Hey look, not another three weeks between chapters this time. 8D
--
Hot anger lashes through him. “That’s a lie,” Ben blurts out before he can think better of it. Before he can remember that he’s the one with the power here and he has no reason to allow himself to be dragged into an argument with this man about anything. It’s sloppy. He’s breaking practically the first unwritten rule of interacting with a prisoner- don’t let them get under your skin. Ben knows this, and he does it anyway.
“A lie that they call you that, or a lie that you enjoy it?” Hux says, being deliberately pedantic.
“That I enjoyed it,” Ben growls.
For just an instant he is fifteen and standing in front of his uncle again, guilt like a lead weight around his neck. ‘Why did you do this, Ben?’ Guarded disappointment in Uncle Luke’s eyes while Ben just wants to crawl under the floor and die.
“Is it.” Not a question. Bright blue eyes flick down and Ben realizes that his hand is balled into a fist on the tabletop. His jaw works as he unclenches it.
“You don’t know anything,” he says.
Ben remembers Bespin. Of course he does. It was the reason he rarely went on combat missions anymore, not unless they were desperate. Only when they were desperate.
She had never said anything to him outright, but he knew his mother had discretely moved his name to the bottom of the flight call roster.
He had never said anything to her, but sometimes he was grateful.
“I know that our casualty rate on Bespin was twenty-two percent higher than average for similar conflicts,” Hux is saying. “Reports said that the stormtroopers sent to clean up after the Bespin Conflict all reported themselves for voluntary reconditioning after seeing your handiwork. You have a reputation for… enthusiasm.”
“Did you know that your men were holding someone I care about on Bespin?” Ben responds coldly. “Did your reports tell you that?”
Hux’s eyes dart back and forth like he’s reading an invisible file. “A Resistance girl? One of Skywalker’s students.”
“One of my friends. And did your men tell you what they were doing to her before I got there?” Suddenly he has a hard time speaking around the bile rising in his throat. He only barely manages to keep from shouting.
“Interrogation,” Hux says simply, with a casual shrug of one shoulder. He has a smug little smile on his face that makes Ben’s fists itch. “This is a war, after all.”
The legs of Ben’s chair scrape as he pushes away from the table, pacing around it so he can stand behind General Hux, looming over him to growl directly into his ear. He puts one large hand between the man’s shoulder blades. Not pushing, just resting his weight on him. “That’s right. This is a war, and if I were in your position, I wouldn’t push my luck. You don’t want me getting enthusiastic.”
The General’s fear spikes when Ben touches him, but he makes no response beyond a stuttered breath.
“I’m disappointed. Your reputation is that you’re smart, General,” Ben adds venomously, returning to his chair. The metal joints creak as he throws himself into it.
It would have been so easy, Ben allows himself to think once he is safely back on the other side of the table, out of range of temptation, to twist his fingers into that short red hair and smash General Hux’s face into the table until he stopped smirking like he’s won something. He pictures it. Imagines the crack of the nose breaking when it hit cold metal and hates the way it fills him with satisfaction. His hands are shaking.
“Careful, Organa,” Hux drawls, eyeing him. “What will mother say if you damage her prisoner?”
“You don’t know my mother, do you? She’ll probably ask me how good it felt to punch the most hated man in the galaxy.”
Hux’s lip curls. “Does the New Republic really think they speak for the entire galaxy now? Typical.” His voice practically drips disdain.
“Only the parts of it that aren’t run by fascist maniacs.”
The General makes a derisive noise in his throat. Ben is far too familiar with the Force-signature of disappointment, and it’s rolling off Hux in waves now.
“You really believe that,” he says, distasteful. “I expected better of you. Clearly I was mistaken.”
It shouldn’t hit Ben like a punch in the gut. And yet.
“What?” he snaps.
“I’m the enemy because I won’t bow to the Republic. I’m a monster because I oppose them in every way I know how. But my men would say the same thing of you, and of the two of us, I’m not the one with blood dripping from his hands.”
“That isn’t-“
His voice is low, intense, every word precise. “My family had estates before they exiled us the wastelands. Now you destroy and steal and slaughter my men, for the crime of trying to scratch out a place for ourselves apart from the Republic, and you have the nerve to label me the villain? How dare you? You of all people should know better, Organa.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Order aren’t the only ones who are afraid of you, are they? Do you hear the whispers behind your back when you pass by? They’re so quick to judge. You only do what you’re told and they still hate you for it.”
“That isn’t true,” Ben snarls. “You have no-“
“You’re just a weapon to them. An attack dog they only take off the leash when they want to brutalize an enemy. They’ll turn on you too when you’re no longer useful to them.”
“Oh…” Ben breathes, his temper doused as effectively as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over him. “I know what you’re doing.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Something like panic spikes in Hux. Ben can feel it, and a smile creeps across his face.
“This is all a distraction. You’re provoking me. Trying to keep me from looking in your head.”
There is fear in the General’s wide blue eyes and it’s the most satisfying thing Ben has seen all night.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Ben can’t help it, he’s grinning. “Nice try, General. It really was. I can see why they let you make the speeches. But you’re not getting away that easily.”
Hux looks like he wants to murder him.
“Last chance to tell me what you were doing on Axaca. Going once?”
“Fuck you,” Hux spits. The curse sounds obscene in his rounded, Coruscanti accent.
FILL 3/4 - Ben Solo, Resistance interrogator
--
Hot anger lashes through him. “That’s a lie,” Ben blurts out before he can think better of it. Before he can remember that he’s the one with the power here and he has no reason to allow himself to be dragged into an argument with this man about anything. It’s sloppy. He’s breaking practically the first unwritten rule of interacting with a prisoner- don’t let them get under your skin. Ben knows this, and he does it anyway.
“A lie that they call you that, or a lie that you enjoy it?” Hux says, being deliberately pedantic.
“That I enjoyed it,” Ben growls.
For just an instant he is fifteen and standing in front of his uncle again, guilt like a lead weight around his neck. ‘Why did you do this, Ben?’ Guarded disappointment in Uncle Luke’s eyes while Ben just wants to crawl under the floor and die.
“Is it.” Not a question. Bright blue eyes flick down and Ben realizes that his hand is balled into a fist on the tabletop. His jaw works as he unclenches it.
“You don’t know anything,” he says.
Ben remembers Bespin. Of course he does. It was the reason he rarely went on combat missions anymore, not unless they were desperate. Only when they were desperate.
She had never said anything to him outright, but he knew his mother had discretely moved his name to the bottom of the flight call roster.
He had never said anything to her, but sometimes he was grateful.
“I know that our casualty rate on Bespin was twenty-two percent higher than average for similar conflicts,” Hux is saying. “Reports said that the stormtroopers sent to clean up after the Bespin Conflict all reported themselves for voluntary reconditioning after seeing your handiwork. You have a reputation for… enthusiasm.”
“Did you know that your men were holding someone I care about on Bespin?” Ben responds coldly. “Did your reports tell you that?”
Hux’s eyes dart back and forth like he’s reading an invisible file. “A Resistance girl? One of Skywalker’s students.”
“One of my friends. And did your men tell you what they were doing to her before I got there?” Suddenly he has a hard time speaking around the bile rising in his throat. He only barely manages to keep from shouting.
“Interrogation,” Hux says simply, with a casual shrug of one shoulder. He has a smug little smile on his face that makes Ben’s fists itch. “This is a war, after all.”
The legs of Ben’s chair scrape as he pushes away from the table, pacing around it so he can stand behind General Hux, looming over him to growl directly into his ear. He puts one large hand between the man’s shoulder blades. Not pushing, just resting his weight on him. “That’s right. This is a war, and if I were in your position, I wouldn’t push my luck. You don’t want me getting enthusiastic.”
The General’s fear spikes when Ben touches him, but he makes no response beyond a stuttered breath.
“I’m disappointed. Your reputation is that you’re smart, General,” Ben adds venomously, returning to his chair. The metal joints creak as he throws himself into it.
It would have been so easy, Ben allows himself to think once he is safely back on the other side of the table, out of range of temptation, to twist his fingers into that short red hair and smash General Hux’s face into the table until he stopped smirking like he’s won something. He pictures it. Imagines the crack of the nose breaking when it hit cold metal and hates the way it fills him with satisfaction. His hands are shaking.
“Careful, Organa,” Hux drawls, eyeing him. “What will mother say if you damage her prisoner?”
“You don’t know my mother, do you? She’ll probably ask me how good it felt to punch the most hated man in the galaxy.”
Hux’s lip curls. “Does the New Republic really think they speak for the entire galaxy now? Typical.” His voice practically drips disdain.
“Only the parts of it that aren’t run by fascist maniacs.”
The General makes a derisive noise in his throat. Ben is far too familiar with the Force-signature of disappointment, and it’s rolling off Hux in waves now.
“You really believe that,” he says, distasteful. “I expected better of you. Clearly I was mistaken.”
It shouldn’t hit Ben like a punch in the gut. And yet.
“What?” he snaps.
“I’m the enemy because I won’t bow to the Republic. I’m a monster because I oppose them in every way I know how. But my men would say the same thing of you, and of the two of us, I’m not the one with blood dripping from his hands.”
“That isn’t-“
His voice is low, intense, every word precise. “My family had estates before they exiled us the wastelands. Now you destroy and steal and slaughter my men, for the crime of trying to scratch out a place for ourselves apart from the Republic, and you have the nerve to label me the villain? How dare you? You of all people should know better, Organa.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Order aren’t the only ones who are afraid of you, are they? Do you hear the whispers behind your back when you pass by? They’re so quick to judge. You only do what you’re told and they still hate you for it.”
“That isn’t true,” Ben snarls. “You have no-“
“You’re just a weapon to them. An attack dog they only take off the leash when they want to brutalize an enemy. They’ll turn on you too when you’re no longer useful to them.”
“Oh…” Ben breathes, his temper doused as effectively as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over him. “I know what you’re doing.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Something like panic spikes in Hux. Ben can feel it, and a smile creeps across his face.
“This is all a distraction. You’re provoking me. Trying to keep me from looking in your head.”
There is fear in the General’s wide blue eyes and it’s the most satisfying thing Ben has seen all night.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Ben can’t help it, he’s grinning. “Nice try, General. It really was. I can see why they let you make the speeches. But you’re not getting away that easily.”
Hux looks like he wants to murder him.
“Last chance to tell me what you were doing on Axaca. Going once?”
“Fuck you,” Hux spits. The curse sounds obscene in his rounded, Coruscanti accent.
Ben smirks back. “You’re not my type.”