleeping alone. You know that, Boudi." Rog smiles and rubs his thumb over her cheek. "It's bigger than any room I've ever had. You could practically raise a family in here."

"On a warship? They'd be underfoot all the time."

"True," Rog says thoughtfully. "A warship is no place for a child."

"Naturally. Isn't that why most peoples' parents sent them to Arkanis?"

Rog's face falls. "You wouldn't want to send our children away, would you?"

"For an Imperial education? It's not even a question." Hux glances into her bedroom. There's a familiar spark of anxiety in her gut. Maybe it's the rumpled sheets, the hairbrush tangled with copper frizz. The disarray, the personal touches. But won't Rog see this side of her, once they're married? What does one do with a man in one's quarters, anyway? "Would you like a drink?"

"I think I've had enough for one day. Got to stay sharp."

"I only have caf and Vitajuice anyway." Hux turns away from Rog. Her hands are still shaking, and she hides them behind her back. She'll need to take a sedative to sleep tonight. Ren's ridiculous dramatics keyed her up so badly she can't imagine being able to sleep without help tonight. The First Order standard issue sedative is an instantaneous hormone gel drop, placed on the tongue to sublimnate into the sinuses. It doesn't soothe her nerves like Perkium does. Tonight might be a Perkium night. Or...

"Let me stay with you tonight," Rog says.

Hux's breath hitches. "I have a personal guard, Rog. You don't need to worry about me."

"And I notice they're not here." Rog's hands are on her shoulders, his lips on her neck. Despite herself, Hux relaxes into his touch. Maybe she won't need any pills tonight after all.

Hux wakes up at 0600 hours to the familiar sensation of her pillow vibrating, and to an unfamiliar dip in the mattress. She succumbs to gravity, pressing her cheek against Rog's smooth, firm back and snaking her hand over his hip. It's tempting to lie in bed with him. She's forgotten what it's like to luxuriate in pure warmth, in the freedom of a hot bath or a sauna; Starkiller is a planet of snows, and heating the Finalizer is an exercise in balancing heat costs and thermodynamic entropy. Rog always seemed like the sun, warmth emanating out of nowhere.

She's out of the sonic shower and fixing her hair, and Rog is still lying in bed. The white sheet is rumpled, twisted between his legs. Hux tilts the mirror and focuses on her braids. She's going to have to look absolutely perfect today, nothing out of place. Eye makeup, even. Her groomer droid flourishes tweezers, a safety razor, several brushes at the same time, and finally a tube of greasy, bug-tasting lipstick that Hux declines.

She opens up the small wall safe that lies behind the 'fresher mirror and fishes out a delicate pink blown-glass bottle. It's pretty and complicated and subtle, and Hux can pass it off as a gift from her mother, which it was. Mathilde Hux-Winzor had never understood her daughter's tastes, goals, or ideas, but she'd taught her everything about survival she knew. Just Hux's luck that her mother's survival tactics involved protectionary camoflague rather than total annhilation of the attacking species. Hux crunches a pearl-pink Perkium tablet between her teeth, then pops a whole tablet into her mouth and swallows the chalky substances with a swig of water.

"Come on back to bed, Boudi."

"I have to lead the tour of Starkiller, and we depart at 0800." Hux doesn't look at Rog, focusing on her wardobe. The worst thing about using an actual planet for a base is the unpredictable shifts in climate, which means that Hux needs to layer. Someday she'll build another Starkiller from scratch, and she'll create her own ecosystem on the surface. Sixty-five degrees, no rain. And no sun to orbit.

"It's not even 0630."

"Rog, I need to eat an actual breakfast and not just an energy bar, clear the perfect landing site before we even leave, and be there before everyone else so I can--"

"Eat two energy bars, let Mitaka clear the landing site, and let 'em wait." Rog wraps the sheet around his hips and saunters over to kiss her on the cheek. His stubble rasps against her skin. "You always took on too much. You're the General, Boudi. They'll wait for you." The edges of the world turn soft and warm, and Hux isn't sure if it's the Perkium starting to kick in or just Rog.

Hux manages to get them dressed and out the door by 0730, which is just enough time to see Kylo Ren in full robe and mask coming down the main corridor. When Hux sees him, he stops cold.

Rog slips his arm around Hux's waist. Hux lets him. Let Ren see that she's happy to be with Rog. Let the whole world see! Rog is perfect, and they make a perfect couple. It's all great. She pointedly ignores the phantom fingers on her shoulders, on the back of her neck.

*

Hux keeps her chin up through the whole tour. It doesn't matter that there's only a handful of people who bothered to come. It doesn't matter that there's nothing she can do about it. She needs these old men and their credits and spaceships more than they need her right now, but that's going to change very, very soon. Hux smiles widely and gestures to various pieces of machinery. She usually knows her way around the sprawling base quite well, but today she can't seem to dredge up the names of quite a few things. It's the Perkium, and it doesn't matter. Nobody on the tour cares except for Mitaka, who is taking copious notes. This is an ad for the Starkiller project, confirmation that the trillions of credits and work-hours dedicated to an improbable planet-sized destruction beam are bearing fruit. And Hux is sure they love it.

"Unlike the Death Star, we won't have to move Starkiller to orbit around any planet before we fire on it. All we need is a strategically placed star."

Landa raises his hand. Hux recognizes his guileless expression from the "Interviewterrogation!" program at 2200 hours. She winces internally. "Ah," Landa says happily, "but Miss Hux? What happens if we don't happen to have a handy nearby star? I mean..." He waves his arm at a nearby window. "I only see the one, just now."

Hux's blinding smile is real. "What an astute question, Han," she says, and Landa's face immediately goes stony cold. "You see, Starkiller isn't just a much bigger laser than the Death Star ever was. It's not a laser at all--it's a beam of pure dark energy, which generates phantom energy without the dark matter of the sun to lock it into an energy matrix. Phantom energy vibrates at a high enough rate to rip holes in hyperspace at certain intervals during the discharge process. With our precise aiming algorithms--"

"I'm sorry, but I haven't the faintest idea what you're saying. You'll have to make it a little simpler for us, my dear." Landa bares his teeth.

"It means we can deliver a beam of pure destruction to any coordinates anywhere in the galaxy--or outside of it--from anywhere we can park Starkiller. And the khyber crystal goes two ways." Hux dares to wink at him. She feels she's winning. "While we power up, we can also steal another star system's sun just to show the galaxy that we can!" She smiles pleasantly.

Thankfully, the next question comes from Anson. "General," he says in a clipped voice. "I know your proposal mentioned 'strategically chosen planets,' but I don't think it was ever specified which stars were to be selected. Or how."

"Strategically, Admiral--as you taught me. The first target is the Hosnian system."

"The seat of the New Republic Senate. Of course." Anson nods approvingly. "And then?"

"Unless there's a more urgent need for a demonstration of force elsewhere, my current plan is to eliminate Coruscant."

There's a dead silence. Landa looks at Rog, and Hux doesn't bother to think about why. She glances at Ren and wishes he hadn't worn his mask. Who does he have to scare here? He's prince of the space pirates, or something equally outlandish.

"Why Coruscant?" It's Rog, with his sad face.

Hux hopes the whole tablet of Perkium kicks in soon. "We're striking at the Core. Coruscant is the heart of the Core worlds, is it not?"

"And the home world of the entire human race." That's Landa, frowning.

"I've never been," Hux says. "I'm sure it's lovely, but--"

"You misunderstand me. The symbolic value would be great, sure, I get it. And it would be cultural suicide. What do we have to fight for, if not reclaiming our birthright as a species in the Core?"

Hux can feel herself tearing up a little. The Perkium always does that at odd moments. The cluster of Core worlds, bright and shining with art and ridiculous old artifacts. Of course Landa would love it. "I understand that many of us are attached to Coruscant for sentimental reasons. My father took my mother on honeymoon there." Hux laughs. Should that garner a laugh? She'd rather laugh than cry. "Humanity can live without the Core Worlds, sir, and we do very well for ourselves out on the Rim."

Landa's attention slips to Rog again. "The Coruscant honeymoon is a fine tradition for a Rim couple, you know."

"So I've heard," Hux says. "But we shouldn't argue strategy here, do you think? Supreme Leader Snoke seemed very pleased with my choice, last time I spoke with him." She holds her head a little higher. She's earned it.

*

The tour ends at a stand of spiky green plants. Trees, Hux vaguely knows, although they look nothing like the fronded and creeping trees on Arkanis. Biology was never her strong field.

"A word alone, General?" Anson gestures to a stand of pine trees outside of the landing pad. The other Imperial officers seem in no hurry to board, lighting up the odd cigarra (forbidden on the Finalizer), so Hux nods and follows him. She'll let the old fool make his point, and then perhaps that will be it.

"I had family on Alderaan when it blew up," Anson says.

Hux blinks. "I'm sorry, sir."

"It wasn't the first time a planet died. Supernovas happen. Asteroids do, too. But it was the first time anyone had used a weapon to blow up an entire planet, and the galaxy remembers."

Hux winces. "The First Order doesn't commemorate that particular observance, sir."

"No, but I do. So do a lot of folks who used to be in the Empire. Listen, nobody was happy that Alderaan was destroyed. But we had to sacrifice something important to achieve order, and Alderaan had to be that sacrifice."

"So does Coruscant."

"The galaxy remembers Alderaan. Once they see what we've got in our pockets and what we're willing to do, it'll be over."

"It was hardly the end of the Rebellion last time. In fact, it was the end of an Empire."

Anson looks haggard in the waning light of the Starkiller's sun. "Listen to me, General. Nobody wants a war. I promise you, the New Republic remembers. And they will capitulate."

"They may," Hux says. "But Leia Organa won't."

She doesn't speak to Anson again until Rog's entourage boards their shuttle again, wishing him a safe journey. She says it to everyone, even Rog.

After Rog's shuttle leaves, Hux calls off the rest of her shift. Unamo nods sympathetically; she'll be thrilled to get command on such a big day. Hux sets her access to Extreme Priority Only (that is, Phasma calling to tell her the ship is about to crash). She puts on the second Dancers at the End of Time album, crunches one more Perkium to get her over the edge, and falls deeply asleep to the sounds of Jherek Carnelian's swirling, echoing guitar.

She wakes up to faint bars of light behind her eyes, warm air on her skin. She's naked, and a few twitches confirm that she can't move her arms or legs. Why can't she feel binders around her limbs? When she looks down, her extremities dissolve away into black mist.

There's something stroking her belly, soft and velvety against her skin. It's pleasant, invisible, and plusher than anything she's ever touched, anything she could imagine. Hux stares down at herself, trying to catch movement out of the corner of her eye, identify the phantom feeling. She digs her fingernails into the pads of her hands. It's easy enough to flex her fingers, but she feels nothing at all.

She lets go of the sparks of fear in her gut and melts into the dream. Experimentally, she wills the phantom touch to move down her abdomen, between her legs. It wavers for a moment. Then she can feel it pushing back, sliding up her body and over her ribcage, tentacles of a bodiless touch cupping her breasts.

The dream feels good, but it's disobeying her. Hux backs off, settling into her own body slowly, ready to pin down the tantalizing feeling if it shows signs of dissolving.

Hands all over her, teasing her apart, and there's something real between her legs. Leather gloves, solid fingers stroking the soft skin of her thighs. Hux knows those gloves, she's seen Kylo Ren tug them off.

Of course her subconscious would bring him up. What's in a dream besides something you shouldn't have? That's what they're for. Hux wills his form into being, ragged cloak swirling about his shoulders, dun robes like clouds around his body. Before she can even finish his mask, the clothes fade into the outfit he'd worn at that ridiculous party--the pants she'd tried very hard not to look at, the gaudy shirt that showed just a few stray wisps of black chest hair. Minus Phasma's cape.

Faces are usually blurs for Hux on the rare occasion one appears in her dreams, but Kylo Ren's face is clear and bright. She even sees the dark spots spattered on his cheeks, something she never would have bothered with in a fantasy.

"Are you afraid of me?" he whispers. "Afraid of what I could do to you?" Two glove-clad fingers play between her legs, stroking her with an impossibly delicate touch.

"No," Hux says. "Yes? Keep going."

"Is that all you have to say to me, General?" The fingers creep downwards, towards the opening of her cunt. So impossibly slow.

"Do not stop," Hux adds.

"You're...eager."

"Please?" Hux tries. "With the gloves. Without. I don't care."

One glove disappears, and Ren's big, pale hand is like fire on the delicate skin of her thigh. Hux sucks in a breath as the glow of Ren's energy leaches into her skin, as her heart beats fire deeper and deeper through her veins. It's a dream, so she can see it sparking under her skin, winking in and out the way stars do through the corona of a sun.

Hux is too fascinated with the brightness under her skin to look at Ren. She flexes her fingers, and they glimmer from within. It's too easy to get engrossed in this enchantment, and she's surprised to feel something slide into her flesh, press against the bright spot deep inside of her. She can sense the warmth within, but it's insulated. A finger clad in leather gloves. She strains at the light and warmth in it, the power, and she feels it respond to her call.

The sparks flicker out, the warmth is gone. Hux drops back into a stolid awareness of her body. There are no hands on her skin, nothing between her legs. Ren's dark eyes and pale face float in front of her, everything else swathed in a veil of black mist.

"Succubus!" Ren hisses, and the black mist rolls over his eyes.

Hux's eyes fly open to a faint glimmer of light. Her legs are tangled in sheets, her body clammy and damp. She gropes on her bedside table for her leather gloves and frantically pulls one on.

"Repeat track four," she barks to her datapad. The fuzzed-out wail of "An Alien Heat" sinks into her ears. Hux closes her eyes and returns to the fantasy. Body restrained, leather gloves between her thighs. There was something else, but it fades from her mind as she slips her hand between her legs.

Mild guilt itches at her heart, and she tries to imagine Rog. She can summon up his face, but the fantasy never gels; Rog would never wear gloves while he fingered her. He'd never ask her if she was afraid of his touch.

With a sigh, Hux succumbs to the fantasy of Kylo Ren's flashing eyes and floating hair. She's never masturbated with a glove on before, but it's easy enough to find the familiar angle to slip two fingers in, the right spot to press her thumb against her clitoris.

A fantasy version of Ren sneers and works two fingers in and out of her cunt. She struggles and wails without words. It's one of Hux's old go-to scenarios when she'd needed to calm down quickly and didn't care if she felt grimy afterwards; being held down, exposed, forced to orgasm. Hux's hips jerk up and she presses her nail against her clit, gritting her teeth.

"Are you afraid of me? Of what I could do to you?"

Hux is never sure if she's really afraid in these particular fantasies, but she says it anyway. "I'm so afraid. Please, have mercy."

"I won't," says her fantasy Ren, and Hux comes neatly with three quick jerks of her hips. Her legs are still a little wobbly when she steps into the 'fresher before her shift starts.

That was really hot! I'm still enjoying your fic immensely and I'm always delighted to see where you take it next.

aww thank you!!!

"General."

Hux turns left out of her quarters and nearly collides with Kylo Ren. At least he has his mask on. She doesn't think she could bear to look him in the face. "Lord Ren. Excuse me, I must be on the bridge."

"I am needed there as well." Ren's ragged robes keep pace with her quick strides.

"Good. I'm glad you're where you're supposed to be." Hux consciously focuses on her datapad, flicking through her morning's mail. Two holos from Rog already? He must have not slept much. They're not marked priority, at any rate; they can't be that important.

"I see you jettisoned your fiance."

"I sent Colonel Zoller back to his duties, I didn't throw him out of an airlock."

"You don't wish to be around him?" Ren's helmet turns to face her. Hux doesn't look up; she can feel the weight of his attention on her. "You don't wish to lie in his arms, night after night?"

"I don't have time for these games, Ren. Colonel Zoller is assigned to another ship, under another commander. Removing him from his duties for sentimental reasons would be unacceptable. That is all."

"Nobody would have challenged you."

"It would have been unacceptable to me. Are we finished with this conversation?"

Ren is silent until they have almost reached the bridge. "Did you want to send him away from you, or from me?"

"Fine. So we're not finished." Hux slams her datapad down on the nearest console. "A moment in private?"

*

Dim bars of light slant across Ren's face; his helmet looks like a set of ethereal eyes, angry and empty. The old interrogation rooms had drains in them, for the blood; Hux likes to think that they've advanced past such barbarity. The right cocktail of drugs and visual stimuli can do more to crack a man's mind than all of the shiny, sharp interrogation droids in the world.

"You thought I would kill him, didn't you?" Ren sounds smug through the vocoder.

"My decision had nothing to do with you, your antipathy towards my fiancee, or your ridiculous outbursts--and what is your objection to Colonel Zoller, anyway?"

"He reeks of the Light."

It's not remotely the answer she'd expected. "The Force?"

"What other Light is there? He is suffused with it. It is in his nature."

"You're saying my fiancee is a Jedi." Hux rolls her eyes. "I am not that gullible."

A chuffing laugh from Ren. "I would have killed him already if he was. There is Light and Dark in all of us, and some more than others. Zoller is all Light. And you and your Order, you rely on the Dark Side to guide you--do you see why he's of no use to you?"

"He's a Hero of the Order. I think your point is invalid."

"He will betray you."

"If you're quite done accusing a Hero of the Order of treason, I think we're very done here."

"You doubt me."

"Very much so. I think you're jealous, and frankly, it's pathetic." Hux's throat tightens up; for a moment, she thinks it's Ren. She's never been on the receiving side of one of Ren's choking tricks. She's seen him do it to prisoners, seen Mitaka's bruises. "I was trying to simply be civil, and you seem to have taken it as some kind of encouragement. There is nothing between us. There never will be."

"Never say never, General."

Hux's fingernails bite into her palms. Games, she tells herself, stupid little head games for dominance. She doesn't have the time for it, she can't afford it. "What do you think would happen if you killed Rog? What do you really think would happen?"

"He would be dead," Ren says, like it's obvious. "Probably bisected."

"And after that," Hux says. Ren is silent, breathing. "Well? Do you think I'd suddenly fall into your arms? Ren, do you think that's the kind of person I am?"

Ren raises his hand. Hux braces herself, sucks in air. But there's no squeeze around her throat, no broken glass in her lungs, just Ren's hand curling in on itself and something smooth and warm stroking her cheek.

"Are you afraid of me?"

No, no, no, no, no. Hux feels her body split within itself, like a glitching holo. Her bones stumble backwards, muscles freezing up. She forces her hand up to her face and feels herself smacking Ren's hand away, sees the shower of red-white sparks where they connect; she sees her arm hanging by her side, as stiff with fear as the rest of her, hand shaking with adrenaline and too unsteady to hit anything at all. It's over in a moment, gone like fireworks.

Hux is alive, but her lungs still feel like they've had the life squeezed out of them; every breath is broken glass. It's the adrenaline, the wash of shock throughout her system. She's never done well with that sort of thing, the aftermath of excitement. Her traitorous legs wobble, and she puts a hand out to steady herself against the wall. At least Ren looks nonplussed, backing away from her like a cat sprayed with water. "Am I?" she rasps, trying not to let her shallow breaths show. "Read my mind. You can, can't you?"

Ren shakes his head slowly, hesitant, makes a sound that might be "No" or "Don't." Hux can't tell. There's blood singing in her ears, blood pounding in her veins.

"I know you can. You can get into people's minds." Hux barely notices the bite of her fingernails against her palms. "Tell me, Ren, was I ever really afraid of you?"

Ren's hand goes to his hip, where Hux knows he keeps his lightsaber. He doesn't draw it, but the threat is there. "What are you?"

Hux stares at him, breath cooling in her chest. The question doesn't seem to have any real meaning, any context. "What do you think I am?" She wanted to sound scornful, haughty. But it comes out broken somehow. What am I? What's happening? Why me?

"Tell Snoke nothing of this," Ren says at last. He stalks out of the interrogation room, ragged cloak swirling behind him.

Hux counts to twenty-five and then leaves, determined not to dream of Kylo Ren that night. She does not dream of anything.

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