Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day Supreme Leader Snoke died, the world as Hux knew it seemed to crumble and cave in on itself, unable to maintain its stability when its very core (once untouchable, once indestructible) shattered into irreparable pieces.

The news travelled slowly at first, with initially only a handful of people—Ren, Hux, and, supposedly, the girl—aware of the death of arguably one of the most dangerous threats to the current order of the galaxy. Then, shortly afterwards, the spread of this remarkable information picked up momentum, and now, the Resistance and the New Republic—or what remained of them, really—publicly deemed the murder to be a success for democracy and all that was good and just.

And this was because everywhere on every datapad, within every report of the event, credit was given solely to the scavenger for the slaughter of not only Snoke, but also the Praetorian Guards. With sorrow from Skywalker’s passing simultaneously came hope for the new Jedi, who managed to take out a handful of the most powerful beings on the dark side of the Force.

It all left Hux—who was standing on the bridge of the Star Destroyer, the Slaughterer, in front of an expansive viewscreen—feeling a distinct kind of nausea that churned uneasily at the bottom of his painfully empty stomach. Knowing that he could not afford to show weakness to the men he commanded, he attempted to hide any visible signs of indisposition by standing straight and keeping his facial expression stern.

His eyes skimmed across the cold blackness of space before him, the distant flickering of white stars and planets that would, eventually, be under the rule of the First Order. Normally, Hux would see this as a good thing. And it was a good thing. But he did not envy any planet that was to be subjected to Ren’s reckless, unchecked power.

The thought of anything being under Ren’s control brought back a persistent, recurring migraine that had first emerged sometime between Snoke’s death and the Battle of Crait, and become a constant irritant ever since. Hux massaged his temple, hoping to find some relief in the gesture.

His migraine wasn’t his only problem. Not only was his head aching and his stomach nauseous, but he was also exhausted. He wanted a cup of caf. He didn’t care much for the drink itself, but he desperately needed something to keep him awake. He could count the hours he had slept this standard week on one hand. It was beginning to wear on him, but Hux knew that he couldn’t let it show. Not in the position he was in.

Here, he couldn’t stop the disgust from showing on his face, twisting each of his sharp features into something ugly.

Subservience. Hux had always been somewhat good at it—good at faking it, at the very least. But now, with the situation he was currently in, it felt as though each and every command Ren gave him—each and every command Hux followed—was pulling teeth from his mouth.

After all, Snoke was dead, and the First Order had been left leaderless. There was a power vacuum. It was the perfect opportunity for a power grab, a coup d'etat.

It was the perfect opportunity for Hux.

Yet, he didn’t take it. He tried to. He was mere moments from pulling the blaster on Ren. Had he awakened any later, stayed unconscious even a second longer…

It would be Hux on that throne.

Hux would have everything that he had desired, ever since his father—his father, an unambitious slob that had become fat and satisfied off his lazy complicity—dared to slander him, condescend him. The man, Hux was told, had been pathetic to the very moment of his death. Captain Phasma said as much, and that was all Hux knew; she did not give him details, and he did not ask for any. Plausible deniability, as it was.

The thought of Phasma lit a brief, miniscule spark of regret in his chest. She had been killed by a treacherous stormtrooper—and an unpleasant sensation of failure was stuck at the bottom of Hux’s throat, for he was in charge of conditioning the troopers (“How capable are your soldiers, General?”). Captain Phasma had deserved a more honorable way to go. While Hux and Phasma weren’t exactly friends, even by flexible definitions of the term, she was the best and most trustworthy ally that Hux had known.

But now, Captain Phasma was dead, sent down into the flames by the very stormtrooper who had knelt at Hux’s feet only minutes earlier. And Snoke was dead, too—killed… killed by whom? The scavenger girl? It sounded so impossible, so wrong to Hux’s ears, but it was, apparently, the truth, no matter how difficult it was to believe. How could a barely trained scavenger take down not not only Supreme Leader Snoke, but also all the Praetorian Guards? It made absolutely no sense.

But, if not the scavenger girl, then it could only be—

No.

When Hux even attempted to consider the possibility, his mind stuttered and numbed—denial, hatred, and inadequacy all at once pooling to clog every synapse of his brain.

After all, how could Kylo Ren, the brutish, unambitious, overemotional, stupid canine that followed every beck and order of Snoke, kill the very being that he was so weak and deferential to? How?!

Hux’s impression of Ren had always been a poor one at best. He had thought him as weak and pathetic, blindly obeying Snoke’s orders while lacking his own desires and ambitions. But Hux was different from that. He wanted power. It’s how he rose through the ranks of the First Order so swiftly, so meticulously. Obviously, his skills contributed to that rise, as well as his name (though it really shouldn’t, considering how inept Brendol Hux had been by the end of his career), but there were other factors as well.

Namely, Hux was good at getting power. Very good. While, for the most part, he had been content at where he was at (General was a very high rank, after all), the idea of achieving an even greater title was not an unpleasant thought. When in the company of others, he liked to imagine himself being promoted to a Grand Marshal. It was an ambitious rank, yes, but also a safe one. Had a Force-sensitive—specifically, Kylo Ren or Snoke—realized what title he wanted, Hux doubted he would be seen as a threat because of it.

In the privacy of his chambers, however, he fantasized about becoming the Supreme Leader and the sole ruler over the galaxy. These thoughts alone could lead to his execution.

Death by firing squad. The mere possibility of being killed like an insignificant low-ranking officer sent something cold rushing down Hux’s spine. His hands, despite being gloved, shook from where he held them at the small of his back. Hux so badly wanted to believe that it was simply the sharp chilliness of the artificial air that caused the trembling of his limbs.

But he knew better.

(Such an execution still could happen, something within him whispered cruelly. Hux clenched his fists, and he could feel his shoulders shake.)

So yes, Hux liked power. He had for a long time. And then, the opportunity for his long-desired rise to power—a particular power he had once deemed near-unobtainable—presented itself to him. It was suddenly within his reach. He could practically feel it dancing, tauntingly, across the palms of his hands. All he had to do was grasp, and it would be, at least momentarily, his.

And he had failed, completely and utterly.

Ren’s rise to Supreme Leader was so easy, so effortless; Hux was embarrassed for his own sake. All it took—all it took—was a single Force choke to his throat, and Hux had given in.

“Long live the Supreme Leader!”

The memory made Hux’s already-present nausea worsen.

Disgusting. It was not the first time he had lowered himself for his own preservation, but… to do so for Kylo Ren, the pathetic and overemotional rival he had fought for Snoke’s favor with for five years?

Embarrassing. Utterly embarrassing.

Hux had always seen his ability to adapt as a good trait; a quality to him that had long kept him alive. And it was a good trait, but…

Perhaps Hux was not nearly as different from his father as he’d like to imagine. The thought came uninvited, and it left a sour taste in his mouth. Even as he quelled it down, it wouldn’t leave—

“…a weak willed boy.”

But, he was alive, which was the most important thing. After all, if he was alive, then he could—he would—win.

His father had underestimated him his entire life and died for it; Phasma had made certain of that. Snoke had been killed before seeing his true potential, and previously, he had seen him and Ren as equals (which had been rather insulting). But he was an obstacle no longer, his shriveled body—so much smaller than what it used to seem as—ripped in half.

Kylo Ren would follow his predecessor. Hux would make sure of it. He had to, because otherwise, he could lose everything.

He hadn’t lost much yet (his dignity and equal standing with Ren, yes, but he had expected to be slaughtered after Ren’s rise to power—he knew that had roles been reversed, Ren would be lying dead at his feet), but now, forced under the authority of a too-powerful madman, he was standing on unsteady ground that would collapse beneath his feet if Ren wanted it to. Hux recognized a bad situation when he saw one, and he knew that this had to be dealt with.

But how? Hux could feel a familiar scowl develop on his face. How can I gain the upper hand over him?

“General.”

A voice, without warning, broke into his thoughts.

Hux, embarrassingly enough, almost jumped from it. Something revoltingly akin to fear made his heartbeat quicken. His first, immediate thought was:

Ren.

Hux swiveled around to face the owner of the voice. To his relief, this person—a man with neat dark hair who was standing not too far from the viewscreen—was not Ren. Rather, he was only some unimportant officer—a major, judging by his insignia—that Hux didn’t even recognize. This discovery, while alleviating his momentary spike of anxiety, also led to the particularly painful mortification of knowing that he had almost revealed a weakness, his fear, to one of his men.

After all, the situation that Hux was in—humiliated in front of the officers he commanded not only once, but twice… perhaps thrice, if he counted that Resistance pilot incident—left no room for further demonstrations of incompetence. There was also the fact that he essentially left his men on the Supremacy to die. This alone was causing his already decaying reputation to fray at its edges, which showed in the thinly-veiled disdain that the rest of the First Order High Command was beginning to regard him with.

Squaring his shoulders, Hux faced his inferior. “Major,” he said, his voice cold and detached as it often tended to be. “Do you have something to report to me?”

“I’ve received a transmission for you from the Supreme Leader, sir.” The major’s voice was deep—it was no wonder that Hux had almost believed him to be Ren. Unlike Ren, however, everything about him was up to standard—his hair was neatly trimmed in accordance to the First Order’s regulations, and he wore his uniform correctly. He looked tense, but, judging by the way his hands were clenched and hidden beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, he was very likely nervous to be addressing his commanding officer.

Hux raised an eyebrow, ignoring the twinge of dislike and contempt he felt at hearing Ren’s entirely undeserved title coming from the mouth of another person. “From Ren? Very well, Major. I’ll take it privately.”

“The Supreme Leader said that it was urgent, sir.” The major’s voice didn’t waver. “He suggested that you should take it immediately—here and now.”

Oh did he now? Hux thought, annoyed by Ren’s gall to order him around like this, even though he knew that it was technically his right.

“I will take it privately,” Hux repeated, his voice hard.

“But, sir, he said—”

Now quite irritated by his inferior’s persistence and Ren’s audacity, Hux hissed, “Must I repeat myself? I said that I will take it pri—

“You will take it now, General Hux.”

Hux’s breath caught in his throat. This voice, while different from the one that he was used to hearing from the other end of a mask, was immediately recognizable. Feeling a cold sort of horror trickle down his spine, he watched as the major, who was now giving him an apologetic look, untucked his left hand from the cuff of his sleeve, revealing a small black holotransmitter firmly held in his grasp. It had been purposely hidden, Hux realized, as he stared at the device in the major’s hand. Shooting above the holotransmitter was a holographic image of Ren.

Ren, despite apparently having been on strenuous searches all over Crait, did not look disheveled in the slightest. The thick waves of his black hair were glossy and well-kept, and there was an arrogant smile stretching across his pale, slightly scarred face.

“Supreme Leader,” Hux whispered, unable to keep the shock out of his voice.

“The search on Crait has been finished. There are no remaining Resistance members on the planet,” Ren said. “I will be returning to the Slaughterer shortly, and I want the hangar bay prepared for my ship’s arrival.” Then, his voice taking a strictly authoritative tone, he said, “As it has been confirmed that there’s nothing left for us here, prepare the Slaughterer for a jump into hyperspace. Understood, General?”

While Ren was speaking, Hux’s initial surprise had waned, giving way to an anger so torrid with hatred that he was beginning to see red. The mere fact that Ren was giving him orders was maddening to him. It took all the self-control he possessed to resist the tempting urge to dissent against this immature brat who wanted to play king simply because he could.

Rebellion for the sake of rebellion is pointless, Hux reminded himself in an attempt to remain cool-headed. And defiance while being in a disadvantageous position is just foolish. I will act when the situation is more ideal. And it will be more ideal; after all, Ren is not nearly as invulnerable as he thinks.

“Understood,” he bit out. The word seemed to burn his tongue.

“Good,” Ren said. For a brief moment, Hux believed that the transmission would end here, but the holographic image of Ren remained where it was. This meant that Ren very likely had something else to say to him. Accordingly, Hux expected to either be dismissed or given another order. And indeed, after a second or two, Ren said, “Ah, one more thing.”

Hux stared at the hologram, waiting for Ren to continue.

“After this transmission ends, you are to head to my chambers and remain there until my return.” Ren’s smile widened. “We have a lot that we need to discuss, I believe.”

Hux froze, genuinely taken aback by Ren’s (somewhat unusual) order. Then, his anger came back in a rush. Did Ren think himself Snoke, summoning him to his quarters privately to give him some worthless commands? He used all of his self-restraint to hide his growing ire.

Apparently, not well enough because Ren was smirking. “Is there a problem, General Hux?”

“What is the point of this?” Hux gritted out.

“Questioning my orders already?” Ren’s gaze darkened. Hux yet again had to suppress his fury, though he could feel his eyes burning as he glared at the holographic image of Ren.

It took all of his self-control to force out, “No. I will be there.”

“Excellent. I will see you then, General.”

Ren didn’t wait for a reply. The hologram immediately blinked out after he finished speaking. This, Hux supposed, was his dismissal.

Initially, all he could do was stare at the empty air where the hologram was, his mind blank. Then, his eyes trailed downwards to the major’s hand, where the holotransmitter was held. Finally, he locked gazes with the major, who seemed quite uncomfortable and embarrassed after witnessing the entire exchange.

And, with that, Hux understood. It was a power play, for Ren to give orders to Hux through one of the officers that Hux himself commanded. It was a way to show that Hux was his inferior to both Hux himself and to the men that he was in charge of.

It was childish, yes, but… it could be effective. Possibly.

It still grated on Hux’s nerves, and he had to force down his rising anger at this immature game Ren was playing.

“Sir?” The major sounded wary.

Hux shot him a frigid glare.

The man at least had the shame to look away. “Please, General, I’m only doing my job. After all, the Supreme Leader’s orders come first.”

Hux sneered, “Do they now?”

“Of course!” Evidently, the man, while not proud of what he did, wasn’t guilty about it either. “Is that not the philosophy that the First Order follows?”

“How loyal.” Hux gave him a withering look. “I will be certain to remember such an admirable adherence to our values, Major.” Then, scornfully: “Dismissed.”

The major made no further comment. Hux heard the man’s receding footsteps against the smooth black floor of the Slaughterer.

It was only when the major left that that he realized how tense he had been—his shoulders so stiff that it was nearly painful.

Get it together, he reprimanded himself. It’s just Ren, parading himself with a title he doesn’t deserve.

These words, however confident they seemed, did not successfully halt the uneasiness rising to his throat.

Ren’s chambers were stark, which admittedly surprised Hux. He had been expecting at least a gaudy skull or two, simply due to Ren’s own awful taste and possibly an attempt on Ren’s part to make himself seem more terrifying and dangerous than he really was, as though his powerful build and gleaming red lightsaber weren’t enough for the task.

The emptiness and impersonalness of the quarters, however, were less likely because Ren finally attained good judgment and more likely due to the fact that the chambers were short-term lodgings, as everything was short-term on the Slaughterer. After all, the Slaughterer served as the temporary headquarters of the First Order after the Supremacy’s destruction at the hands of the Resistance. Therefore, there was a quality of impermanence to it.

Despite this, the place was more richly lavished than the rest of the personal rooms on the Star Destroyer, with advanced technology and expensive, posh furniture. How decadent, Hux thought in a condescending way that was, perhaps, meant to mask the nervousness drumming at his heart and resting uneasily at the bottom of his stomach. Indeed, when his distress became particularly intolerable, he insisted to himself, I am not afraid of Ren.

Then a voice, deep and mocking, rang out into the (seemingly) empty room from behind him:

“And here I thought you condemned self-deception, General Hux. And it is self-deception; your fear is so palpable that the Force is practically trembling with it.”

Hux’s heartbeat quickened in momentary panic. He turned around to see Ren standing behind him, just between him and the exit with a smirk set on his lips. Despite his confidence, however, Hux could see the darkness under his eyes and the exhaustion in his dulled gaze. Ren’s own failures were clearly weighing down on him, and it was more than a little satisfying to see.

“Supreme Leader,” Hux bit out as though the two words were something particularly painful to say. “You summoned me?”

“Yes. I believe I did,” Ren said. Despite his own issues and, very likely, the responsibility of leadership taking a toll on him (further showing that he didn’t deserve his new rank), there was an irritatingly smug look on his face that was, unfortunately, not as marred by the thin scar stretching down his face as Hux would have liked. Ren must really be finding satisfaction in the superior position he finally had over Hux.

Hux waited a few seconds for Ren to elaborate. When he didn’t, Hux realized, with a spark of anger, that Ren wanted Hux to ask. Yet another childish play at power. But, as Hux wasn’t in the position anymore to dismiss Ren’s nonsense for what it was (nonsense), he only forced out, “What have you called me here for?”

Ren’s cruel smile widened. “I don’t like the way you asked that. Very defiant of you, Hux; reminds me of the days when you acted like a little bitch around me when Snoke was out of earshot. Not that you aren’t a bitch anymore; you’re just smarter about it now.”

That pushed it. “How dare you—!” Hux snarled.

“How dare I?” Ren repeated. His dark eyes burned. “Remember your position, General.” He raised a hand, and—

The Supremacy. The throne room. Snoke’s corpse. Shock and anger at Ren’s audacity to give him orders. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” Then…

Hux immediately took a fearful step back, his hand reaching upwards by instinct to rest protectively on his throat. He expected an invisible pressure on his neck, an immovable grip, pushing and contracting until it rendered him gasping for oxygen that simply wouldn’t come—

Yet, nothing happened.

Hux looked up to meet Ren’s eyes, which were practically gleaming in a wicked sort of amusement. His gloved hands were raised mockingly in a placating stance.

“I was only joking,” Ren said, vicious laughter in his voice.

“Hilarious,” Hux spat out, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment as he lowered his hands from his neck.

“Isn’t it?” Ren agreed amiably. Then, with a harder edge: “Now ask me again. Respectfully, this time.”

Hux, furious as he was, could feel his blood boiling. He wanted to tell Ren exactly how much respect he really deserved, but, aware that Ren was a ticking time bomb with a painfully short fuse, he smartly kept his mouth shut. Only when he skillfully inhibited his own rage (as he had to do often, even in Snoke’s company), did he grit out, “How may I serve you, Supreme Leader?”

And there did Ren’s smile curl into something vicious. “There we go.”

Hux couldn’t help but spit out, “Bastard.”

Ren didn’t seem offended as Hux expected him to be. In fact, he had been remarkably composed towards Hux ever since he took Snoke’s place at the head of the First Order after Snoke’s untimely death. What had once been a bitter rivalry between the two of them had dissolved into indifference on Ren’s end and a boiling anger on Hux’s at Ren’s immaturity and newfound power over him. And predictably, Ren’s current brutish nonchalance further inflamed his fury.

“Who’s the bastard here again, General Hux?” Ren asked, amused. “If my memory serves me correctly…” His voice trailed off, but his eyes glinted knowingly.

“You might as well be one,” Hux sneered. “Patricidal maniac.”

This must have struck a nerve, because Ren’s eyes narrowed. “The pot calling the kettle black there,” he said, his smile dropping. This initially caused a fearful shiver to run down Hux’s spine, and he expected immediate retribution for his insolence. But, when he realized that no punishment was coming, he found himself more confused than anything else.

“I had nothing to do with my father’s passing,” he said, the lie smooth on his tongue like good brandy. Ren gave him an extremely dubious look, but Hux ignored it. “I’ll say this though: I don’t care that my father died. I feel no grief, no sorrow, nothing. My father was a disgusting pig, and the galaxy is better off without him.” Feeling a sudden burst of confidence upon noticing Ren’s frozen expression, Hux asked him coolly, “Can you say the same for yourself?”

“We are nothing alike, so how could I?” Ren growled, his eyes burning with anger.

He was very clearly affected by something Hux had said, though Hux was uncertain of exactly what. Still, there was a distinct (and perhaps dangerous) sort of pleasure pooling at the bottom of his stomach, caused by Ren’s upset state and the knowledge that he was the reason behind it. Finally, after being choked and disregarded and tossed away by Ren so indifferently after his rise to power, Hux was able to affect Ren again. He was once more capable of picking and pulling apart his vulnerabilities. Ren’s staunch apathy had only lasted a handful of days, but, oddly enough, it felt like months.

And so, while Hux knew that he would surely regret saying this later, he couldn’t stop himself.

“I agree, because even now you feel bad for killing your father. And that,” Hux sneered, scorn twisting the features of his face into something quite ugly, “is fucking pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” Ren hissed. “Hilarious, coming from you!”

“I’m quite certain your mother has given up on you by now, as well she should!” Hux continued, ignoring Ren’s reply and feverish with the knowledge that his words were finally having an impact on Ren again. “Or not; I’m sure, after all, that you still feel guilty about murdering your father. Unless, you really mean to imply that the untrained scavenger bested you due to your lack of skill, not because of your emotional state. Either one is believable, actually.”

“Do not talk about her,” Ren bit out, a black fire burning in his eyes.

“Who? Your mother? Or the scavenger?” Hux felt a cruel smile stretch across his face. “I would think you’d be grateful to her for killing off Snoke when you couldn’t!”

“She’s done NOTHING!” Ren roared, his scarred features distorted by his rage.

Here is Ren, Hux thought giddily. The real Ren; not the man he tries to be—the man with the false composure and lousy, meaningless titles, but—

“So she didn’t kill Snoke?” Hux’s eyes gleamed. “Who did then? It couldn’t possibly be you, could it?”

“Shut up, you pathetic weasel,” Ren snarled. “You understand nothing. Not Snoke, not me, not Rey!”

—but the immature, angry child that he really is underneath all that bravado.

“Rey? That’s the name of the scavenger? And to think that mere days ago you had only called her ‘the girl’!” Hux tilted his head to the side, feigning nonchalance. “Don’t tell me something happened between you two?”

“I am not a child!” Ren spat, his gloved hands clenched at his sides. “You sound like Snoke; do you know what happened to him? Do you? He was split in fucking half! Not so powerful now, is he?!”

“By whom? That’s my question.” Hux gave Ren a smirk. “Though you’re not very subtle, Supreme Leader,” he said, saying the title with such mockery that it made Ren’s gaze darken even further. “Changing the subject so obviously! Judging by your refusal to answer, something did happen with the sca—ah, my apologies. Rey, was it?” Ren was practically trembling in fury now, and the sight of it was like a balm to Hux’s wounded body and soul. “Poor creature she is, being the subject of your attention!”

“She is a fool who clings desperately to the Jedi past that she romanticizes, and I will kill her!” Ren snarled, with a distinct wildness to his eyes that reminded Hux of the feral beasts on Arkanis that his father took great pleasure in hunting.

“Yes, because you’ve been doing such a great job at that!” Hux said sarcastically. Then, as a taunt: “You seem quite angry at her, as though she has caused you a personal offense. What, did she reject you?”

Clearly not expecting Hux’s accusation, Ren flinched. There was a mixture of denial and anger and embarrassment in the widening of his eyes and the soft o-shaped opening of his mouth. He didn’t respond, but his expression was an answer enough. Hux was momentarily taken aback by this. He was right? He had only said that to anger Ren further. But for it to be true…?

Hux grinned, feeling contempt distort his expression into one that was cruel and mocking. The shift of power in this conversation was invigorating, and it gave him a cockiness that he hadn’t felt in days. “Who would have thought that the mighty Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order, can’t even take a rejection from a girl! How embarrassing. Please, Supreme Leader, there are matters more important at stake here than simply your hurt feelings!”

“It wasn’t that kind of rejection!” Ren snapped. “It was—” He cut himself off here, as though there was something he wanted to say, but for one reason or another, couldn’t.

What a surprise, Hux thought. He has some prudence; who could have imagined?

Still, this left him wondering as to what sordid kind of situation had occurred with the scavenger girl that would cause Ren to summon the little self-control he possessed to keep it under wraps.

“Then what kind of rejection was it, Ren?” Hux breathed out. “What did you offer her?”

In the momentary silence—which ostensibly lasted minutes, but in actuality lasted only a handful of seconds—that followed this question, there was a shift; a shift so subtle it was almost difficult to believe that it was caused by Ren, who was everything except subtle. In fact, Hux only realized the change until it was too late, when he looked up and saw that Ren’s eyes had darkened, his composure had returned, and an angry but terrifyingly dangerous expression had twisted his pale face into something vicious. Hux felt as though cold water had been poured down his spine, and the power-driven high he felt (foolish, foolish, he thought, furious with himself) left as quickly as it came, leaving him shocked and horrified by what exactly he had done.

Hux had forgotten himself. He had forgotten who he was, who Ren was, and more importantly—what they were. And he knew, deep down inside, that he would suffer immensely for this error.

“Something you couldn’t hope of comprehending, you pathetic little rat.” Ren’s voice was deep and filled with a menacing sort of rage that caused Hux to stiffen and resist the urge to back away.

“R-Ren,” he said, and immediately wanted to curse himself for stammering. Swallowing, he said with a false and painfully forced confidence: “I—”

A phantom grip at his neck. It was painful, digging so hard against his throat that he could feel tears at the corner of his eyes. Hux wheezed for air, his lungs burning for oxygen. He realized he was being lifted, painfully, by this merciless and untouchable grasp that he was incapable of freeing himself from.

“Look at how you gasp for air, you worthless rodent!” Ren sneered, but his voice was filled to the brim with a red-hot anger that Hux knew no reason would placate. “Not so arrogant now, are you?”

Hux wasn’t given the opportunity to answer. Rather, in one moment the unseeable pressure wrapped around his neck was holding him in place, and in the next, he was flung to the other side of the room. He could feel his body crash, undignified, against the footboard of Ren’s bed. One of the corners dug into his shoulders viciously, and when he sunk to the floor, desperately panting for air, he found himself holding back whimpers as the pain from the old wounds that Ren and Snoke had given him was reawakened.

When Hux heard Ren’s approaching footsteps, he immediately moved to sit up. Before he could successfully do so, however, he felt agony as the side of Kylo’s black leather boot deliberately and ruthlessly met his jaw. The powerful kick slammed Hux back against the floor. A shadow loomed over him, and when Hux tried to turn his head to look at Ren, the boot pushed down the left side of his face, pressing his right cheek against the cold black floor. It was only by sheer willpower that Hux was able to withhold a pained moan as the boot pressed down, hard.

“I think, General, that you forgot how to address me.” Ren’s voice from above him was cold. “Calling me ‘Ren’ of all things, as though we are still equals.”

Despite everything, Hux couldn’t help but think, We were never equals!

Expecting another violent punishment for his disrespectful thought, Hux prepared himself for the worst. But instead, Ren only sounded cruelly amused as he said, “I agree wholeheartedly. I was always better than you, you vile sycophant. Now, put your one talent to good use—subservience in the face of a superior being—and call me by my proper title when you apologize to me.” At Hux’s outraged expression, Ren’s smile widened. “Oh, did I forget to mention that I wanted an apology? You were quite the cunt, Hux, and I want to hear you say ‘sorry’ for it.”

You revolting piece of shit, Hux thought, seething with raw hatred. He could feel the monomolecular dagger in his sleeve and the SE-44C blaster pistol tucked underneath his greatcoat. Never before had he so badly wanted to use them.

“Come on, General,” Ren urged, taunting. “You were so good with Snoke. Submission surely must be instinct at this point!”

Hux, for a very brief second, wanted to tell Ren exactly what he thought about submitting to a tantrum-throwing man-child, but the mere feeling of the boot pressing harder against his cheekbone and jaw effectively shut him up. And, despite the sickness and the detestation swelling within him…

“Armitage is a weak-willed boy.”

…As Hux had long learned to do, he forced all of his emotions down, and said, in the most composed voice he could manage:

“I apologize, Supreme Leader, for my insubordination.”

And Ren lifted the boot off his face. Hux felt some relief from the loss of pressure.

“Mmm, not bad. But I think you can do a little better than that. I need more… sincerity, if you will.”

For a moment, Hux didn’t—couldn’t—comprehend what Ren was getting at. Then, looking up to see the cruel and ugly smile on Ren’s face, he understood. And in that instant he felt nothing but profound loathing for the man standing above him.

“I’m waiting,” Ren said, clearly enjoying every moment of Hux’s torment. When Hux didn’t comply immediately, he smirked and said, “Unless you need an incentive…” He raised his hand menacingly here, and Hux was unable to quell the fear that immediately spiked at the movement.

Fuck you, Ren. Fuck you, you disgusting child. I should have left you to die on Starkiller Base, you worthless hound, Hux thought, simmering with detestation, and hoping that Ren heard every word of it. If he did, however, he didn’t acknowledge it or seem to care. His expression remained insufferably smug as ever.

Swallowing everything—his pride, his self-worth as a man and a general—Hux raised his torso from the floor to sit up. This time, Ren allowed him to—how generous of him, Hux thought bitterly. Then, taking a second to once again suppress his anger, he moved so that he could tuck his legs beneath his thighs.

So that he could kneel beneath Ren.

He looked up at Ren, imperious and proud Ren, with as much vitriol and defiance in his eyes as he could muster. Hux finally realized, in this position, that his hair had freed itself from the gel that he used to slick it back. The red strands hung, messy and undignified, in front of his pale forehead. It was painfully reminiscent of the incident with Snoke after the evacuation of D'Qar, an irony that did not sit well with him.

Ren smiled. “That’s quite the look, General. I’m terrified. Now apologize and, this time, do it with sincerity.”

Hux’s teeth were clenched. His shoulders were trembling. His hands were shaking from where they were fisted on the floor.

But instead of acting upon all those emotions coiled up inside of him, he pushed everything away. He had to.

He had to survive. Losing everything here—it wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t let it be an option.

And so, Hux bowed down his head towards Ren’s black boot, and he kissed the tip of it. The leather was cold against his lips.

“I’m sorry, Supreme Leader. Please forgive me for my mistake—it will not happen again.”

Hux wasn’t looking at Ren’s face, but he could practically hear the shit-eating grin when he said, “Better. And of course it’ll happen again, you idiot.” Suddenly, there were fingers in his hair. When Hux attempted to recoil in revulsion at the unwanted touch, they tightened painfully, refusing to release him. Ren then purred, with a distinct cruelty in his voice, “But don’t worry.”

It was at this moment that the fingers at his scalp tugged downwards, forcing Hux to look up. He raised his gaze to meet Ren’s wicked, black eyes. They were so purely dark, so despicably monstrous, that, for a brief moment, he wondered that if he had been wrong.

If there was any emotional turmoil left in Ren at all.

And then, speaking with more certainty than he had expressed in years, Ren promised, “I will take your defiance, and I will crush it. Completely. No matter how long it takes, General. No matter how long it takes.”

Fucking try it, Hux thought, furious. Yet, he could not help the feeling of trepidation and foreboding from crawling down his spine.

Hux felt the pain well into the next day. Much of this was his own fault; he refused to go to the medbay, in part because he decided he had no time to, though mostly because of his own pride. If officers noticed the bruising on his cheek, his limp when he moved, or the way he massaged his shoulder with a tense, gloved hand, they said nothing of it.

Only Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka acknowledged it at all, by giving him a look of pity when he approached. The glance might as well have burned him, as Hux hated pity more than anything.

“General,” Mitaka said. “As ordered, we have conducted extensive searches all over the space near Crait. Not a single ship belonging to the Resistance has been located. Moreover, we have dispatched the appropriate squadrons to Ahch-To in search of Luke Skywalker—or his corpse, if the information we have been given is correct. Of course, these squadrons will not only consist of TIE fighters, but also more practical ships such as the—”

“‘As ordered’?” Hux repeated, outraged. “Lieutenant Mitaka, I have ordered none of this!” He was normally very good at concealing his emotions while in the company of others, but his nerves were still frazzled from what had happened with Ren yesterday. And, the fact that his entire body was aching didn’t make his mood any better.

“No you didn’t, sir, but—”

“Then who? This is under my jurisdiction, and for someone to interfere in my duties—”

“Ky—The Supreme Leader did, sir,” Mitaka admitted, nervous. “His commands were very specific, and we could not dare to disobey—”

“Of course he did!” Hux spat out, unsurprised but still overcome with hatred and revulsion. Then, with great vitriol, he snarled, “Disengage all squadrons sent on this fool’s mission to Skywalker.”

“Th… That’s not possible, General,” Mitaka said, looking particularly frightened. He clearly wasn’t used to seeing Hux this openly upset. “We have very specific orders—”

“You are under my command, Lieutenant, and I am telling you to pull back those ships. The Supreme Leader is blinded by his irrationality to see the truth; the truth being that Luke Skywalker is dead. Our experts have made very clear that such an ambitious Force projection—even one done by a Jedi as skilled as Luke Skywalker—would mostly certainly kill the individual who creates it. To waste our precious resources, which have been bled dry by the destruction of not only one of our dreadnoughts during the evacuation of D'Qar, but two—the Supremacy, our former mobile headquarters—is absolute idiocy. Now, disengage.”

“Sir, I respect your command, but…” Mitaka swallowed. “The Supreme Leader’s orders come first. They always have.”

That sentence, which was so achingly similar to the line that the major used yesterday, made the fury that Hux was already feeling worsen. Still, Hux knew that he had to quell his emotions. He was already acting insubordinately due to them—more conservative officers might even call his behavior treason—and he would not lower himself to Ren’s level by taking his anger out on Mitaka. Furthermore, he would not allow Ren to affect him so much as to cause him to do something foolish in front of his inferior.

After all, Hux had restraint—he knew it would not do to have a violent outburst in front of his officer. He was not like Ren, and so he would not allow himself to become like him—a pathetic excuse of a leader with no control over his emotions.

“Fine.” Hux raised a hand to his temple, feeling yet another headache coming on. “And I suppose our, ah, Supreme Leader himself is on this mission?”

“Yes he is, sir. In fact, he is leading it.” Mitaka looked both confused and relieved by Hux’s sudden mood shift.

“Of course he is,” Hux muttered. A fool leading a fool’s mission. Then, sharply, he told Mitaka: “I expect you to tell me when he arrives back to the Slaughterer. Through comm, preferably.”

“Understood,” Mitaka said, but he seemed more uncertain than anything else.

It was only when Hux returned to his chambers a good few hours later that he began to properly consider what Ren’s idiotic journey meant for him. On the surface (to which, Hux had reacted extremely negatively to) it was plainly stupid, of course. Luke Skywalker was most assuredly dead. Everyone knew it. Ren knew it. He had to, unless he truly had no grasp on what the Force was capable of. In pursuing a dead man, Ren was only acting on his wild, powerful, untamed emotions.

Was Ren so furious at Luke Skywalker for humiliating him that he wanted to kill him himself? Was he so mad that he would not be satisfied by his former master dying by any way other than his own hand?

Or, was Ren hoping that Skywalker was alive? Was he feeling guilt at the idea that he, either directly or indirectly, murdered his own uncle? It wouldn’t be such a stretch, considering how Ren was so affected by Han Solo’s death that he couldn’t defeat an untrained scavenger.

Hux wasn’t certain of Ren’s purpose for going on his pointless little adventure, but it didn’t matter to him. After all, the fact that Ren left the current headquarters of the First Order, unsupervised, with Hux as the highest authority on the Star Destroyer…

It simply went to show how incapable Ren was of any kind of leadership. After all, authority required rationality, and Ren was too preoccupied and distracted by his own feelings to be rational. Which, to be fair, Ren always was. The difference here was, however, the fact that Ren was now the (at least, de facto) Supreme Leader of the First Order. Some recognized him as such out of reverent respect; most, however, reluctantly did so only due to fear. It was a precarious situation for Ren at best. At worst…

(And Hux, who, in the privacy of his quarters, did not bother hiding his smirk.)

At worst, it was fertile ground for a coup. A coup that Hux intended to be at the forefront of.

Hux was certain his betrayal was inevitable. The only questions were when and how. And these were very pressing questions, especially the latter. After all, Hux’s main obstacle to achieving power was, of course, Kylo Ren himself. That alone was an issue. After all, there were Ren’s Force abilities to consider. And Hux knew very well what Ren was capable of doing with the Force.

(His mind unwillingly crept back to Snoke’s throne room, and then yesterday in Ren’s chambers. The memories were deeply unpleasant, and they caused something cold to drip down his spine. Hux refused to acknowledge that feeling as fear.)

Yes. Very well.

After all, while Ren didn’t exactly have a fantastic standing with the First Order currently (quite the opposite, really), he could easily—very easily—defeat any opposition in battle. Which was the reason as to why no one had (yet) challenged the position he claimed for himself.

Furthermore, Hux’s bias aside, Ren was powerful. Powerful enough to have become feared all across the galaxy. Powerful enough to have, possibly, killed Supreme Leader Snoke.

Hux bit his lip, and he tasted blood. Uneasiness churned at the bottom of his stomach.

But the Praetorian Guards, too? Hux thought, perturbed. He began to pace across his room, feeling suddenly at once restless and unsettled. Could Ren really have slaughtered not only Snoke, but all of them? Alone?

It was difficult to believe, but still more plausible than the idea of an idealistic, practically untrained scavenger managing to single-handedly take down most of the First Order’s most powerful individuals.

Moreover… Ren did murder an entire school of Jedi when he was a child, so it was possible…

But if that was the case, if Ren really betrayed Snoke and somehow managed to kill all of Snoke’s Praetorian Guards, then why lie that the girl did it? Wouldn’t Ren be proud of what he had done? Wouldn’t he have boasted of it, used it to further cement his own image as the head of the First Order—the man who did the seemingly unachievable by killing Snoke himself?

Surely, surely, that would be the logical move. Hux knew that, had he killed Snoke, he wouldn’t hide his own involvement. Unless the situation called for a carefully veiled secrecy, of course, but Hux struggled to find any logical reason as to why lying would be beneficial here. And even if there was one, surely Ren wasn’t smart or reasonable enough to actually act upon it? To do that required restraint, and Kylo Ren simply didn’t have restraint; he was incapable of it—he was too irrational, too emotional, too—

To say that the girl, barely trained, managed to murder the Supreme Leader Snoke, all of the Praetorian Guards, and defeat Ren… that was humiliating for the First Order, and it made Ren seem incompetent. Which he was, of course, but to highlight that? In this moment where strength was necessary to secure his position as the Supreme Leader?

It was nonsensical. And Ren was nonsensical, but…

It was making Hux’s head spin. His previous confidence, which he had clung onto so tightly in the face of his own humiliation at Ren’s hand, was beginning to teeter. He stopped pacing, and, feeling suddenly unsteady and more than a little light-headed, leaned his right hip against the table that he usually drank tea (or, more often these days, caf) on in hopes of feeling more balanced.

Be rational! Hux reminded himself sharply, imagining the cold slap to the face his father had seemed fond of giving him. He should feel embarrassed by the anxiety running through his veins, leaving him restless and terrified. Hux was exhausted, too, with only fear (very much for his own life) and caf keeping him awake—he had barely slept since Starkiller’s destruction, and it showed in the way that the smooth, quiet sound of his door sliding open was able to make his heart stop. His arm tensing up and body swiveling around so quickly that the sharp edge of the table bit into his thighs painfully, Hux, almost on instinct, dipped his dominant hand beneath his greatcoat, reaching for his blaster pistol. His hand moved to the weapon’s grip, with his index finger placed on the trigger.

“Please take your hand off your blaster, General Hux.”

Hux stiffened at the firm voice. He watched as a familiar, stern-looking woman in a teal First Order uniform walked through the opened door. Colonel Seire Vuln, Hux immediately recognized. He himself had overseen many of her operations, and she was one of his more competent inferiors. Currently, there was a cold professionalism to her eyes that, in any other situation, Hux might have admired. Hux heard heavier footsteps coming from behind her—he recognized these footsteps; they belonged to stormtroopers. And indeed, there were three of them following Vuln, all carrying blaster rifles. They stopped when she did, at a good distance from Hux across the room.

Hux narrowed his eyes as he looked at them. He hadn’t allowed anyone to enter his chambers. This meant that Vuln had somehow overrode his security systems, which included a retinal scan, a vocal analyzer, and other advanced mechanisms that were in place to keep him safe and secure in his quarters. Either she was extremely good at slicing and broke into his chambers using her own skill, or someone with a high enough rank to have access to the security systems on the Slaughterer allowed her to enter his quarters.

“What is the meaning of this, Colonel Vuln?” he asked coolly. “I am your commanding officer; you have no authority to give me orders—”

“Take your hand off your blaster,” she repeated, this time with a warning in her voice. “Or we will have to disarm you by force.” The stormtroopers, which Hux had overseen the training and conditioning of, raised their blaster rifles at him. There was something almost painfully ironic in this.

Still, knowing well that he was outmatched and outnumbered, Hux reluctantly removed his hand from his weapon. If anything, he still had his hidden knife, though he didn’t know how helpful that would be against three stormtroopers with blaster rifles.

“Put the blaster on the floor, and raise both of your hands,” Vuln ordered.

And, with great unwillingness, Hux did just that. He placed his blaster pistol on the floor in front of him, took a step back, and held up his hands to show to her that they were empty. Vuln eyed the weapon on the ground, and gestured one of the stormtroopers forward. With growing dread, Hux watched as the stormtrooper confiscated it.

“Pat him down,” Vuln told a different stormtrooper, unmoving. Immediately, the stormtrooper began to walk towards him. Hux shot him a frigid glare, but did not resist. There was no point in doing so. He let the stormtrooper pat him down, and he grit his teeth when he removed his dagger from his sleeve. Now without any weapon, Hux felt incredibly vulnerable.

“Colonel,” Hux said, his voice hard. “Explain to me what this is, and why you are doing it.”

After both of his weapons were handed to Vuln by the stormtroopers, she gave him an icy stare.

“General Armitage Hux,” she said, as she beckoned the third stormtrooper forward. To Hux’s horror, he was carrying handcuffs. “I have been sent by the Supreme Leader himself, who has ordered your arrest for the abandonment of over two thousand officers and troopers on the dreadnought Supremacy in pursuit of your own life.” Then, after a pause, as she eyed Hux’s frozen expression, she said with a cold smile, “You have the right to remain silent.”

Chapter Text

Hux knew the game that was being played before it even began.

The interrogation room that he was escorted to was purposely over-bright, small, and unpleasant. Hux had been assured that it was soundproofed, and there were no windows that he could look out of. Which, rationally speaking, didn’t matter of course, but it was intended to make those within it feel trapped and claustrophobic. This was, surprisingly enough, quite effective in most situations. Hux, however, knew what was going on here, and he refused to allow it to get the better of him.

Yes. He knew this game. Of course he did; he was responsible for what was perhaps the most wide scale psychological manipulation, conditioning, and torture in the entire galaxy; he was in charge of what was essentially making living, functioning people into loyal and obedient tools for the First Order to use and dispose of. Hux didn’t deal with prisoners too often (he left that task to his inferiors in relevant departments), but he knew, vaguely, of the tactics that were used to get them to confess (or, in certain situations, falsely confess).

Discomfort without accessible ways to alleviate it, for example, often invoked a sense of loss of control in prisoners, putting them in great distress. Accordingly, Hux was currently seated in an uncushioned, metallic chair with his hands firmly held against broad armrests by thick, immovable bonds. These bonds were painfully tight, and consequently, their sharp edges dug into his wrists, which were left vulnerable due to his leather gloves being confiscated from him not long earlier. The chair was also shockingly cold, and its chill seeped past the black fabric of his clothing, reaching his skin.

Hux resisted the urge to shift into a position that would temporarily lessen the unpleasantness he was feeling; he did not want to reveal his discomfort to the man sitting across from him, who, he assumed, was going to interrogate him.

It was difficult to believe that this person—with his sleek hair, handsome face, and friendly smile—was one of the key agents in the implementation of a program that essentially broke and molded major political prisoners and traitors into whatever the First Order needed them to be. And this meant, for the most part, becoming husks of their former selves who were willing to walk to their own execution and publicly denounce whatever idealistic cause they once stood for. But sometimes—sometimes—the end results were much more sinister, and very few knew what those exactly were.

One of those few was the man that now sat before Hux. There was an amiable warmth to him, but Hux knew too much to believe that it was anything but a well-made mask that concealed something deadly and malicious underneath it. On the surface, however, he was strikingly well-groomed, and Hux could smell the expensive cologne wafting from his body. There was a sleek black datapad perched on his lap.

Hux steadily met the man’s gaze, intent on showing him just how unaffected he was by his attempts at manipulation.

“Agent Martic Jenran,” he said coolly.

“Hux,” the man said in turn, his voice pleasant. He didn’t refer to him by his rank, which Hux privately took note of. “What an interesting situation we find ourselves in.”

“Interesting,” Hux echoed dryly. “That’s one way to put it.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Jenran smiled. Then, leaning forward in his cushioned seat, he said, “I’m sure that you understand what’s going to happen here, being the man you are.” His voice was friendly, but his eyes were sharp.

Still, Hux did not bother denying it. “Quite.”

“Then, let’s begin.” Jenran wasted no time asking his first question. “How do you view your inferiors, Hux?”

Hux’s response was automatic and clipped. “Individuals that are supposed to implement the plans I set out and follow my orders without question.”

Jenran nodded pleasantly. “Fair enough. This remains true in both war and in peacetime, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Do you believe that your inferiors should do whatever it takes to succeed at doing the two tasks you just told me?”

“Yes.”

“And that they should follow your orders at all cost, even if it endangers their own well-being?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think this way?”

“Because it’s their job.” Hux’s eyes were narrowed. “Are they not supposed to be prepared to sacrifice themselves for the benefit of the First Order?”

“That’s an interesting philosophy you have. Do you apply it to yourself as well?”

Jenran’s voice was neutral, but Hux could see the intent in his gaze.

“Of course,” Hux said. It was a lie, but neither his voice nor his eyes wavered.

Jenran’s expression didn’t change. “I see.” Then, almost casually, he said, “Not very long ago, the Resistance flagship Raddus jumped to hyperspace, splitting the Mega-class Star Dreadnought, the Supremacy, in half. Majority of the crew onboard the Supremacy perished. A minority didn’t. A minority that happened to include you, who was, incidentally, put in charge of the operations on that ship by the previous Supreme Leader.”

He’s not mentioning Snoke by name, Hux noted, storing the fact inside his brain for later consideration.

“As you said, I was not the only one who made it out alive,” Hux said. “I was merely lucky, as were the other officers and stormtroopers who managed to survive the incident.”

“Is that so?” Jenran smiled here, and the expression, while seemingly innocent, sent something uneasy trickling down Hux’s spine. “Investigations on your movements prior and during the Supremacy’s destruction suggest something different.”

Despite everything, Hux could feel a spike of nervousness at the bottom of his stomach.

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I think you do actually,” Jenran said, now with rock-hard conviction in his voice. “Before the attack, you were in the hangar bay due to the intrusion of two Resistance members, one of whom being the treasonous stormtrooper FN-2187. After leaving FN-2187’s execution to Captain Phasma, you left the hangar to go to the main control room of the Supremacy.” Then, with a sardonic smile, he commented, “How fortunate; had you remained in the hangar bay, you most certainly would have died with the rest of the thousands of officers and stormtroopers you gathered there.”

“I had no way of predicting what was going to happen,” Hux growled, aware of what Jenran was doing but still unable to stop himself from being affected by it.

Jenran didn’t look fazed. “Of course not; at least, not while you were in the hangar bay.” It was at this point that he stood up from his seat, his eye contact with Hux not wavering as he loomed over him. “You see, we’ve looked at recordings in the main control room of the Supremacy. Needless to say… the evidence we found there is quite telling.”

Hux kept his gaze steady, but he couldn’t stop himself from immediately thinking back to the main control room on the Supremacy and trying to recall anything incriminating that he had done there.

Then, he pushed away his rising panic. Hux furiously reminded himself, He’s trying to make me nervous. I will not give him that satisfaction.

Meanwhile, Jenran continued, “In the main control room, you showed shocking incompetence. Despite being a commanding officer, you had absolutely no idea what the Resistance was intending to do with the Raddus until it was too late. But that’s not my problem, and it’s not what we’re here to discuss.” It was then that Jenran began to circle around him, walking with confident, languid strides. Hux felt unnerved by it. “What stood out to me, rather, was the fact that you had realized what was going to happen beforehand. Definitely not soon enough to stop it, but you did realize. You were the only one who did. You panicked, and you tried to fix an unsalvageable situation. But you must have realized it was useless. After all, shortly after you gave useless orders to your inferiors, you departed—very quickly, may I add—the main control room, leaving your men behind. It was then that the Raddus jumped to hyperspace, going right through the hangar bay where you once were. Its side sliced through the walls of the main control room; while it was not a direct hit, it was direct enough that everyone there died from either being jettisoned into space or lack of oxygen.”

Jenran was now standing right in front of him again, his eyes filled with a cool intensity. Hux had to look up from where he was sitting to meet his gaze. “You, however, went to the former Supreme Leader’s throne room. The throne room, which was, incidentally, untouched by the Raddus’s suicide attack and contained an abundance of escape pods.”

“Snoke was not responding to my transmissions, so I went to check on him,” Hux gritted out.

Jenran did not hide his skepticism. “Is that so? Funny, we found no such transmission. Do you have proof of this?”

Hux didn’t, of course. But, rather than saying anything, he simply gave Jenran an unwavering cold glare.

“Do you?” Jenran pushed. “If you do, it would only benefit you.”

“If I did, would it really?” Hux looked at him with frigid eyes. “Would you be able to promise me with any certainty or sincerity that you would not tamper or destroy the evidence?” When Jenran looked momentarily shocked by his questions, Hux said with a sneer, “Agent, I am in a high enough position in the First Order to know about the show trials and false confessions that we use to pretty up our image in the eyes of the rest of the galaxy.”

Jenran, to his credit, was quick to recover, and his eyes hardened. He was evidently not very pleased to have been taken off guard.

“I asked you,” he said, enunciating each word slowly and almost dangerously, “if you have proof that you contacted Snoke.”

Hux held his stare for a few seconds, silently weighing the benefits and consequences of remaining silent. He found there to be none of the former, and potentially much, much more of the latter. Deciding that this would not be the hill that he’d die on, he admitted with some reluctance, “No, I don’t.” Then, smiling nastily, he said, “Which must be fortunate for you. And for Ren, since he ordered this.”

Jenran’s serious expression almost immediately reverted back to its previous relaxed, friendly state. The quick, sudden change in his demeanor was more than a little off-putting.

Jenran said calmly, “That’s where you’re wrong. I have always seen you as a respectable man, Hux. To have to interrogate you of all people is nothing but regrettable for me.”

Hux found himself extremely doubtful of his sincerity. “And Ren?”

“I’m certain the Supreme Leader feels a similar way, but I cannot speak for him,” Jenran responded. Then, smoothly, he said, “But that’s neither here nor there. Let’s get back on topic.”

“Ah, yes, the interrogation. How could I have forgotten.” Hux’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Jenran ignored his remark. “Now,” he said, glancing at his datapad, “I notice that operations you personally oversee have remarkably higher casualties than those that you don’t.” He looked up from his device to meet Hux’s eyes. “Do you have an explanation as to why this is the case?”

“I do what must be done for the First Order,” Hux said.

“Even if it requires the sacrifice of thousands of First Order officers?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel guilt or remorse for the deaths of these individuals?”

The question was so ridiculous that Hux almost laughed then and there. “Since when does the First Order ever care about needless things such as that?” he asked, his voice acidic.

“Needless, hm?” Jenran cocked his head to the side. “Interesting word choice. Why do you consider them needless?”

“Stormtroopers and lower-ranked officers are tools for the First Order, are they not? Why should I be expected to feel remorse for their deaths? What kind of weak man do you take me for?” Hux gave him a contemptuous look.

“Tools,” Jenran repeated, his eyes glittering. “Do you see these individuals as people, or as objects to be discarded?”

“Of course they’re people. I simply don’t care. I wouldn’t be a very good general if I did.”

“So they are people that you can discard without remorse?” Despite the question being redundant, there was an intensity to Jenran’s gaze as he asked it.

“For the sake of the First Order, yes.” Hux gave him a bold glare.

“Why?” Jenran looked interested. “Surely you would at least regret the waste of resources. Men are not cheap, and certainly not unlimited.”

“But they are replaceable,” Hux said. “Easily replaceable at that.”

“Hm.” Jenran looked pensive. He then asked, “Would you consider yourself replaceable?”

“I have certain skill-sets that many lack, so no. I do not.”

“Do you think that you are irreplaceable, then?”

The word was strong, but Hux did feel that it was applicable to him. His voice and eyes hardened. “I was made General for a reason, Agent.”

Jenran said, “You just told me that because your inferiors are replaceable, they are also disposable to you.” Then, his gaze sharp, asked, “Just now, you claimed that you are irreplaceable. So, do you think yourself disposable?”

“No,” Hux said, now with some uncertainty. He began to feel like he had walked into a trap.

“So, your officers and stormtroopers are disposable, while you are not. Fascinating.” Jenran looked down at his datapad again. “Though, this is inconsistent with what you said earlier.”

Hux stiffened in his seat. He could feel the bonds at his wrists press painfully into his flesh; he was certain that his skin had broke beneath their sharp edges. “Explain.”

“Before, you told me that you think your inferiors should sacrifice everything, including themselves, for the sake of the First Order. You said something similar to this just now, which leads me to believe that, in this, at least, you are telling the truth. But, interestingly enough, you previously stated that you believe this philosophy applies to you as well. Now, however, you say that you are irreplaceable and therefore, not disposable.” Cruelly, Jenran said, “This leads me to conclude one of two things: either that you just had a sudden change of heart, or you lied. Of course, the latter is the much more likely option.”

Hux suddenly felt quite cold. Aware that he had been caught in his dishonesty, he hissed, “Don’t act as though the entire First Order High Command does not feel the same way I do.”

With a shrug, Jenran said, “This isn’t about the rest of the First Order High Command, is it? This is about you.”

“I just find it very suspicious that this, which has never been treated as a serious transgression priorly, is suddenly being regarded as a crime. What are we—the Resistance? The New Republic?” Hux’s face twisted into a sneer. “The First Order has never cared about this kind of moralistic nonsense before. What has changed?”

“Not very self-sacrificial anymore, are you?” Jenran smirked. “I appreciate it though; honesty is the best policy, as they say.” Then, with a matter-of-fact tone, he said, “The reasoning is simple: the Supreme Leader has said it is a crime, and therefore, it is a crime.”

“That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard,” Hux growled.

Jenran didn’t dignify his insult with a response. Instead, he only said, “But that’s beside the point.” He sat down on his chair, leaning back against the seat. “Just now, you said something very interesting. You stated that you were suspicious that ‘this’, which you claim has not been seen as a transgression before, is now a crime. Can you explain what you meant when you used the word ‘this’?”

Hux glared at him. “I invoke my right to remain silent.”

To his surprise, Jenran laughed hard. “You are very lucky, Hux,” he said, once his laughter settled. “That I was given explicit orders by the Supreme Leader on what sort of interrogation I was not allowed to pursue with you. Meaning, whether by Interrogator droid or trained professionals, I can’t exactly force you to talk.”

“No torture, then? How fortunate for me,” Hux commented dryly, though, privately, he was genuinely puzzled by the limitations that Ren had set out. Why would he do this? What purpose did they serve? Still, he said with partially feigned confidence, “So the entire ‘right to remain silent’ is a lie for most prisoners, as I expected.”

“It’s not a lie,” Jenran said pleasantly. “They do have the right to remain silent, technically. Doesn’t mean we won’t find ways to get them to... willingly talk in spite of it.”

“So, torture.”

Jenran smiled. “As you said, we aren’t the Resistance or the New Republic. We prefer order and justice to their idealistic morals. And naturally, our methods are more effective than theirs.” Now leaning forward in his seat, he continued, “But as I said, I can’t make you talk due to the Supreme Leader’s commands. But that’s fine. I’ll talk instead. You can just listen.”

Hux scowled at him.

Jenran ignored it. “Now, let’s go over what had happened again. You were in the Main Control Room, where you realized what exactly the Resistance was planning. You were desperate and scared. You realized that it was too late to save your inferiors, but you also knew that it wasn’t too late to save yourself. Fearful for your own life, you fled—”

“I was not—” Hux hissed.

“I’m talking here. Do not interrupt me.” Jenran’s voice was firm. It was only after Hux closed his mouth in reluctant silence did Jenran continue, “Fearful for your own life, you fled to Snoke’s throne room where you knew there would be an abundance of escape pods.” His eyes were dark as he said, “You called this luck, but that was a lie. You were the first to realize what was going to happen, and you acted accordingly to save yourself. This is no surprise, considering that your personal philosophy essentially renders your inferiors disposable and replaceable, with you being the complete opposite.”

“That’s not true,” Hux protested. He shifted uneasily in his seat; at least as much as he was able to. The bonds at his wrists were becoming impossible to tolerate, and his hands were starting to tremble.

He hoped that Jenran didn’t notice his obvious weakness, but of course he did. The man’s gaze trailed downwards, taking note of his subject’s clear discomfort, and focused on his shaking limbs. Hux felt humiliation burn angrily in his chest, and he had to resist the urge to shamefully look away.

“Hux,” Jenran said, his voice gentle now as though he was talking to a frightened child. “It’s understandable that you were afraid; after all, we are all wired to be terrified of death. And you are not the first person to have acted upon this fear. While a mere officer might have been shot on the spot for his treason, you are a general. You yourself told me that you are irreplaceable, and, to a certain extent, that is true. Not many have your talent and ambition, and your sway over a large portion of our soldiers and troopers is undeniable. Even if the Supreme Leader wanted you executed, it would not be an easy task. Also, as you said, we are the First Order, not the Resistance. This means that, for the most part, your mistake is not a major crime to us. Is it not natural that we would celebrate the survival of a valuable general rather than mourn the deaths of unimportant officers and stormtroopers?” His voice smooth and almost hypnotic, he continued, “I am certain that our Supreme Leader is only having me interrogate you to ensure your loyalty to our cause; nothing else. Why else would he specifically tell me not to use force to make you talk?” He deliberately paused here, before saying good-naturedly, “So, why don’t we get this ridiculous situation over with? A simple confession, and all of this will be over.”

Had Hux been a lesser man, he might have believed a quarter, or even a half, of what he had just been told. Perhaps, if he was not as familiar with Ren as he was, the little speech Jenran gave might have convinced him that any repercussions for what he was accused of would be reasonable. But as it stood, he wasn’t convinced; he was too aware of Ren’s irrationality to think he’d be as sensible as Jenran was making him out to be.

“Agent,” Hux said, his calm demeanor surprising even to himself. “How stupid do you think I am? Do you honestly believe that I will confess to a crime when there is no evidence for it?”

Jenran looked momentarily shocked, though he quickly hid his surprise with a false, kind smile. “Hux, you are far from stupid; I have never thought otherwise. I am just trying to help you. And, we do have evidence, as I addressed previously during our—”

“But no hard evidence,” Hux broke in, a mocking smile stretching across his face. Despite the pain in his wrists and his exhaustion, he could feel his confidence surging back. “You may have proof that I left the main control room at a critical moment, but that can be chalked up to mere coincidence. There is no definite evidence that I had any intention to abandon my men. Because if there was, Ren would not have made you interrogate me to confess that I did.”

Jenran stared at him for a second or two, as though unable to believe what he had just said. Then, comprehension came to him.

“So you refuse to confess, despite everything?” The emotions in Jenran’s eyes were unreadable.

Hux raised his chin. “I admit to nothing. You will get no confession out of me.”

He expected many responses to his bold statement, but the one that Jenran actually gave was not one of them. Not even close. To his shock, Jenran burst out in laughter once more, as though he heard a particularly funny, if not a little mean-spirited, inside joke.

“Very well,” Jenran said. “If that is your choice.” He didn’t seem bothered at all, which heightened Hux’s nerves. After all, he knew men like Jenran—they abhorred failure, and they didn’t give up, at least not as easily as this. They pushed through to the very end, until they either got what they wanted or got crushed in the process. So why…?

“That’s it?” Hux asked, genuinely confused and a little lost. “You… are just going to leave it at that? You’re going to accept my refusal to confess?”

“I told you; I’m under very specific orders. I can’t make you talk.” Jenran shrugged uncaringly. Then, with a dark glint to his eyes, he said, “Before, I had called you lucky because of the limitations that have been placed on me. Now that I think about it, however, I am doubtful that ‘lucky’ is the appropriate word, taking everything into consideration.”

Hux felt something ominous in those words. He didn’t like it.

“What do you mean?” he asked him, his eyes narrowed.

Jenran didn’t answer. Rather, he tapped the screen of the datapad he was holding twice, and immediately, a single door at the far-left corner of the room slid open. Two stormtroopers walked through.

“Escort him to his prison cell,” Jenran ordered them, not looking up from his device.

“Prison cell?” Hux repeated, outraged. “You are going to lock me up like a common prisoner?”

“Not me,” Jenran said, sounding apathetic. “The Supreme Leader did. I’m just doing my job.” Then, looking up from his datapad to meet Hux’s eyes, he drawled, “Don’t tell me that you actually thought you’d be returning to your nice, fancy quarters after this.”

Hux glared at him, but Jenran went back to tapping at his datapad. The bonds at his wrists withdrew, which provided momentary relief, but when Hux looked up, he saw the two stormtroopers looming over him—one holding a blaster rifle, the other holding handcuffs. Aware that resistance would be pointless, Hux was reluctantly compliant as the stormtroopers handcuffed him, though he did flinch when the metal pressed against his sore, raw wrists.

He stood up, his legs feeling a bit weak after being seated for so long. And as he was led through the door, he heard Jenran’s voice echo after him.

“Good luck, General,” he said, for the first time calling Hux by his title. “I’d wager that, sometime in the near future, you will wish you had confessed this day.” Then, after a brief pause, he said, “Though, I am unsure if it even would have mattered.”

And with those foreboding words, Hux heard the resounding noise of the door sliding shut behind him.

The prison cell that Hux was incarcerated in was small and dimly lit with smooth black floors and dark gray durasteel walls. There were no bars from which he could look through, and the only openings—the door and a closed, slot-like device that he assumed a droid could move through—were sealed completely shut.

Hux, in other words, was completely locked in. He saw no clear ways of escape, and, despite the fact that he hadn’t even considered escape as an option, it still left him feeling decidedly helpless and trapped.

There was a small bed, which he discovered was miserably hard, pressed against one side of the cell. After properly looking at it, Hux found it staunchly secured to the floor, making it impossible to move. In a far corner of the cell, there was a toilet and a single shower head attached to the wall. The toilet was sufficient enough, and the shower head would have been as well had it spouted anything but painfully frigid water (a fact that Hux learned when he found there was no option to control water temperature or pressure). What was also truly uncomfortable with these amenities was the fact that there was barely any concealment offered to the person using them; certainly, there was a single half wall that partially closed them off from the rest of the room, but there were no doors or locks ensuring total privacy for prisoners. And while this was to be expected, it did not make things any more pleasant for him.

Hux circled around the cell, feeling restless and cold. Not only was the prison kept at an uncomfortably cool temperature, but his greatcoat had also been taken from him. Despite one article of his clothing being confiscated, however, he was not given prison garb to wear and he was still allowed to keep his sleek black uniform. Although this was definitely a good sign (that hopefully expressed the briefness of his current imprisonment), his uniform was definitely not adequate enough to stave off the chilliness of the air. While there was a blanket on the bed that he could use, he found its unpleasantly rough, thin fabric to be much more uncomfortable than warm, and, consequently, he decided to not bother with it.

But, the cold was at least tolerable. His boredom, on the other hand, was not as much. It must have been hours since his interrogation had ended—though he wasn’t entirely sure as there was no chronometer in the cell—and he was left with quite literally nothing to do. How did prisoners stand this for days, let alone years, on end? It was mind-numbingly dull, especially for him, who always had something to do or think about, and he actively hunted for some sort of mental stimulation. It was difficult—after all, the four walls surrounding him were completely solid, lacking the bars that most standard prisons possessed. The reason for this was simple: the prison block he was in—the one meant for traitors—was designed to keep those within it completely isolated.

Growing tired of walking around aimlessly, Hux leaned against the half-wall near the shower, releasing an audible sigh. The fact that he was kept in the prison block meant for traitors, while understandable, was quite insulting. Of course, Hux wasn’t a traitor. Maybe there was some truth to what he was accused of, but there was no denying that, under Snoke’s reign, what he had done wouldn’t have been an offense at all. In fact, Ren killed many individuals that were loyal to the First Order without thinking twice. He had a particular tendency to murder stormtroopers that happened to pass by him during one of his temper tantrums, which had always caused Hux much frustration.

So, for him to lay these charges against Hux… what were his intentions? To get Hux out of the way? Surely he would have just offed him if that had been the case. Undoubtedly doing so would have caused repercussions on multiple levels; more power vacuums, heightened doubts towards his leadership, and perhaps even mutiny amongst Hux’s most loyal men. But, to consider these consequences would require Ren to think before acting, which Ren never did. So, with that in mind, if he only wanted to rid himself of a pesky obstacle, wouldn’t he have simply killed Hux rather than go through the trouble of doing all this?

Or, was Ren finally gaining some perspective and reason?

The idea was preposterous, especially since Hux himself had been prepared to shoot Ren point-blank the moment he found him unconscious and Snoke dead. He had been well-aware that there might’ve been consequences for his actions, but he had decided that those repercussions were far outweighed by the benefits to be gained by killing Ren. And so, Hux had raised his blaster pistol at Ren and placed his finger on the trigger, with the intent to shoot.

(He failed in actually doing it, of course, since Ren woke up, but still.)

Therefore, it was difficult for Hux to believe that Ren could possibly have more restraint than he did in a similar situation. But it would explain, at least partially, why he didn’t just murder Hux at the first chance he got.

Hux furrowed his brows, perplexed. He didn’t understand. But Ren was hardly delicate in these matters, and Hux was certain that he would eventually slip and reveal the purpose behind all this.

All he had to do was wait.

As it turned out, waiting was, in many ways, incredibly painful. And, as the minutes (perhaps, hours, surely hours?) dragged on, it grew more and more impossible to tolerate.

Hux was good at waiting. He was also generally patient; his years of subservience to Snoke attested to this. But, left alone in a small prison with nothing to do, see, or listen to, with no means of checking time and no knowledge of when the monotony would end…

It wasn’t pleasant. Not at all. It left him, briefly, wondering as to why it was so silent. Of course, his cell was designed to isolate the prisoner kept within it, but surely, surely, he would be able to hear something other than the sound of his own breathing, the noise of the mattress creaking underneath his weight, the reverberation of his footsteps against the hard, smooth floor…

Hux had briefly considered sleep to fill in the tedium of his imprisonment. He was quite tired, and the idea became increasingly tempting to him as time passed on and the absolute dullness of his cell was changing from unbearable to an utterly agonizing.

But, not only was the prison bed uncomfortable to lie on, the idea of being vulnerable was deeply unsettling—and even terrifying—to him. This was, undoubtedly, caused by his own experiences growing up being surrounded by people who were powerful, power-hungry, or, perhaps what was more dangerous than either of those, both. Indeed, Hux had a very intimate relationship with assassination; as a youth, he had been raised on stories of it. These stories became a reality, when, as a child, he sometimes (not often, but enough to make an impact) woke up to news of formidable, seemingly indestructible men he knew—or knew of—being killed.

This was, admittedly, traumatizing to him. But Hux was adaptable, strong, smart. Despite the expensive suits, paper-flimsy smiles, and fine Nabooian wine, he understood that, in some respects, his civilization was not much different than the wilderness. It was just as brutal, just as unforgiving, just as raw; the only difference was that, in the place where he grew up, all of the ugliness was hidden behind a thin veneer of something saccharine.

Hux learned fast. He learned what power was, and how to achieve it. Accordingly, as a young adult, he took matters into his own hands to ensure that it was his.

And, that very next morning, it had been his father’s name on the lips of women and men with faces twisted in feigned, sugary-sweet grief.

While his father’s death was nothing but advantageous, it did make Hux realize something.

Life, he found, was feeble. Easy to end. Even those that seemed indestructible were a single blaster bolt away from their grave.

It was why, now, he was a light sleeper with a blaster pistol always tucked beneath his pillow. Still, even drastic measures such as that only made the uncomfortable vulnerability of sleep into something moderately bearable for him. But here, he had no weapon. Here, he had no defense against potential danger. And, despite himself logically knowing that had Ren wanted to kill him so quickly, so neatly, he would have done it already, the very idea of sleep while in Ren’s mercy left ice in his veins.

And so, unwilling to be in a more vulnerable position than he already was in, Hux summoned all of his willpower and staunchly remained awake, exhausted, and agonizingly bored.

Until he heard the sound of footsteps.

Hux immediately froze; these were the only noises from outside his prison cell that he’d heard since the stormtroopers that escorted him had left. He was hyper-aware of the way the steps echoed, and how the steady click-click of shoes against a smooth, polished floor grew louder as the person approached.

After what seemed like a near eternity, the footsteps stopped right outside his cell. Hux’s breath caught in his throat. Excruciatingly slow, the heavy door slid open, and a shockingly bright white light entered and filled the formerly ill-lit cell. Hux, who had spent (assumingly) hours in almost complete darkness, was momentarily blinded by it. Still, even before his eyes grew accustomed, he already knew who it was.

Because, despite how the light impaired his sight and briefly forced him to squint, he immediately recognized the person who stood right in the center of his diminished vision. Those broad shoulders, that powerful and lean body, the shift in the atmosphere from absolute tedium to something intrinsically darker…

And Hux smiled, feeling scornful.

Ren. Of course.

“Finally here to see your prisoner?” He did not bother hiding his sneer.

Now that his eyes had become adapted to the light, Hux could look at Ren properly. But, to his shock, the man looked completely and absolutely unhinged. His skin was unhealthily pale, his black eyes crazed like a rabid dog’s, and his hair even messier than usual. He did not look sane in the slightest. The darkness under his eyes was even more pronounced than it was yesterday, and he had clearly slept just as little, if not, even less, than Hux had. Hux chalked his current state up to the (presumed) failure of his little trip to Skywalker. Ren’s lips were upturned into a nasty smile, but the feigned arrogance of the expression was clear.

“Of course,” Ren said. “What kind of leader would I be otherwise?”

His speech was surprisingly calm despite his off-putting appearance. This put Hux at unease; Ren never kept his composure for long. He would, inevitably, blow up, and Hux did not want to be around to see it.

Though, it wasn’t as though he had much of a choice in the matter.

“You had me arrested.” It was not a question.

“I did,” Ren agreed. Then, languidly, he said, “You must understand, General. It’s nothing personal. But I know that there is growing dissent in the First Order, and, in order to crush it, I need to be harsh on transgressions—both minor and major ones. Please don’t be too offended.”

“Oh, I would never.” Hux’s voice was dry.

Ren didn’t acknowledge the sardonic edge to his voice. Instead, he looked at Hux, almost curiously. “You look well,” he commented, his gaze trailing down Hux’s face to rest on the bruises that he himself had inflicted.

“Thanks to you, I suppose,” Hux said coldly, straightening his posture. Then, snidely:  “Though, I don’t think that I can say the same to you, Supreme Leader! I admit, you appear a little worse for wear. Did something happen with Skywalker?”

And, for a very brief second, there was fury simmering in Ren’s eyes. Hux felt instinctual fear trickle down his spine at the sight of it.

Perhaps it wasn’t the most ideal time to bring up Skywalker, especially considering the possibility that it might make Ren fly into a rage that may, very well, end with his lightsaber burning a ragged hole through Hux’s throat.

“Skywalker is none of your concern,” Ren said, a warning resting heavy in the tone of his voice. Hux, wisely, chose to heed it.

“Maybe not,” he conceded. Then, deciding to tread in less dangerous waters, Hux said, “I suppose, like my arrest, you ordered for that interrogation as well.”

If Ren noticed the deliberate change of subject, he didn’t react much to it. The anger in his gaze did, however, seem to lessen.

Most likely by the reminder that I’m his prisoner, Hux thought dryly.

“Yes, I did.” Ren looked at him, considering. “How was it? I had told Agent Jenran to be gentle with you.”

“Gentle,” Hux repeated, a scoff in his voice. “Yes, I was wondering about that. And by ‘that’, I mean, specifically, why you prohibited him from having me tortured.” Then, sounding more tense than he would have liked, he demanded, “Why?”

Ren only watched him with a steady gaze. “Sounds like a pressing issue,” he agreed. “But, no matter the reasoning behind it, the fact remains that my intervention spared you from a great deal of pain.” Then, with an unpleasant smile across his face, he said, “You should be grateful.”

“You didn’t answer my—”

“Ah, but I don’t have to, do I? I’m your Supreme Leader; I can say whatever I wish.” Ren’s eyes gleamed. “But, all things considered, remember what I said about gratitude.”

“All things considered?” Hux glared at him. “I would ask for an elaboration, but I suppose it would be a waste of breath on my part.”

“How needlessly hostile.” Ren didn’t look angry by what he said. “I was only referring to the fact that… considering that you are my inferior, and that any defiance from you would only result in bad things for you… the smart choice here would be for you to do as I say.”

“Bad things,” Hux repeated, his lips curling into a snarl. “How lovely—a subtle threat.”

“But an effective one. And one that I am willing to enforce.” Ren’s smile turned cruel. “Now, about that gratitude...”

This is not worth a fight, Hux had to remind himself. This will not be the hill that I die on.

Letting his hatred bleed through his words, he ground out, “Thank you.”

Ren’s dark eyes glittered. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Was that so hard?”

Hux glared at him, and Ren looked amused.

“Well, I suppose it was, judging by the way you’re looking at me. But it really shouldn’t be. Taking into account how obstinate you were during the interrogation, you would have faced quite profound torture at the hands of some of our experts. You should be glad to know that, thanks to me, you avoided that fate.” Then, smiling, he said, “Don’t you agree? Don’t you agree that you should be a little bit more appreciative of my efforts?”

Hux felt a surge of fury rush through him at the words.

“You imprison me,” he snarled. “You have me interrogated. And you have the gall to make yourself out to be my savior? The nerve to think that I should be thankful? Do you even understand the words that are coming out of your mouth?”

There was no warning before an invisible pressure jabbed, hard, into Hux’s stomach, leaving him gasping and clutching his abdomen; even when the Force retreated, the impact still left him breathless. He heard footsteps, and suddenly, there was a shadow looming over him. Ren was standing right in front of him, his eyes smoldering with crazed fury. Hux had to resist the urge to back away.

“First,” Ren hissed. “When I ask you a question, you answer. Understood?”

Hux looked up, and glared at him defiantly. In response, Ren slapped him across his face, hard enough to snap his head to the left. The action forced Hux to to divert his gaze, and it left his already bruised cheek stinging.

“Understood?” Ren repeated.

“Understood,” Hux growled. Then, meeting Ren’s furious gaze, he said, with a snide sneer, “Supreme Leader.”

Ren’s face twisted in anger. “Yes, regarding that.”

Here, Hux felt fingers twisting into the smooth black material of his uniform near his chest. In a powerful movement, they tugged him forward, so that he was almost nose-to-nose with Ren, whose eyes were filled with a black fire.

“Second,” Ren said. “I know your thoughts. So when you pretend to be subservient, it’s fucking annoying because I know—I see—on the inside, you’re still an obstinate prick.”

“What a brilliant analysis of me,” Hux said dryly. “Truly nothing can escape your notice.”

Rage flared in Ren’s expression, and Hux could feel his throat dry up at the sight. But instead of lashing out in violence again, Ren released him and took a single step away, the anger in his eyes fading into a thoughtfulness that left Hux uneasy.

“You know,” Ren said. His voice was quiet, but there was a strange lilt to it, one that instantly set Hux on edge. “I have never hated someone as much as I hate you. Even now, even when I’m more powerful than you in every way, I still hate you. It’s strange. I had thought that, now that our rivalry has in nearly all ways ended, I would feel completely and utterly indifferent to you. And, I admit, for a short while I did; for a short while, I honestly barely gave a shit about you. But, during that time, there was her with me. And she… I believed that she understood me. She made me feel, even briefly, whole again.”

Her? Hux’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Who was he talking about—his mother? As far as he was aware, Ren had no close connection to any woman other than her…

…But that wasn’t true, was it? There was the scavenger girl—Rey—who, for reasons Hux could not even guess at, held some significance to Ren. Or didn’t she? As far as Hux was aware, the only relationship that they shared was through that secretive offer Ren had given her and the fights that they’d had, which had been settled by blows of lightsabers.

But that was it, right? Hux could hardly imagine that, if she was even a fraction of how self-righteous members of the Resistance tended to be, she’d give Ren any time of her day.

Hux said sarcastically, “How romantic. You should craft poetry about it.”

“Romantic?” Ren spat out, as though the word was particularly disgusting. There was almost something maniacal to his expression here, and Hux had to fight back a shiver. “It was more than that. So much more. There was something between us—something bigger than both me and her, hanging in the balance. And she willingly destroyed it. She and I, we could have changed the course of the galaxy!” Then, sounding absolutely deranged, he snarled, “But now, she’s gone, and there’s an emptiness in my soul where she once was. She occupied a space there that was too large for her, too great. I haven’t been able to think straight since.” He growled furiously, “I need to rid myself of that void. But no matter how much I meditate, the scars she left on my spirit, my being, won’t leave! She ruined me!”

Hux could only watch, dumbfounded, Ren as he spouted verbose, over-emotional nonsense that reminded him the way entitled schoolboys whined when things didn’t go their way. Is he an idiot? he thought, genuinely put-off.

Deciding that someone had to be the sensible one in this prison cell, Hux asked calmly, “This woman that you’re talking about is the scavenger girl, isn’t it?” Ren, who honestly looked like a madman, didn’t respond. Hux took this as an affirmation and continued, with a sharpness to his voice, “Think, for a moment! Did you honestly believe she would abandon her foolish ideals for you? She’s in the Resistance! Did you really think you would find someone who even remotely understands you there?”

“I thought she was different.”

Hux had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, she wasn’t. And she never will be.”

His shoulders sagging and rage weakening, Ren admitted, “I know.” He looked away, and Hux had never seen him look so vulnerable. “For the longest time, I had… felt torn apart. Then, she showed me compassion. And I believed it. I was ready to share everything with her. But, at the most critical moment, she abandoned me.”

Hux was, for a second, stunned. It was strange and uncharacteristic of Ren to show such weakness to him. He struggled to come up with a reason as to why he would do so, but he was left feeling puzzled more than anything else.

Ren’s mission to Ahch-To must have something to do with this, Hux decided. After all, while Ren was clearly emotionally affected by something for quite some time, which was made especially evident during the Battle of Crait, he was never this bad. So, Hux’s speculation was definitely possible, but it still left him wondering what could have happened during his journey to Skywalker that would impact him so profoundly.

Carefully concealing his own pensiveness, Hux looked at Ren dryly. “What a surprise.”

“I know I expected too much from her,” Ren told him fiercely. “I’m not stupid.”

If you say so.

Ren must have heard Hux’s sarcastic thought, because his eyes narrowed. “In hindsight, I realize that she wasn’t enough. But, that doesn’t mean that no one is.”

Hux was, for a moment, confused. “What do you mean?”

And, then, Ren leaned forward, his expression distorted into something distinctly psychotic. “She couldn’t give herself fully to me; her support and compassion were not unconditional. But when she was within my grasp, she made me complete in ways that I have never felt before. It’s only because she was given the opportunity to fly away like a skittish bird that she did. If she didn’t leave, I would still be whole, and she would still be mine.” Then, his eyes still crazed, he said, “But, doesn’t that simply show I need someone—someone who would give themselves fully, irrevocably to me—who could fill cracks and gaps in my soul that all my tormentors, including her, have left behind in their wake? Isn’t that the obvious solution? As long as I have that, I won’t feel like this anymore—I won’t feel as though there is a perpetual rip through my entire being.”

Hux was momentarily taken aback by the nonsensical drivel that was coming out of Ren’s mouth. Just how badly did the search for Skywalker leave him? he thought, shocked. But, Hux recovered quickly and gave him a scorching look. “Why, so you can yet again make yourself dependent on someone else for your happiness? How the fuck would that make things better? Are you incapable of learning from your mistakes?”

Hux could hardly understand what Ren was saying. He had spent most of his life trying his hardest to stop himself from being emotionally dependent on things that were outside his control. Of course, this failed, as he could not fight off his own human nature. But, for Ren to be actively pursuing it? Was he an idiot?

Then, Hux’s lips twisted into a sneer. Of course Ren was an idiot. But, this was the first time that he opened himself to him and revealed the impressive depth of his stupidity. The reason why he would do so was unknown even to him; it very likely had to do with his trip to Skywalker, but Hux assumed it was also because he was his prisoner and, now not seeing him as a threat anymore, Ren felt invincible and overconfident around him.

Of course, it was a mistake to assume that a kicked hound was not a dangerous one.

But was it really just an oversight on Ren’s part, that he was revealing all of this to Hux? He was crazy and unreasonable, yes, but, could this all be chalked to simple arrogance?

After all, for Ren to tell Hux his vulnerabilities… It didn’t make sense, even for him. In the past, he would have never shown weaknesses to an enemy that he had long wanted to prove superiority to. So then, why?

Why would Ren do this now?

Did he honestly think that, now that Hux was his prisoner, Hux would hesitate to reveal what he had been told in this prison cell? And yet, Hux honestly doubted that Ren would want his words repeated outside of this place, so why—?

Ah.

The horror that Hux felt was so cold, so jarring, that for a moment, it seemed as though his knees were going to buckle beneath him.

After all, a dead man couldn’t tell secrets. Ren didn’t need to fear anything if he had no intentions of him surviving this.

Hux suddenly felt quite weak.

Was Ren planning on simply killing him after all of this? Was this entire imprisonment simply a method by which he could murder Hux in a way that would both be deemed acceptable by the First Order and cause him great humiliation before his death? Because, Hux could see now that humiliation was evident; even if he did tell others of what Ren had said, would they even believe him, considering his current disgraced position? And, consequently, despite the instability of his place as the Supreme Leader, wouldn’t Ren be more trusted than Hux?

Hux looked at Ren, his body tense. But, the man only looked insane, uncomprehending of any of the turmoil occuring in his prisoner’s mind.

“Dependent? No, Hux, it’s not dependency.” Ren’s eyes were filled with crazed fervency. He looked absolutely and utterly unhinged, and it was, in all honesty, terrifying.“I have suffered for years under the false affection of my parents, of Luke Skywalker, of Snoke, of that worthless scavenger. But now, I’m the Supreme Leader of the First Order; I can have more than that. I possess the power to have what I deserve.” There was a remarkable conviction to his voice; he sincerely believed in the utter lunacy he was saying.

“You’re delusional,” Hux hissed. “Do you think that this will solve anything? Any person that you attach yourself to will leave you. Do you think they’d stay for someone like you? They’d leave in an instant after realizing how pathetically obsessive and insane you are!”

And, Ren froze at those words. For a few seconds, he even looked uneasy because of them. But then, suddenly, his eyes lit up, as though he had found a key to a problem he had long struggled with.

“Yes, leave,” Ren murmured. His gaze met Hux’s, and the look that he was giving him—dark, hyper-focused, intense—caused something cold to rush down his spine. “If the person was capable of leaving, that would be an issue, wouldn’t it?”

Hux swallowed, unsettled by it. Still, with feigned confidence, he scoffed, “Of course that person is capable of leaving. They have their own will; you can’t make them stay with you.”

Ren smiled, looking now particularly predatorial. The sight was rather alarming.

“In theory I can.”

“In theory, yes,” Hux said, his voice harsh. “You can physically keep them from abandoning you, but that’s not what you want, is it?” He narrowed his eyes. “You want them to, in your words, give themself up to you. You can’t force them to do that.”

Or could he? Hux had to push down his rising anxiety. He didn’t understand the Force very well, but he was aware that it could be used for the purpose of mind manipulation, though the extent of which was, apparently, debated even to this day.

So… was Ren capable of making someone surrender so much of themselves through his Force abilities?

Then, Hux felt a growing dread at the bottom of his stomach.

What else could Ren do with the Force? After all, Hux was at Ren’s mercy. Was it possible that all of this… was simply… going to be stolen from him?

That all his memories of this incident would be taken from his mind, and that all these weaknesses being revealed to him were given simply because Ren came with the intention of removing them?

The thought alone sparked fearful revulsion to crawl down Hux’s spine.

He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to forget. He did not want to lose any of this.

These were his memories. His. Ren had no right to them. No right.

But, in spite of the uncertainty and agitation that was currently transpiring in Hux’s brain, Ren only gave him a mocking smile.  

“Of course,” he said breezily. There was a lilt to his words that left Hux with the feeling that he wasn’t being entirely honest.

Growing anxious, he growled, “I don’t know what you’re planning, but if it’s anything as absurd as what you’ve been saying these past five minutes, it’s fucking stupid. Get over yourself, and get some help.”

At this, Ren looked at him with a curious expression. “I stay away for only a day, and here you are, being defiant again.” Tilting his head to the side, he said, “I’m not completely surprised, though; I’m aware of how stubborn you are. Thankfully, we have plenty of time to break you in.”

“Break me in,” Hux repeated, feeling cold all of a sudden. “What, am I some kind of animal to you?”

“No.” Ren smiled. “Though I suppose that means little to you.”

Hux tensed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Ren said. “You said during your interrogation that you view your men as people. Yet, you still abandoned them. That speaks very much of how much you value human life.”

So Ren knew what was said during his interrogation. Which wasn’t a surprise, of course, considering that he was also aware of how ‘obstinate’ Hux had been; but, now that he clearly knew details from the conversation, Hux was left wondering how much Agent Jenran told him. Or, if that even mattered, if the entire encounter was recorded.

“Oh, please, you hypocrite,” Hux spat out. “I’ve seen you murder people loyal to the First Order, and you dare accuse me of—”

“Of leaving thousands of men to die?” Ren’s eyes gleamed. “I don’t believe that I’ve done that kind of cowardly act. And moreover, you did commit the crime. So I have every right to accuse you of it.”

“Did I, now?” Hux gave him a frigid look.

“Of course you did.” Ren’s voice was resolute. “We have the recordings. We know you left the Main Control Room to Snoke’s throne room. We know you left your men to die.”

“Ah,” Hux said, a smirk twisting on his face, “but that’s not true, is it? Certainly, you have evidence that I left, but you have no proof of my intent of leaving. Agent Jenran said as much.”

Ren stared at him, his gaze even. “You act as though that is an issue.”

For a moment, Hux was confused. Then, comprehension came to him. “Ah. I suppose it doesn’t. You can accuse me of whatever you want, and, no matter how false the charges are, I’ll be punished nonetheless.” His lips twisted into a cruel sneer, words coming out arrogant with false bravado. “Trial or not, my guilt must have been already determined. So what will it be? Execution by hanging, by firing squad? Disposing of me in such a forgettable manner, as you must see fit for someone like me! Or, do you hate me so much that you’d do the job yourself?”

At this, Ren smiled coolly. “General, the First Order gives fair trials to all criminals, and you are no exception. I have no idea what you mean by this; I thought you were already aware of our policies.”

Hux looked at him in utter incredulousness and disgust. “Don’t play this game with me, Ren.”

Ren sighed audibly at this, as though disappointed. “There we go with that ‘Ren’ nonsense, again. I suppose yesterday wasn’t enough.”

“Nothing you do will ever be enough,” Hux bit out. At this, rage flared in Ren’s eyes again, and he could feel a barely-there phantom pressure around his neck, hovering but not quite touching.

“Be careful what you say next, Hux.” Ren’s words were simmering in rage.

At this, Hux raised his hands in a feigned placating gesture. “My apologies, Supreme Leader,” he said, in false deference. “I forgot my place.”

Ren smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, you did. But I will remind you.”

Hux braced himself for a violent outburst, but it didn’t come. Instead, Ren strode towards him, so close that he stood right before him, in arm’s reach. Hux had to fight back the urge to flinch.

“What are you doing.” Hux hoped that his unease didn’t show in his voice.

“I told you,” Ren murmured, his deep voice filled with malice. “I’m reminding you. You had told me, barely a minute ago, that we possess no evidence of your intent of leaving. And that is true. But, as I said, it doesn’t matter. Because, I easily can find out your intentions without possibility of deceit on your part.”

And finally, Hux understood. Immediately, a raw, visceral fear clawed up his spine, and cold horror rose to his throat. “N-no…” he whispered, an embarrassing stammer in his voice, but in that moment, he could hardly care. How could he, when he knew the terrifying, profound violation that Ren was going to do to him? He’s going to do this, and then he’s going to make me forget the only weakness I know he has with the scavenger girl. He’s going to take that away from me. Hux tried to back away, but before he could, there was a large, firm hand pressed against his forehead, and suddenly.

Pain.

There was a gracelessness to the intrusion; it was rough, purposely, without caution or carefulness. Meanwhile, Hux could think nothing, do nothing, other than feel Ren within his head, pulling him apart.

Hux tried to stop him. To block him out.

Stop doing that. You’re making it harder for both of us. Ren sounded irritated.

Shut up. Get out.

But every flimsy wall he put up, Ren destroyed.

I will, when I’m done.

Now, Hux was feeling a desperate kind of fear. You’ll break something. You’ll break me.

Ren’s response was loud, reverberating. Stop worrying. No, I won’t.

Hux knew the moment Ren found it, because, before, there was an aimlessness to his movements. Now, there was only certainty.

There it is. There was distinct satisfaction in Ren’s words when he reached forward and grasped—

The pain that Hux felt at this burned through him like fire. Ren’s action set everything within him alight, and everything was, for what seemed to be an eternity, agony. He wasn’t sure if he screamed, but his throat burned when he came back to himself, so he must have.

Hux was in so much torment that he had barely even felt Ren when he left. It hurt, yes, but it was nothing compared to what he had just experienced. Despite his own pride, Hux audibly whimpered when he was finally freed of Ren’s influence, feeling shattered. He recovered quickly, thankfully, though pain still rang within the confines of his mind.

“So you did leave in fear for your own life,” Ren said, sounding arrogant and certain of himself. He had taken no memories (as far as Hux was aware), and yet, the sensation of violation felt no less repugnant.

The intrusion still left Hux reeling, but, with the little energy he still possessed, he snarled. “I have the right to a fair trial, as you said. And, unfortunately, your little proof won’t hold up in court.”

“Have you forgotten your own words?” Ren’s voice was cruel. “I am the Supreme Leader. My word is law, and my word is truth. They know my Force abilities, and they also know what a snivelling coward you really are. The entire First Order High Command has been nothing but contemptuous towards you since my takeover. Recognize your position, Hux.”

Hux’s fingernails dug into the meat of his palms. “You asshole.”

Ren smiled, ignoring the insult. “But, don’t worry about a trial. After all, there will be quite some time before one happens anyway.”

Hux stared at him. “What do you mean?”

And, having the gall to feign an apologetic expression, Ren said, “This very much discredits your entire career, so we will have to evaluate it before taking any judicial action.”

Hux stared at him, outraged. “Then use your Force abilities to inspect it!”

Ren looked amused. “Do you honestly think you can handle that again? You’re shockingly stubborn to the point that it hurts you; I don’t want you to be permanently damaged. It didn’t need to be that hard, you know.” And, with a smile, he said, “Besides, to look at your entire career through the Force… can you imagine how difficult and tedious that would be? How much effort that would take on my end? I’m not wasting my own time doing that. I will have people look into it, and, if anything suspicious turns up, then, I will investigate myself.”

Hux suddenly felt cold. “And what about me?”

Ren raised an eyebrow. “What about you?”

“Where will I be during these investigations?”

At this, Ren’s black eyes turned malicious. “Ah. You will be in prison, of course.” Smirking, he asked, “Where else would we put a potential criminal?”

“How long?” Hux felt horror grow at the bottom of his stomach. “How long will this take?”

Ren shrugged uncaringly. “I don’t know. Depends.”

“Depends?” Hux repeated, furious.

“Of course.” Ren sounded as though he was talking to a child. “It depends on many factors; for example, how many men we have to spare for this investigation, how easily accessible files on you are, et cetera.” Then, with a sneer: “And, unfortunately, much of our resources will be spent on recovering after the destruction of the Supremacy, which was your responsibility and consequently, your failure. This may be a surprise to you, but, your personal case isn’t a priority to the First Order.”

“You—!” Hux began, snarling.

Ren smiled coolly. He took a step away from him, towards the exit. “On that note, I have my own duties that I need to resume. I had a lovely time speaking with you.”

With these words, Ren began to walk away, and Hux felt his outrage and fear grow.

“You can’t leave me here,” he spat out. “I am a general! I do not deserve this treatment!”

Ren stopped in front of the door, and he gave him a smile. “Of course I can. And of course you do. Good day, Hux.”

And with that, he left. The consolation of Ren leaving Hux with the knowledge of his weakness from the scavenger girl merely left him confused and anxious. There seemed to be only one way of Hux’s situation ending—with his demise, betrayed by his own thoughts that Ren had pried out of him in the most violating way possible.

The door left a resounding click as it locked, and Hux stared at it, the knowledge of his indefinite imprisonment settling poorly at the bottom of his stomach.

Chapter Text

Failure.

It was a feeling that Hux loathed. It was also one that he had an uncomfortably close and long history with. His father had branded him a disappointment the moment he had been born, and no matter what Hux did, no matter what he accomplished, no matter what he tried to do, he eventually came to the painful and unpleasant realization that he would be nothing but a disappointment in his father’s eyes. Initially, when Hux had been a small, too-skinny, weak child, this was a difficult fact to accept. His father had led his child-self to believe that all he had was him—and Hux, upon finding himself with no genuine company other than that of his pathetic father, falsely grew to accept and internalize that Brendol Hux’s words had been correct—that without him and his approval, he was nothing.

Still, there was always a part of Hux—the sensible, the ambitious, the defiant flame within him that could not be stamped out—that fought against such utter nonsense. Rae Sloane had only fanned this already-existent fire into something that not even Brendol Hux—whose entire career had been based on his mediocre skills at training youth into soldiers—could extinguish. And, by the time that Hux had grown to a dignified adult, he had dismissed all of his father’s words and opinions as irrelevant, because his father was irrelevant. By that time, the tactics that Brendol Hux was most renowned for had become outdated; the galaxy had moved too fast and become too modern for him, and he was too slow and stubborn and arrogant to catch up. That was his own error. And now, no one knew who Brendol Hux was anymore. No one remembered him. But they would always remember General Armitage Hux as the man who crushed star systems beneath the heel of his boot.

Or… wouldn’t they?

After all, it was undeniable that Hux’s most extraordinary success was also his most extraordinary failure. Starkiller Base, which was by far his greatest architectural creation, had ended in mere shrapnel and broken metal due to an weakness in the system that was achingly similar to that in the previous Death Stars. Hux, through his weapon, had destroyed the Hosnian system, but he could have done more. He should have done more.

But, instead, Hux did not learn the most obvious mistakes of his predecessors. This blatant show of incapability had been not only mortifying; it had also destroyed much of his reputation and aptitude in the eyes of others. It had almost resulted in his own destruction, but Snoke had kept him and given him command of his ship, the Supremacy. This action, while Hux doubted had come from Snoke’s kind or generous heart—for Snoke had none—had given him the ability to recover from the mistake he had made only a day previous with Starkiller Base.

And, yet again, Hux had failed. And he had become an embarrassment amongst his colleagues.

But, as terrible as it was, he had never been in this terrible—this pathetic—of a situation. Because as hated as he was by his older colleagues and underlings who remembered and lived through the Galactic Empire, it had never been as bad as this.

Because, this? This contemptible state, this deplorable condition he was in… it was an entirely new level that he had never thought that he would ever fall to.

After all, Hux was diminished to garbage here. He was labeled a cowardly traitor, a label which could have—depending on how fast the news spread and how secretive Ren decided to keep the matter—become known to most, if not all, of the galaxy. Hux had even less hope for the First Order, which must have quickly become aware of his disappearance and, consequently, the reason for it.

And so, this was the position that Ren had left him in: his name, spat on; his dignity, dragged through the dust. Hux was strewn aside to rot in a prison cell for an undetermined length of time, a fate that was unworthy for a man with as high a ranking as he had.

Undetermined. Or, perhaps determined. But, kept from this knowledge so that he could suffer in ignorance. That, in and of itself, was a form of torture. And a form of torture that was, perhaps, more effective than any other when it came to Hux. And, as the minutes and hours passed, he grew more and more aware of this.  His mind stretched thin at once, desperately searching for something to think about in the monotony of his cell and struggling to come to effective conclusions for the too-big problems that were plaguing his current situation.

“I will not let him destroy me,” Hux growled to himself as he sat on the edge of the hard, pathetic excuse of a mattress that he was expected to sleep in (and had staunchly refused to, so far). His cold, ungloved fingers were digging into the black fabric of his trousers. “I will not.”

He was trying very hard to come up with a plan of action for the position he was in. He found, however, that his options were very limited. There was escape of course, which had always in the back of his mind since the beginning of his imprisonment, but now it was becoming increasingly appealing as time moved languidly forward. Despite the temptation hanging before his eyes just begging to be grasped, there was a wide array of issues behind this seemingly obvious choice. Firstly, in what way would escape benefit him? On the surface, the answer was clear; he would be freed from this cold, small, dark prison cell and away from Ren’s crazed authority.

But, things were never so simple. After all, where would he escape to? Considering the long hatred between him and Ren, the bitterness between him and many of the other members of the High Command, the fast travel of news, the effectiveness of Resistance spies, and the high occurrence of leaks, chances were that his face was broadcasted all across the galaxy already. In First Order’s space, he would be known as a fleeing traitor; in the Resistance and New Republic’s, he would be seen as an instigator of genocide that had finally gotten—at least a small fraction of—the justice that he deserved. Either way, he would be seen as an enemy of the state—whichever state he ended up in, of course.

Moreover, assuming that he did find a mostly-unknown, hermit planet in an unaffiliated section of the Outer Rim Territories where he could take residence in without immediately being sent off to whichever larger authority demanded for him to be turned over, what then? Would he simply live in fear, so far away from his ambitions and goals that it would be near impossible to achieve what he once had? Yes, to run away would mean to abandon all that he had worked for with almost no chance of regaining it. It was unpleasant to think of, but what other option would he have in such a situation? He had allies in the First Order, yes, but how would he contact them without the entire operation being discovered by Ren, who could read minds? Of course, he could hope that there would be a revolt in the First Order before then, but that was relying too much on outside forces and mere luck for him to feel comfortable with.

So, he would end up in some third-rate slum of a planet, no longer a general, no longer powerful, no longer in control of anything but small things in his everyday existence. What kind of life was that? At least in prison there was a chance—at least by proximity, if nothing else—that he could be able to recover all that he had (hopefully only temporarily) lost by Ren’s rule and his own mistakes.

And of course, this entire question assumed that he would succeed in escaping this prison in the first place. And that was the second issue: how? How would he escape, if he were to make such a choice? During the many hours (maybe) that he had spent in this cell, he had found nothing to be of any aid. As expected of First Order prisons, everything was sturdy, immovable, and impenetrable. Physical force would not be of any help. Splicing could definitely work, but that was a talent that Hux had little to no skill in. Moreover, even if he got out of the cell, how would he remain undetected until he reached an escape pod, which were purposely placed very far from the prisons?

The fact remained that escape was not ideal. But, it should still be reserved for a desperate situation. Therefore, Hux should find a means to do it in case all went wrong and his current position turned dire. And, considering how absolutely insane Ren was, this was very possible.

But, Hux was, for the moment, at a loss. He had been in the cell for quite a while (though he was unsure how long exactly—most likely a handful of hours, unless he lost his sense of time completely) yet he was unable to come up with a single decent plan to flee. Still, he was confident that eventually a weakness would reveal itself. There was always a weakness to exploit—no architecture was without flaw, a fact that he himself had painfully discovered. And, upon escape from the cell (however that could be done), there must be a way he could get to an escape pod or a shuttle without being caught. The Resistance had done it so many times that it was almost insulting, so surely he too could figure a way out?

But again: escape was a last-ditch effort, not the ideal pursuit of action. What was he to do now then, since Ren was Supreme Leader and seemed to have lost the single pinch of sense that he had left? Also, Ren very likely felt vindictive against him, considering that he’d had him arrested (though, not tortured). Hux could imagine why—the two of them had been rivals for a good five years. That very well could have caused a grudge to ferment.

For a moment, Hux wished that the scavenger girl had done what Ren had wanted her to do. Then, Ren’s attention would be on her, and Hux wouldn’t suffer. Well, he would suffer a little bit—he had been thrown against a wall and Force-choked, after all—but the humiliating displays of violence that Ren had inflicted on him when he was indifferent to him was nothing compared to what Hux was dealing with now. Maybe. After all, there was always the possibility that if Ren had managed to keep the scavenger girl on his side, he would have simply found Hux to be no use to him and kill him off without hesitation. Perhaps that was the reason as to why Ren kept Hux alive now; after the scavenger girl had left him, he needed entertainment upon losing the object of his obsession.

So was Hux mere entertainment value to him? It wouldn’t be a surprise if he was. Though, if that was the case, then what would happen to him if Ren lost interest?

This caused momentary anxiety to spike at the bottom of his stomach before Hux shook his head, irritated with himself. This was useless. He was going in circles and making judgments without evidence. He was becoming upset about hypothetical scenarios. Being left alone with nothing but his thoughts was clearly not benefitting him in the slightest.

Hux had to look at his situation objectively; something that he was, normally, very good at doing. And, rationally speaking, it was best, for now, to play along. But, that did not mean idleness or surrender or whatever Ren wanted from him. Hux simply needed to bide his time, see Ren’s weaknesses, and…

And do what? Hope that Ren would let him go?

Because, that seemed extremely unlikely. The narrative explaining his imprisonment was already decided, and that narrative was that he’d abandoned his men to save himself (which, while technically true, was not something that did his reputation any favors). Even if those investigating his case miraculously deemed that his fleeing the Supremacy was the only error that he’d made throughout his career, it was still ultimately Ren who called the shots, and it was still Ren who decided which ‘truth’ would be broadcasted to the galaxy.

Fuck. Hux felt his fingers dig into his thigh, creasing the black fabric of his trousers. This was what it felt being stuck between a rock and a hard place, he supposed. But there must be a logical step that he could take… He did not feel comfortable with sitting around and putting his own well-being into Ren’s frankly irresponsible hands—and yet, he wasn’t exactly willing to make such a drastic decision like leaving behind everything and everyone that he had twisted and manipulated and charmed and destroyed to reach the near-top, if there was another option. Was there another option, though?

Before he could go on another tangent to try and think about an answer (or a non-answer, if what he had been coming up with was any indication) in regards to this very important question, his thoughts were cut off by the sound of a door sliding. His heart jumped to his chest at the sudden sound—Hux hated how hyper aware he was becoming of noises that weren’t made by him—and he immediately turned his head to see the small droid-sized sliding door open, through which a sleek black droid rolled in. He recognized it as a service droid, though it was one designed for the sole purpose of dealing with prisoners. It was short and compact; clearly built to fit the slot in the prison’s wall. While the droid looked, for the most part, familiar, there were two small, silvery metallic plates on its front that Hux could not recall ever seeing before. They looked uncomfortably like pupil-less eyes.

Hux eyed the thing suspiciously. He didn’t like droids very much, in spite of him having been raised by one. He liked the technology of them (as he enjoyed technology, engineering, and architecture in general) but he could not stand their… personalities. The First Order kept their droids, for the most part, quite practical, thankfully, and lacking much character through memory wipes. But Hux had come across some highly irritating non-First Order droids that were more autonomous than obedient, and they had the startling tendency to grate on his nerves.

This one, thankfully, seemed to be completely obedient and dedicated to its duties. Held in a thin, metallic grip that extended from the center of its front side was a single black tray. Hux immediately identified the multi-colored, pellet and bar-like shapes on it as food rations. Despite the fact that he hadn’t eaten even once since his imprisonment, the disgust this sight invoked in him was stronger than the emptiness of his stomach.

Indeed, he had no love for food rations. Upon him gaining a prestigious enough rank and the First Order attaining unimaginable strength and wealth in spite of all of the odds against it, Hux had been—for the most part—able to avoid them. During particularly bad months he didn’t have the luxury of being picky, but in those situations it was necessity that forced him to eat the hard, revolting garbage that didn’t even vaguely resemble food meant for human consumption. Contrastingly, here, Hux was discarded, left only with sustenance worthy for dogs. Meanwhile, the abundance of First Order’s resources—which were built up under his command—were left for officers ranked lower than him to partake in.

It was, whether intentional or not, a proverbial slap to the face.

“I don’t want it,” Hux snapped at the droid. It didn’t even acknowledge him, and instead merely deposited the tray on the floor before exiting the cell through the slot. The slot, Hux noted, was big enough for him to crawl through if he could find the opportunity to do so. But, it shut behind the droid decisively and swiftly—far too swiftly for him for escape through it. Moreover, he knew the droid’s model; it was equipped with defence and attack mechanisms. How would he get past those?

Despite how his stomach growled, pride clung to him like a vice. Hux knew it was foolish to refuse any sort of food in the position he was in, but he could not bring himself to give himself into his hunger and eat garbage, with his hands and fingers (for he could see no utensils on the tray), while knowing that his enemies and inferiors were feasting like kings in the wake of his own fall.

Indeed, Hux had self-control; he was not so desperate as to lose his dignity yet.

“You didn’t eat.”

There was a strange neutralness to Ren’s voice that Hux wasn’t particularly fond of. It didn’t suit him, and it certainly didn’t suit the overemotional, dumb image that Hux liked to craft of him in his mind. Moreover, after the insanity that he had spouted during their last encounter, the coolness underlying each word he spoke now was a jarring contrast.

“Did you really expect me to?” Hux asked, not even attempting to hide the bitterness in the tone of his voice as he sat, resolute, on the thin, hard mattress placed in the prison cell; he refused to stand for this farce of a Supreme Leader. Despite the fact that Ren situated himself right by the closed door of the prison cell, clearly expecting some kind of acknowledgement from Hux other than a single impassive question, Hux’s gaze remained straight ahead, stony and distant, focusing on the solid gray wall that stood in front of him, firm and immovable.

It was useless defiance, but Hux clung to it; he refused to give Ren the respect he felt that he deserved. It wasn’t as though the wall was very interesting to look at either; in fact, Hux hated it. He hated how it contained and caged him in this small space that was cold and stifling all at once, but it was better to look at than Ren, the man whose mere presence made the bruises on his face, neck, and torso throb in pain. The thought alone of Hux being in any close proximity to him caused both his anger and fear to flare up in equal measures. Despite how he carefully kept these feelings in check and concealed them from his cool expression, he was well aware that he could not truly hide any thought or emotion from Ren. This weakness, while extremely unpleasant to acknowledge, hindered him greatly in this predicament that he was in.

“You aren’t looking at me,” Ren said. He didn’t answer Hux’s question, but Hux understood, with a great amount of resentment, that he didn’t have to.

“Are you going to make me?” Hux asked tonelessly. Despite the nonchalance of his words, the idea of Ren’s alien power being anywhere near him sent something cold down his spine. After all, Hux had learned first-hand what kind of violation Ren could do to him with it. It had been the worst kind of violation as well—a violation of his mind, the seat of his rationality. It was, therefore, the part of him that he valued the most. And the fact that Ren was able to intrude into that place with almost no difficulty made him feel vulnerable and feeble.

Don’t think about this now, Hux thought, forcing back the unpleasant memory of Ren’s defilement to the far corners of his brain. Still, he could feel his heart pound in growing panic. Not while he’s here, at least.

“Do you want me to?” Ren countered.

No. “I don’t care.”

Ren was silent. Was he angry? Hux could not be sure, as he refused to give in and meet Ren’s eyes. But, if he was upset, he was very good at hiding it from his voice as he said breezily, “Such indifference! I admire it, but it would be a shame to see such poise only in words and not in action, wouldn’t it?”

With that, an invisible grip wrapped around his neck. Hux instinctively flinched, but the pressure was immovable and inescapable.

“Ah, ah,” Ren said, sounding gleeful. “Don’t look so uneasy, Hux. You do not care for this, correct?” His voice lowered into a cruel purr. “Because otherwise—if you do care—you would have blatantly lied to me, and I am certain that I had scolded you for being deceitful not long ago.” Then, with a deliberate pause: “Or was it long ago? Time sure flies, doesn’t it?”

“Your attempts at manipulation are unsubtle,” Hux hissed out.

“Manipulation? In what way?” Hux heard steady footsteps against the hard floor as Ren walked towards him. He could see his approach from the corner of his eye, and, without meaning to, his gaze flitted even further away. Hux almost cursed himself for revealing that he wasn’t as unaffected by Ren as he was trying to appear to be.

Then, ever so leisurely, the power encircling his neck trailed upwards—upwards over his Adam’s apple (Hux had to resist the urge not to swallow), across the bruises stretching around his neck like a particularly ugly collar, to the underside of his chin. The sensation of languid exploration by such an alien power sent something cold down to the pit of his stomach.

It could crush my windpipe, if Ren so desired.

And of course, this was not nearly the worst it could do. The Force affecting his physical being was nothing compared to what it could do inside of his mind, a fact that Hux came to realize hours ago (presumably). Of course, he had always known, to an extent, of what Ren was capable of. But, he had never been the victim of it himself, mostly due to Snoke’s protection. Now, however…

Now…

The mere sensation of the power rubbing over his skin—smearing his flesh with its foreign, mystical touch—created the irrational thought in Hux that he was being sullied by the contact. A shiver ran down his spine at the idea that it was invading him, passing through the skin and muscle and burning through his nerves so that it could reach his veins and pollute his bloodstream. In fact, the very air surrounding him seemed to be thick with the Force, choking him even without the pressure at his neck tightening, entering his lungs and defiling his brain. Hux knew that he was becoming increasingly hysterical, but he could not stop his growing agitation or the illogicality of his thoughts. Was it so implausible that Ren could be destroying him without him even being aware of it? Did he do anything when he entered his mind? Could he do something? Hux had heard of Jedi mind tricks, of course, but he did not know how powerful they could be.

Hux suddenly wished to look at Ren, if only to see if he was revealing anything on his face, as he often did. He used to hide this weakness with his mask, but of course, that mask had mysteriously disappeared and he was left vulnerable to Hux’s inquisitive gaze. At the thought of vulnerability, he felt a strange anxiety, for he was infinitely weaker than Ren in this current moment in nearly all matters. Then he wondered, a new nervousness surging forward and making him feel frazzled: was Ren aware of which direction his thoughts were taking? Hux didn’t feel him intruding, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t doing it covertly.

Ren, however, seemed to not have much interest in what was currently occurring inside the confines of his brain. Rather, judging by the sensation of the Force on him, Ren seemed to have an endless fascination with his neck—or, perhaps, an interest in what reactions such fascination would elicit.

Hux refused to play along. Even though he could feel Ren’s searing black gaze upon him, blacker than the room itself, he refused to give into his little attempts at intimidation.

It was then that the invisible power grasped at his chin and turned his head. Hux didn’t bother fighting it, for there was no point in wasting energy to do so. Ren didn’t force his gaze to meet his, but Hux, who not particularly interested in finding out how or if the Force could shift his eyes, finally and with great reluctance, faced Ren.

Ren, evidently, got some sleep while he was away, which meant that there must have been at least a span of a good few hours since his last visit to Hux’s cell. The darkness underneath his eyes was not as prominent. He looked considerably less insane (which was a good thing). He looked—and smelled—clean. There was still a pallidness to his features and a tired edge to his expression that hinted he wasn’t fully recovered from… whatever… condition he was in previously, but he didn’t look completely unhinged, which was a drastic improvement from last time.

“Better,” Ren said, looking both smug and satisfied. Then, his face twisting into something vicious, he continued, “Though, it’s troublesome that I had to make you turn your head at all. After all, I am your Supreme Leader, and the least respect you can show me is looking at me when I talk to you, don’t you agree?”

“My sincerest apologies,” Hux snarled, despite how his heart quaked pathetically at Ren’s words. The Force around his neck seemed to have dissipated, but that meant little when Ren could summon his power whenever and however he wanted and would face no consequences for doing so.

There was something cruel to Ren’s smile. “Please, Hux, let’s not pretend you actually give a shit about respect when it comes to me. I don’t think you’ve said a single honest thing to me on your own volition since you’ve been imprisoned here. And that’s a problem, I believe. Not that I’m surprised, of course—sincerity has always been an issue with you, even before I became the Supreme Leader—but it’s something that should be dealt with, nonetheless.”

“I’m surprised that you value honesty so much, especially considering that you can simply take it,” Hux spat out with great scorn. At these words, he felt a sharp burrowing past his skull—a memory threatening to resurface of his recent violation—but he quickly stifled it, not allowing the reminder of what had occurred with Ren to rise past the mental barrier he put up. He internally repeated: now is not the time.

“Ah, but that’s the problem!” Ren’s black eyes gleamed. He took a few steps forward so that he was within arm’s length from Hux. Hux, who was still seated on the mattress, kept eye contact without flinching. “I like truth being given to me willingly. If I have to take it… well, that’s efficient, but only in the short-term, really. However, it seems that our, ah, arrangement is no longer that.”

“An arrangement!” Hux repeated disdainfully. Then, curling his lips, he said, “Though, speaking of short-term and long-term and all that—I would not mind if, at least, I was told an approximation of how long this investigation will last.”

Ren’s smile was sardonic. “I’m sure you would.”

Hux gritted his teeth in frustration. “What kind of answer is that?”

“It’s not an answer, because you didn’t give me a question.” Ren gave him an amused look. His smile widening, he said, “Though, I might be more inclined to respond properly if you ask nicely for it.”

It was an appealing offer, and Hux, for a very brief second, was tempted by it. After all, his inability to keep track of time was not very pleasant for him. But he doubted Ren’s words; not only was he was in control here, he would also face no consequences for any deceit that he pulled on Hux. After all, in spite of Ren praising truthfulness and all that, Hux did not put it past him to lie for the sake of embarrassing and upsetting him. But above all, Hux refused to lower himself any further. If Ren wanted compliance, he would have to drag it out of him. And so, with pride tightening in his chest, Hux snarled, “I won’t beg.”

“Then don’t.” Ren shrugged carelessly. He added, almost offhandedly, “Though the deal still stands if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Hux said, speaking with more surety than what he was feeling.

Perhaps Ren sensed this, because he smirked. The blatant arrogance alone made Hux seethe and his hands clench at the mattress, his fingers digging into the cheap sheets. But he knew that lashing out would do nothing but hurt him, and so, he tried to carefully keep his anger under control.

“Supreme Leader,” he said coolly. Ren’s smile grew at the sound of his new title, and Hux had to resist the urge to act on his rising fury. “Why are you here? I understand that I am your prisoner, but it’s not very often that someone in as a high rank as yours would visit.”

“Well, it’s not very often either that a man of your rank is arrested,” Ren replied easily. “I mean—a general! When was the last time this has happened?”

When was the last time, indeed? It certainly wasn’t the first. Hux had witnessed firsthand some of his high-ranking rivals being dragged to prison cells for crimes that they did and didn’t commit; and he remembered that always, shortly after, he would hear news of their execution. He had taken great pleasure in this at the time, but now that he was in a similar position, that smug happiness seemed to have been swallowed up and left him dry.

Was the High Command celebrating his own fall? Were they hoping to fill the place that Hux’s arrest left absent? A sudden anxiety, once pushed to the recesses of his mind, surged forward. How was he being perceived? Were they insulting him, laughing at him? Normally this wouldn’t matter, but now, with him in this cell at Ren’s mercy alone, rotting away and having nothing in his control… the perception of him in the eyes of others felt like everything. After all, he was locked within this prison cell, hoping for his eventual freedom. What did this freedom mean? What was waiting for him? If, outside of this cell there was nothing but scorn for him, what could he do? The idea made him feel even more claustrophobic than ever.

“Do they know?” Hux asked, feeling as though something was stuck in his throat.

“They?” Ren repeated, but his eyes glinted knowingly. “I believe that you should be more specific.”

“The rest of the First Order,” Hux growled, too impatient to play Ren’s games. “The galaxy. Anyone other than us two.”

“Well, obviously,” Ren said. He took another step towards him. He stood almost in between Hux’s open knees, looming over him. For a moment, Hux regretted not standing up from his bed, but he refused to show weakness by doing so now. “A very visible presence within our ranks has suddenly vanished. I would need to have an explanation for this, and I have no reason to lie either.”

Hux expected this, of course, but the news still burned; something painful settling at the bottom of his stomach. He hadn’t eaten, yet he felt nauseous.

“How was the news taken?” Hux asked. His mouth was suddenly dry, and it made each word difficult to articulate. He shouldn't be as affected by this as he was. After all, Hux was well aware of what an arrest of a public figure entailed, and he knew that he would not be able to leave this—if he could leave this—unscathed. Yet, in spite of all this, the collapse of his career hadn’t felt real until now, now that the destruction of his image—as all fallen First Order members were subjected to—was confirmed. And while Ren was unreliable at best, Hux could not imagine him lying to the galaxy for his sake, so he found it likely that he was telling the truth.

“With shock, generally,” Ren said. Then, cruelly: “And a little more, depending on who you’re talking about.” He leaned forward, purring, “But no worries, Hux. What has happened to you is widespread and well-known at this point. You must be proud; you had always liked attention, after all.”

“I had never had any desire for this kind of attention,” Hux snapped. He could feel his hands shake, and he hoped desperately that Ren would not notice.

“I mean,” Ren said with some laughter. “You hadn’t been doing that great recently anyway. After all, your recent failures were so significant that it was impossible for even Snoke to cover up. So, although this news was received with surprise for the most part, the initial amazement did not last very long, I would say.”

“You seem to know much about how people have been taking this,” he said. The uncomfortably cool air was beginning to feel even more unbearable, and Hux resisted the urge to wrap his arms tightly around his torso in hopes of keeping warm.

“Of course I do,” Ren said, amused. “I have to keep note on how the First Order is perceived by the galaxy, especially since I have only recently become Supreme Leader. And now with a scandal such as this, I have to ensure that the First Order’s image is not too damaged by your mistakes.”

“My mistakes!” Hux repeated, hysterically. “Ren, do you hear yourself—?”

A grip at his bruised throat, tightening. This time not with the Force, but with a firm, gloved hand. Ren was looking down at him with cruel eyes.

“Supreme Leader, you mean.”

Hux choked and spluttered, yet it would not let up. His blunt fingernails clawed at Ren’s wrist, in hopes of being released, but to no avail, for his hand did not waver. Hux tried to push himself away, erratically using his elbows, but Ren’s grip on him only tightened as he fought back. And when Hux became particularly vicious, Ren took to joining him on the bed; he straddled his waist, leaned over him, and pressed his neck against the mattress brutally.

“I’m getting very tired of having to constantly remind you of this, Hux.” Ren’s voice seemed far away, distant. It was hard to concentrate, with how darkness seemed to be curling at the edges of Hux’s vision. Still, he could see the intense black gaze of Ren above him.

“P-uh-plea—” Hux forced out, desperate for release.

And then, to his immense relief, Ren did slacken his grip, allowing him to gasp for air pathetically like a fish out of water.

“Ah, so you can beg!” Ren said, sounding gleeful. “It seems that your pride means little in the face of death.” Tilting his head to the side, he asked, “Does it frighten you so much?”

“We all fear death,” Hux growled out, his voice hoarse as he attempted to regain his composure. He did not like the new position he was in, beneath Ren atop the flimsy bed he’d been given. But, with Ren’s hand still loose upon his bruised neck, the threat still hanging in the air, he knew it would be foolish to pull away.

Ren smiled cruelly. “Some more than others, it seems.”

Despite everything, Hux’s hackles raised. “It is common sense that a commanding officer has higher value than those of his subordinates! We do not have the talent and skill to spare in these times, when the Resistance—”

“Has been reduced to a group smaller and more pitiful than it had been when it had first formed.” Ren’s face was twisted into a sneer. “And do you really think your life exceeds that of thousands of men? What talent do you possess, Hux, that hasn’t caused our own undoing? Please, elaborate.”

“My skills in architecture and engineering—”

“—That accumulated in the creation of the Starkiller Base, which was destroyed shortly after its creation, leading to a loss of many resources and a waste of time.”

“It destroyed the Hosnian system!” Hux snarled.

“And it could have destroyed much more,” Ren said mockingly, “had you learned anything from the past Death Stars, from which you seemed to draw much inspiration from.”

This caused a cold kind of fury to fill Hux’s chest. “What are you accusing me of?”

“Nothing, besides the fact that your accomplishments are neither very impressive nor very original,” Ren said, sounding disgustingly smug. His legs were warm, pressed tight against Hux’s thighs, and his muscled torso seemed impossibly wide above him, too close and taking up too much space, leaving him feeling confined. Ren’s hand was still resting on his neck, the leather of his glove smooth and warm against his throat. “At least the inventors of the first Death Star were revolutionary in their creation. Yours is simply an updated, larger Death Star with the same exact flaw that destroyed the first. You improved it, certainly, but let us not pretend that you alone developed this superweapon when it is the creation of not only you, but many of the inventive forefathers in the Empire.”

Hux had to resist the urge to shift, in hopes of gaining more space from the man above him. Ren was everywhere, and it was more than a little overwhelming.

I can feel your pulse. A voice, foreign and invasive, broke into his mind. Hux gasped at the sensation, at the sound of it. It’s so fast. Are you that frightened?

The intrusion left Hux feeling queasy, but he refused to reveal any weakness to the man above him. There was a mean arrogance on Ren’s face. Hux gritted his teeth at the sight. No, he shot back, as if I’d be scared of you.

“This just shows how little you know of engineering,” Hux said, making sure to keep his expression cool. He would not show the fear Ren thought he was eliciting from him. “The first Death Star could destroy planets, yes, but my Starkiller Base destroyed systems. This is not a mere update, this is a creation of its own—”

“A creation that was destroyed as easily as the first Death Star was,” Ren said flippantly. “Really, Hux, out of all the things you… drew inspiration from… the Death Star, you might as well have fixed its most fatal flaw. Why must all of our superweapons have weak spots? You fall in line with the rest of the Empire’s engineers that couldn’t create anything to best the pathetic Rebellion. You are nothing special.” Then, with a chuckle, Ren said, “And speaking of weak spots, can you believe that one pilot, Dameron, was the one who exploited it? One would think that, after that man managed to destroy your precious little project, you would be able to at least recognize him.” Liltingly: “An emissary, Hux, really?”

This made Hux’s face heat up in embarrassment. There was not much justification there. “That was one mistake, but my talents in command—”

“One mistake!” Ren repeated, laughter in his voice. “That one mistake allowed the Resistance pilot to destroy one of our dreadnoughts! And, let’s not pretend that you only made one mistake, Hux. Do not forget your inability to take down the pathetic remains of the Resistance before they reached Crait!” He then drawled, “Your talents in command are clear. You were truly a brilliant general. The First Order has lost so much from your imprisonment.”

Hux trembled in fury. Maybe I had made errors, but they were not solely in my control, and I am not the only one responsible—

“So what?” Ren looked down at him scornfully. “You were the commanding officer, you incompetent idiot. Your job was to find success no matter the circumstances, even when things were not all in your control. You have done terribly at that, as you have not had a single success that has not ended in failure! It’s rather pathetic.”

The words burned. Hux snarled, “And you think that you are better? You, who could not take down a single fucking untrained scavenger, and who could not tell the difference between a Force projection and an actual man?” He then spat out, “You have no right to tell me what my failures are when you, yourself, have had no success at all—”

“No success?” Ren repeating, his black eyes set aflame with anger. “I have risen from being a weak child betrayed by my very own uncle and master into becoming the Supreme Leader of the First Order. My entire existence is nothing but my own victory.”

“Ah, but that’s not true.” Hux, despite his position, sneered. “Let’s be honest here. You were born to ‘heroes’ of the galaxy. You had everything given to you simply because of your parentage. In spite of this, you were so pathetically insecure that you needed Snoke to make you feel better about yourself. And then, you betrayed all that you had—for what? For power? For training? You have not achieved the latter, evidently, for your skills are less than those of someone who has never trained once! As for the former, you have achieved power purely by luck. Luck, indeed, that the girl had murdered, single-handedly, Snoke and all the Praetorian Guards in one fell swoop and, most likely out of pity, left you alive. It was luck that you were in the room before I was, for I would have—”

The hand at his neck tightened—not enough to choke, but almost. Hux immediately froze.

“You would have what, Hux?” Ren’s voice was thick with fury. “Killed me, as you had planned in the throne room when I was lying on the floor, unconscious? I felt it, you know. I knew what you intended to do.” At this, Hux could almost feel the color drain from his face. "But, you know what? Even if you were in the room with Snoke, you wouldn’t have been able to do anything, because I am stronger than you. Blasters cannot do anything to me; I would have taken you down easily.” Then, he continued maliciously, “Did you know that Snoke only kept you alive because you were useful and easily manipulated? Even he understood your patheticness.”

“You’re lying,” Hux managed to hiss through the hand that was threatening to cut off his air supply. “Snoke preferred me.” But, the words felt empty, even to himself.

Ren’s eyes were cruel. “If you believe that, then you are a fool, Hux. Do you know what he called you?” He leaned forward so that Hux could feel breath against his cheek when he purred maliciously, “He had called you a rabid cur.”

Hux’s eyes widened, shocked. He hardly noticed Ren’s grip on his neck loosening and then releasing entirely. “He wouldn’t—”

“He dragged you across the floor, quite literally,” Ren pointed out. “And he witnessed, firsthand, your failure. Why would he view you as anything but a particularly contemptible dog?”

Hux searched Ren’s expression in hopes of finding any signs of deceit, but he saw only a smug certainty there that left him feeling hollow. And in spite of the denial that he himself had voiced, he didn’t know if he believed his own words. Hux had never entertained the idea that Snoke liked him, but he had always striven to be favored by him over Ren. And although he had never deluded himself that Snoke had any particular adoration for him, he’d never imagined that the being he aimed to impress would insult him in such a vicious way, especially to Ren of all people. It was particularly painful because, of the five years that he had known Ren, Hux had always seen him as little more than a particularly dim-witted—though dangerously powerful—hound. Now, for this insult to be flung right back at his face, and by Snoke no less? Of course Ren could be lying, but there would be no way of knowing now since Snoke was dead. And as much as Hux tried to convince himself of Ren’s potential dishonesty, the words had dug their curved fangs into his brain, unwilling to unlatch.

A rabid cur. It should not sting as much as it did.

“It hurts you so much, that Snoke saw you negatively?” Ren looked down at him, amused. “I’m not surprised. You had always seen yourself as better than me, and you had always thought yourself as preferred by Snoke. It must pain you to know that these perceptions are not as true as you liked to think.”

“And do you think Snoke saw you as so much better?” Hux spat out, something primal within him wanting to hurt, just as he had been denigrated by Snoke. “Do you think he liked you?” With a sneer, he said, “You were useful to him. Had things went his way, he would have disposed of you.”

“I don’t care what Snoke thought of me.” Ren’s face above him was impassive; he had not risen from his position above Hux on the bed. But Hux saw a tenseness to his facial features; evidently, Ren was not nearly as nonchalant about the matter as he was attempting to seem to be.

“Do you want me to tell you something?” Hux leaned forward, a smirk set on his lips. “Snoke had wanted to train you. He told me this himself. Yet, he didn’t did he? Why do you think this is the case?”

“It doesn’t matter.” In spite of the words, Ren’s broad shoulders were rigid.

“He thought that you were a lost cause,” Hux sneered. “You weren’t even worthy of his training. Why else would he not train you?”

“You’re guessing,” Ren accused. “You know nothing of what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe I’m wrong,” Hux said, smiling. “But you don’t think I am, do you? Surely, surely, watching such a spectacular defeat would make even the most resolute lose faith in someone. After all, he had witnessed your loss at the hands of Rey—”

“Never say that name again,” Ren snarled, baring his teeth, his eyes lit with a crazed fire. There it was. Despite everything, Hux couldn’t help but feel a perverse pleasure in it. The cocky and mockingly cruel Ren from before was impossible to bear; at least this Ren was one that he was familiar with, one that he had—at least ostensibly—some power over. He felt no remorse when Ren’s hand returned to his throat, no doubt as a reminder. But Hux couldn’t be stopped now.

“The scavenger?” Hux’s voice was absolutely malicious. “Ah yes, I was wondering. What is so special about her anyway?”

“Nothing. Because she is nothing,” Ren bit out, furious.

“Yet, here you are being so affected by her.” Hux looked at him scornfully. Then, with a sneer: “Is it the fact that she has beaten you? Do you enjoy that? Do you like the feeling of being overpowered? I would not be surprised, considering how you’ve been so submissive for Snoke, a being who is infinitely more powerful than you, all these years like the obedient, pitiful mutt you are—”

The grip on his neck suddenly constricted, cutting both his air and his voice off completely. Ren brought his other hand up to join the first, and both hands were especially painful against Hux’s bruised throat. Although Hux did instinctively pull back in a useless attempt to escape Ren’s grasp, he had somewhat expected the attack this time. With a cold, measured expression that did not match the situation he was in, he met Ren’s impossibly black eyes with a defiance that seemed to make the rage in his gaze deepen.

“Obedient? Pitiful?” Ren hissed out. He lowered his head so that their noses almost touched. “The same words can be used to describe you.”

As terrible as the position he was in, Hux did recognize that not all was bad with it. After all, although he was beneath Ren on the bed,—and he refused to think about the implications behind this—Ren was exposing much of his own weaknesses. So, without much forethought, Hux recalled what he learned from the military academy and, with his right hand, reached for Ren’s own neck and jabbed his fingers into his throat.

Ren was not expecting Hux to attack him in turn and, his eyes widening in shock, he pulled away, shifting his weight as he did so. But, by doing this, his hold on Hux’s neck loosened, and Hux, with his other hand, grabbed one of Ren’s wrists and pulled, causing him to lose balance and topple over, undignified, to the bed. Hux was fast, and, taking advantage of his brief freedom from Ren’s hold, darted off of the mattress. He distanced himself from the bed before turning to face Ren, very quickly understanding the futility of what he had just done. Indeed, there was no way he could fully run from his captor within this prison cell, but him being able to best Ren in combat, even briefly, was satisfying.

Hux pressed his hand against his very bruised throat, privately wondering just how terrible it looked after so much abuse. His heart was pounding, and his legs felt more than a little weak.

Despite his situation, Hux smirked with feigned confidence. “Choking is beginning to get old, Supreme Leader,” he told Ren smoothly, attempting to hide his own frazzled nerves behind cockiness. “Creativity is not a bad trait to have.”

Ren, who had regained his composure, was now looking at him with dark, furious eyes from where he was on the bed. Hux felt something cold rush up his spine at the expression.

“You’re right,” he said, voice heavy with rage. “I should be more innovative, shouldn’t I?”

With a grace that was almost felinelike, (which, in and of itself is wrong, for how could a brute like that be graceful?) Ren stood from the pathetic little prison cot, which suddenly seemed quite small in scale next to his broad shoulders and powerful frame. His thick waves of black hair were a bit messy from the skirmish, but, for the most part, Ren looked unruffled by what had just occurred. This immediately heightened Hux’s uneasiness. Ren walked towards him with confident, smooth strides, and he had to stop himself from taking a wild step back at his approach.

“What are you—”

Hux couldn’t even finish his sentence before he felt the Force pulse at his skin and throw him aside. He released a pained gasp as he hit the corner of the half-wall near the toilet and shower, which dug into his back. He slid to the floor, in agony. Hux could hardly even move before Ren was upon him, wrenching his wrists—still raw from the bonds during his interrogation—above his head. Hux struggled and bucked against Ren but, no matter what he did, he was still nothing against the other’s remarkable strength.

“I suggest you apologize.” There was nothing in Ren’s voice that was suggestive, however; this was clearly an order, and he expected Hux to take it as one.

“I already did, countless times,” Hux growled. “You did not seem satisfied with them.”

“Because you didn’t mean them.”

Hux sneered at this. “And I wouldn’t mean it now, either!”

At these words, fury flared in in Ren’s eyes.

“You will,” he growled, promise heavy in his voice. “You fucking will.”

“You’re quite confident in saying that, considering that you couldn’t even stop a dirty little scavenger from abandoning you,” Hux mocked cruelly.

That did it. Ren, wordlessly, pulled Hux’s wrists up, rendering his arms taut. Then, in a vicious movement, he bent them in direction that wasn’t natural, causing pain, beginning at his wrists, to spread to the rest of his arm. It hurt, and Hux felt tears build at his eyes as he wondered, privately, how much it would take for his bones to fracture.

“Apologize,” Ren demanded once more, his face twisted in a fevered madness. “You have attacked your Supreme Leader. That alone is enough reason for your execution.”

Hux’s teeth were pulling at his bottom lip, and he could not hold back a pained whimper as Ren’s grasp became particularly cruel. Even as he was in agony, Hux tried to not let it show on his face. It was strange how Ren did this to him, that he was able to inflame every bit of resistance in him. Hux was skilled at being obedient even when he hated it, yet the idea of being in this prison for an indefinite period of time, subjected to Ren’s whims and abuse… The idea of just complying and taking it was impossible for even him to bear, though it was possibly the smarter thing to do. Or was it? Perhaps all of this wouldn’t matter if Ren would, as he hypothesized, simply kill him off whenever he was satisfied in humiliating him. If that was his intention, Hux would not go down without a fight to this entitled piece of trash.

And so, Hux met his eyes defiantly, even as he was on the floor, tense in pain. Make me, Ren.

Anger distorted Ren’s expression into something almost unrecognizable.

“Oh, I’ll make you,” he snarled. “You’ll wish you had crept on your hands and knees and begged for my kindness in this moment. I swear it.”

And, with that, Ren gripped even harder at Hux’s wrists, pulling them upward in a cruel, decisive manner. Just as Hux realized what he was about to do, he felt the Force pulse against his arm before smashing down, hard, on his elbow joint. Hux screamed, almost loud enough to mask the nauseating crack of his bones breaking. He could feel tears run down his face. His vision was momentarily white, and it was difficult for him to even focus again.

But when he did, all he could see was the black of Ren’s eyes, intense and filled with wicked intent, trailing up his pale, bruised face.

“Where’s all that cocksure bravado gone, Hux?” he finally asked with a malignant smile. “I had never heard you scream so loudly.”

Hux glared at him, feeling hatred burn viciously within the cavity of his chest. “Any man would feel pain at that,” he hissed. It was difficult to speak through the agony.

Ren laughed at this.

“Oh, Hux. Any man?” he purred, leaning forward. Hux wanted to draw himself back, but he couldn’t, for there was nowhere to go. He felt Ren’s sleek black hair tickle the side of his face as he pressed his mouth near his ear.

“And I had thought you were worth thousands of them.”

Chapter Text

Hux, in the academy, had taken a human anatomy course once.

The class itself was dull; the teacher was uninspired, and the students were, for the most part, disinterested, only having the desire to pass with high marks so that they could increase their likelihood of getting a good title and a high rank one day. But contrastingly, Hux, while also having similar (if not even more fervent) intentions as his peers, was utterly fascinated by human anatomy. Just as ships and buildings—architecture—were supported by meticulously built frames, men were held together by their skeletons and the strength of their bones. This odd connection between two ostensibly foreign, unrelated disciplines made him ache to learn more of each.

And so, as his classmates struggled to memorize the bones and their functions (and muscles and practically everything else; there was a reason that not many of them managed to reach positions as high as Hux eventually did), Hux studied passionately, the name of each piece of the human body registering easily within his brain with such smooth entry that he knew that his mind was crafted for this. His interest didn’t end at this surface-level knowledge, of course; he was particularly interested in the way that bones moved, the ways they could move, the ways that they couldn’t, and the ways that they broke. It was the last of these that Hux took the greatest pleasure in learning—he didn’t wish it on himself, of course, for he understood well the pain that such a breakage would cause, but the idea of it… the idea of rendering someone weak and crippled and unable to do much simply by shattering the correct parts of their body… it was invigorating. It was power.

But Hux had no power here. He only had this pathetic cell, the clothes he was allowed to keep, and his body, which was bruised and aching all over, broken at one of its limbs. But, his mind was still intact. Exhausted and tested to its limits, yes, but it was still his—and he refused to think of Ren’s invasion as thievery. But that was it. The rest of what was physical and tangible to him could be ripped from his possession simply by a raised hand.

But now it took even less than mere mystical abilities and misplaced authority. For what Ren had just done to him, what he’d had the audacity to do, was the result of brute force. He didn’t even bother with the Force this time around; Hux could still feel the sensation of leather smooth and tight against his wrists as gloved hands pulled his arms painfully taut and—

A scream. Hux had heard a scream, loud and sharp and unrecognizable to his own ears. It was so outlandish, so strange and foreign, that it had taken some time before Hux even realized that it was his own. He could still feel the warm breath against the side of his face, could feel smooth skin of Ren’s cheek against his sideburns as he whispered in Hux’s ear, couldn’t see but somehow knew that Ren was smirking—

But enough of that. Thinking back to the event was useless, pointless. It would not help him and would only make him suffer more. Hux tried to sit up from where he was seated, still on the floor where Ren left him, and immediately, his shattered elbow protested with a silent howl, and Hux didn’t even bother holding back his tears.

Anatomy, Hux thought, attempting to speak over the red-hot pain that was burning through his body and setting alight each nerve he possessed in its wake. Think of anatomy.

(At least then he could focus his mind on something other than the unbearable and all-consuming feeling of suffering that his body was forcing upon him, attempting to cloud his mind with it. Hux refused to give in. As long as his mind was clear, as long as he still had his sharp, cutting rationality, he was intact. He was fine.)

Rationality. Mind. Anatomy. Those were safe things to think about. Those were things he understood, things he could rationalize, things that hadn’t changed.

There were three bones within the human elbow joint: the humerus, the ulna, and the radius. The structure was complex, but covered by articular cartilage and stabilized by ligaments, tendons, and muscles. There was more, of course, so much more (the elbow was a complicated thing, you see) but he didn’t know most of it—he should know more. Why didn’t he? Did he not get top marks in his class? What were the point of those top marks anyway, since he was probably at a lower point than any of his inferior classmates currently? Surely none of them were sitting pathetically on the floor of prison cells, deemed traitors, and unable to move or do anything without causing themselves an excruciating amount of pain due to their extensive injuries?

And yes, Hux was well aware that his elbow was fractured. What he wasn’t certain of was which one—or multiple, if Ren had felt magnanimous—of the three bones making up his elbow joint was broken. Hux couldn’t be sure. But the flesh near the break was swollen and his elbow itself was mottled with a particularly ugly looking bruise. He did not test movement again, because he’d moved once and it fucking hurt and the very idea of doing it again made him wince in imagined agony. Or real agony, as only moments ago it seemed as though he was going to die by the pain burning at his elbow.

It still hurt, of course, very much, and Hux was still in the same spot where Ren left him, the idea of moving at all being impossible to bear. He finally managed to sit up, rather than stay lying in the floor as Ren last saw him, but that movement to one position from another alone was an agonizing experience. But he could now think of something other than the complete and utter agony that had washed through him minutes—or hours; the pain had made him lose track of time, but every second seemed to be an eternity when suffering—ago. If he didn’t get medical attention, his arm would heal improperly (which would be quite bad considering that the arm that Ren generously chose to break was his right one, his dominant one).

And perhaps Ren was waiting outside of his door and listening to his misery, because with that thought, the door opened again. Hux’s head was lowered, but, remembering how angry Ren was at him yesterday, he immediately and instinctively wanted to look up. Pathetic, Hux thought with a sneer. To maintain his dignity, he wanted to regain the composure of his appearance, but his face was tear-tracked and bruised and he doubted that whatever he did at this point would make much of an impact. He was tired too, tired from a dreadful lack of sleep (when was the last time he had done that, anyway?) and tired from pain. Hux overestimated his ability to withstand torture, evidently.

But no. It wasn’t Ren. This caused Hux to freeze. These steps were too heavy; Ren was powerful and strong-bodied, but there was an odd elegance to him. The noises against the floor were not clumsy by any means—clearly footsteps of a military man, strong and purposeful—but they were certainly not Ren’s.

And so, Hux looked up to meet the cool blue eyes of one Captain Edrison Peavey. The older man stood a short distance in front of him, looking as condescending and disciplined as ever in his neat black uniform, which fit nicely over his stocky build. His hair was gray with age beneath his black command cap, and where there was typically a tight scowl set firm on his features, a relaxed expression was in its place. Hux was unused to such a look from him; he knew Peavey solely as his inferior, and so, the man had always maintained an intense—albeit reluctant—professionalism around him. Hux had understood well that Peavey despised him for reasons he wasn’t quite certain of—though he did have his suspicions—but he had found his abhorrence infinitely amusing nonetheless, especially when watching him seethe as he gave him orders. But Hux couldn’t find any humor now in his current situation.

“Captain,” he said, his voice embarrassingly hoarse before he cleared his throat. This man was beneath me not long ago, he tried to remind himself. He kept his eyes defiant and maintained his dignity as well as he could, which was difficult considering his current appearance. But he did try.

“Hux,” Peavey said. Not General, of course, Hux expected no less, but his direct address still caused something hateful to boil within his chest, amplified by the knowledge of Peavey’s once directly subordinate position to him.

“What a surprise,” he sneered. “I had never known you to be the type to fraternize with lowly prisoners. I imagined your sensibilities honed from the Empire marked you as higher than them.”

Peavey didn’t seem affronted by his words. “You imagined correctly. I wouldn’t normally step in here even if a blaster was held to my head.” He surveyed the cell with a disdainful look before turning back to Hux, his eyes glinting: “But you’re an exception. I simply had to come and see you.”

Hux looked at him dryly. “Aren’t I special.”

“You are,” Peavey agreed. He took another few steps forward so that he stood even closer to Hux. He was broad and sturdy, in spite of his age. It made Hux more aware of his own form—pitiable, weak, practically curled up against the wall while nursing a terribly broken arm. It did not make for an impressive sight.

“Does R-” Hux broke off here, because almost instantly, his mind sharply barked: Supreme Leader. His body went ice-cold at the thought, and he was unable to stop himself from recalling, vividly, exactly what kind of violence Ren was capable of doing to him simply because he did not refer to him by his current title. The pain at his neck and throat seemed to worsen at the memory, causing him to go stiff. The last time he had called Ren by his actual name, he had been strangled. And after that, he had made the mistake of angering an already infuriated Ren by addressing him, tauntingly, by the title he preferred, ‘Supreme Leader’. And soon after—

Crack.

Hux swallowed, throat suddenly quite dry. Perhaps his fractured elbow, arguably, was not a direct consequence of his mockery, but his attempt at taunting Ren had most certainly worsened Ren’s already inflamed rage at Hux having the audacity to attack him, which, in hindsight, was not a very smart move considering that his anger ultimately lead to… this. And Hux could feel the fracture simmer in constant, intolerable pain, a mere movement away from complete and utter agony.

His sudden inability to finish his sentence was surely instinctual, caused by Ren’s cruelty. Or perhaps it was merely his mind and body’s method of survival, to lean away from pain in favor of submission, as Hux was wont to do. But then, suddenly, he felt a burst of anger. Not only was Ren absent from this cell, therefore unable to even hear him call him by his real name, why should he care about whether or not Ren gave him a few more measly chokes? He was supposed to have a mastery of his own self, a will strong enough to not bend when Ren willed it to. Hux had always been good at being resolute when it was necessary to be, and now was no different.

Cursing himself internally for his brief moment of weakness and furious that he would be affected by Ren’s brutality enough to actually hesitate before saying the man’s real name, he bit out, acidly, “Does Ren know you’re down here?”

The defiance was pointless, and all it did was make him feel slightly ill.

“Well, I got permission, so I suppose he allowed me to come.” Peavey shrugged. Then, cruelly: “He may despise you, but that does not make you important in his eyes. Perhaps he will give you a crueler execution than what is given to most for the trouble you’ve personally gave him over the years, but that’s it.”

Hux’s eyes darkened.

“Peavey,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady. “What are you doing here?”

“To see you,” Peavey said simply. “It brings me nothing but great pleasure to see you where you belong.” His lips curled as he eyed the cell. “No more silken sheets and bourbon. Must be particularly painful for you, who had always been in the lap of luxury.”

Not quite, Hux thought, remembering sterile walls and food rations, necessary when funds had to be allocated and reserved for rebuilding what had been lost, rather than for leisure and pleasure, when the First Order was not nearly as strong or wealthy as it was now. And surely Peavey knew this, or perhaps he believed, falsely, that even when everyone else suffered through more impoverished conditions, Hux was favored. But even if this was the case, Hux didn’t care enough to correct him, and so, he didn’t.

“You are much more sadistic than I initially thought,” Hux said, almost casually. “I wish I had known. I might have utilized you better when I was your commander.”

“Utilize me better?” Peavey repeated, contemptuously. “Hux, you are incapable of utilizing anything, let alone anyone, competently. You wouldn’t know strategy if someone spelled it out to you.”

This caused Hux a surge of irritation. He heard enough explanations of his ineptitude from Ren; he didn’t need to listen to them once more from Peavey of all people.

“And yet, I became a general, and you became a captain.”

“Yes, you became a general, Hux,” Peavey agreed. “And you are one no longer. Had ranks in the First Order been decided by merit rather than by nepotism, you’d have been tossed to the side to rot amongst the lowest of our officers instantly rather than only being put in your place now. Long overdue, really, but perhaps worth it for the satisfaction. Delayed gratification, as it is.”

This sparked anger at the bottom of Hux’s chest. This was the true face of Peavey, then? He had always known the man had never particularly liked him—he’d enjoyed his clear distaste sometimes, even—but this was a vicious, petty meanness that even he hadn’t expected of him.

“Oh?” Hux said. “You sound as though you have wanted this for quite some time, Captain.” A little bit of his anger slid into his voice.

“You have no idea,” Peavey said, lifting his chin in a haughty way that the old Empire officers tended to do. It shouldn’t affect Hux, but it did. It made him seethe, because, not long prior to this, he would never have been treated like this, and especially not by Peavey, his former inferior, of all people. Nobody would have dared, other than Snoke and perhaps Ren.

He hated this. Hux despised the way the tables had turned on him, the way that his entire world had shifted so that he laid at the boots of his enemies, not the other way around. His anger was worsened by the fact that Peavey loomed over him—he was shorter than Hux normally, but with Hux crouched on the floor, he seemed so much larger than he really was. Hux was tempted to stand up simply from his indignance, but, after weighing how much more humiliating it would be to try to stand and fall over from the pain in his arm than to remain on the floor, Hux reluctantly remained seated.

Still, Hux was feeling pure, unadulterated hatred for a man he’d barely gave much thought to before, and this infuriated him. And the fact that he would even have this much emotion for someone he had once deemed irrelevant and replaceable caused his mood to darken considerably.

“And what did I do to deserve such hatred?” Hux asked nastily. “I have done not a single crime to you; all I did what was expected of me—to be your commanding officer and give you orders. Surely a man such as yourself, from the Galactic Empire, would understand that I was only doing my duty.”

Peavey, to his amazement, chuckled. He had never done that more—at least, never in front of Hux. “Yes, I understand hierarchy very well. I lived my entire life following someone’s orders. But, the difference is that it was always someone who deserved to give me orders that was my commander. My superior was always a person who earned the position they held and whose successes made their worthiness evident.” Then, with a disdainful look at Hux, he said, “Well, it used to be, at the very least.”

Hux scowled at him. Peavey took his silence as a sign to continue.

“You’re young. Inexperienced. And it shows.” Peavey’s gaze hardened. “I was there when you handled that pilot, Dameron; I watched as you were unable to stop the evacuating Resistance. Ultimately, the Resistance escaped and we lost both the dreadnought Fulminatrix and its crew—which includes Captain Moden Canady. It was a complete and utter embarrassment; the Emperor would be turning in his grave if he knew what we have come to.”

“Oh, please,” Hux sneered. “Canady knew was he signed up for when he became captain of the Fulminatrix. People have died under his command just as they have died under mine. He is nothing special, even if you think he is. He couldn’t even have his surface cannons hit a single fucking x-wing. You believe me to be incompetent, correct? Well, it seems that the young and inexperienced are not the only inept ones in the  First Order.” Hux stared at him derisively.

This seemed to anger Peavey. “We were colleagues, little more, so he is not special to me,” Peavey spat out each word in distaste. “But we were both officers from the Empire, and we both had high expectations of the First Order that have fallen perilously flat—”

“Poor you. Must have been such a disappointment,” Hux said snidely. Peavey glared at him, and he took a few steps forward. He was quite close now, and Hux resisted the urge to instinctively pull away—or as much as he could pull away, considering the wall at his back and his broken elbow.

“The fact of the matter is that it isn’t just who Captain Canady is, but why he died. If he had passed away honorably, I would have understood. But he died in an embarrassing way that could have been easily avoided if he took orders from a better tactician. And that is what I can’t forgive.”

“Ah. Your forgiveness. Whatever could I do without it.” Hux sent him a cool, mocking grin. “Shall I beg for it, sir?”

Peavey’s face reddened in fury. Then, viciously, he sneered, “I have always wondered how you rose through the ranks as quickly as you did. Surely it wasn’t skill or any merit, I thought, since you had none. And you still don’t. But seeing you upon your knees, saying things such as that… it seems my other suspicion is perhaps correct.”

Now that made Hux’s smile drop, and something vicious surged in his chest. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, his eyes dark.

Now Peavey looked at once mocking and contemptuous. “I wonder, Hux, if you plan on sleeping your way out of prison as well—”

And with that, Hux lashed out his legs at Peavey, hitting his calves, successfully unbalancing him and causing him to tumble to the floor. Peavey let out a startled shout, but could do little except fall, landing with a loud thud. Hux’s victory was brief, because the sudden, quick movement caused a burning hot pain to resurface from his fractured elbow. Hux could not hold back his anguished moan, and he felt tears at the corners of his eyes. He could only watch as Peavey recovered, slowly, and stood up from the floor. But he did so slowly, slowly enough for Hux to see the blaster at his hip. Was he an idiot, bringing a weapon to a prison cell, or merely arrogant? Or perhaps he had hidden it so that he could sneak it in, judging by its well-concealed location, conveniently hidden by the design and shape of the black flared-hipped breeches he wore. Interesting, Hux thought, so even Peavey breaks the rules.

And, in spite of the lessening but still present pain he was in, all Hux’s mind could do was settle on one realization: There is an opportunity to be had here.

“You piece of garbage,” Peavey snarled, sounding simultaneously embarrassed and furious. “I should kill you right now so that later the Supreme Leader doesn’t have to waste his energy offing you himself—”

And he stalked towards where Hux sat on the floor. Hux, despite this own pride, couldn’t stop himself from instinctively sliding back, or as far back as he could go with the wall behind him.

But, in the current state he was in—broken elbow, bruised body—he was unable to escape him, unable to protect himself or fight properly. He was, in all ways, completely and utterly vulnerable, and it made something sick and disgusting unfurl at the bottom of his stomach...

… fear.

And whatever Peavey did to him, Hux had no doubt that nobody would come to save him.

When Peavey landed his first kick, Hux couldn’t hold back the anguished cry as his arm, broken as it was, exploded in agony. The pain was overwhelming; it felt as though his entire body was on fire because of the single fracture at the bend of his arm, and it only worsened as Peavey continued to land blows on him from above, boots hard and merciless against his vulnerable, unprotected body. Hux didn’t know when he first began to scream, but he eventually realized his throat was raw and hoarse due to his wails, and he couldn’t even see because his watering eyes had squeezed shut at the onslaught.

Hux.

Hux, what is—

A voice, foreign, at the back of his head, felt odd, off, wrong, because why would it be there? Why would Ren’s voice be here, when he wasn’t? When had he gained a foothold in his mind like this?! But in this moment, Hux clung to it, his life preservation depending on it.

Help… help.

It should be disgusting, it should feel absolutely repugnant, but Hux wanted to live. And this voice, this voice was his lifeline, because otherwise Peavey would—

“This,” Peavey said, voice breathless. And when Hux opened his eyes, blinking past the tears, to see him look the least composed he’d ever appeared—his neat gray hair falling to his forehead, face red from the exertion (which was probably more physical exercise he’d had in decades, Hux commented to himself sardonically), and his eyes filled to the brim with hate. “Is for the years I had to put up with your inept command.”

And in spite of everything, in spite of his life preservation, in spite of his fear, seeing Peavey like this—getting tired from only a few kicks, releasing all his years-long pent up frustration on a mere prisoner—considering how calm, collected, and disdainful he typically was, how highly he thought of himself… it all made Hux feel little but contempt.

“Oh, how awful,” Hux sneered, voice breathy and weak, each word difficult to say past the agony of it all. “Dutifully following orders like a pathetic, spineless dog, and then being given a master you don’t like.”

Peavey’s eyes lit up with fury.

He raised his leg, and Hux braced for pain, but then—

The door slid open, releasing white light that made Hux immediately squint in pain, used to the darkness of his cell. Above him, Peavey released a choked gasp.

And, once Hux’s eyes adjusted, he saw that Peavey was grasping at his throat, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. And standing right at the open door was the tall, powerful, black figure of Ren, who looked absolutely furious.

Peavey looked terrified and desperate, and wasn’t that satisfying? Then, he was flung to the ground, and dragged, without dignity, across the floor by an invisible force. Hux remembered his own humiliation at the hands of Snoke, and this brought him more than just a little pleasure.

“S-Supreme Leader—” Peavey choked out. Hux wished he could see his face, but he was now looking away from him to face Ren. But he had a clear view of Ren’s face, which was twisted in rage.

“I should kill you right now,” Ren snarled. “What are you doing here, and how did you get in?"

“I was granted entry into the cell—”

“Then I will kill whoever gave you permission they didn’t have the luxury of giving,” Ren hissed, and he reached his hand out. Peavey screamed. The ear-splitting sound made Hux wince, not only because of how painful it sounded but because he knew the agony that Ren’s Force abilities could cause someone—he’d experienced it himself.

And then, Ren callously released Peavey, looking contemptuous. “Ah, her. Well, she was useless anyway,” he muttered. Then, raising his chin, he said, “Captain Peavey, this prisoner is mine. You have absolutely no right to attack him as he did; he is mine to handle, and mine to deal with. Understood?”

“U-Understood,” Peavey stammered, sounding pathetic.

“Next time you pull something like this, I will kill you. Understood?”

“Ah—understood.”

“Leave my sight,” Ren said, dismissing him coldly. Peavey staggered to his feet and limped out the door. It slid shut right behind him.

And, before Hux could say or do anything, Ren was suddenly right in front of him. Hux nearly jumped.

“Don’t do that!” he snapped.

“Don’t do what?” Ren seemed puzzled.

“Surprise me like that!”

At that, Ren smiled. “Ah. I will be sure to wear a bell next time.”

“Would be much—ah—” Hux said, moaning when he attempted to sit up, his body aching terribly and his elbow in pain. Ren frowned. “Appreciated.”

“I will get bacta,” Ren said.

“For the fracture you gave me?” Hux glared at him.

“For the fracture Peavey worsened,” Ren corrected, looking at his arm. “I did not intend for him to come visit you. It just goes to show that I have to clean out our ranks more.”

“Will you be dunking me in a bacta tank?”

At this, Ren waved his hand. “Nothing so dramatic. We are using those for actual valuable members of the First Order, and for those who need it. We have flexpoly bacta suits, but yet again, that’s an emergency suit I’m not going to use on a prisoner. I do have a flexpoly bacta sleeve that will help with regeneration and healing of your elbow.”

Hux’s eyes narrowed at that.

“And you’re just going to give it to me, I’m guessing,” he said dryly. And Ren’s smile widened.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “As long as you ask for it first.”

“No,” was Hux’s immediate answer.

“No?” Kylo raised an eyebrow. “Hux, I thought you had better self-preservation skills than this. First, taunting Peavey in such a vulnerable position after being beaten—were you asking for death?” Of course he knew about that—he must have learned it from either Peavey’s mind when he invaded it, or Hux’s. “And now, you’re being offered something that will help the healing of your fractured limb. Are you so prideful that you cannot, even in your present state, accept medical attention?”

Hux saw the truth of his words, and he recognized his own debilitating stubbornness that had gotten him into much more trouble in his imprisonment that he would have faced otherwise, if he’d kept his mouth shut. But the idea of simply submitting… it made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

“Ask for bacta,” Ren said. “And you will be given it. It’s really that simple.”

“You could be lying,” Hux protested.

“I could be,” Ren agreed. “But what’s the worst that will happen—I won’t give you the bacta? Well, I’m not going to give you the bacta if you don’t ask, so no matter what you’ll end up in the same situation.”

Well, no. There’s one situation where I at least keep my dignity, Hux thought.

“Hardly,” Ren said, raising an eyebrow. “Hux,” he said, voice softer. Hux hated the tone he was taking. “Look at you. You’re a bruised, bloody mess, and you’ve already been crying. You’re on the ground, and you can’t even stand up properly. How much dignity is there in this? At least if you were to be healed, you’d be able to move from where you are on the floor.”

Hux could feel his will weakening, but still, he spat, “You’re the one who put me in this situation in the first place.”

“Yes, I did.” Ren didn’t look remorseful in the slightest. “Your point?”

“You have the audacity to bargain with me tools to heal the damage you caused!” Hux’s voice rose, almost hysterically. “Do you realize how ridiculous, how manipulative this is?!”

At this, Ren chuckled. “What were you expecting from me? We are not friends, Hux, and we never were. We had been rivals for a straight five years, and now you are the prisoner of the faction that I am the Supreme Leader of. Why would you think you’d get special, kind treatment? You should be thankful that I am giving you a sense of control at all, in all honesty. I am giving you a choice—ask for bacta, or refuse it. You have choices, and that’s more than most prisoners get here.”

“Choices!” Hux repeated, wanting at once to cry and laugh. “These are the sort of choices that you’re giving me! You break my body and then offer to heal it for a price!”

“The only price is a single question. It’s not always going to be so cheap, Hux. I suggest that you take advantage of it.”

“You intend to do this again,” Hux said dully.

“I intend to do many things.” Ren’s black eyes glinted. “But first, I’m deciding between leaving you here to suffer with your fractured elbow or getting you bacta. It all depends on you. Because, you see, I have no obligation to heal you, or do anything to you, really. I could leave you for dead, and no consequence would come to me. Except I’d probably have to have some unfortunate soul clean out your dead corpse, which would smell, depending on how long it’d be kept there. But here I am, giving you choices, one of which would actually help you.” Then, with a cruel smile: “If it really hurts your sensibilities, to ask for help, which you’d already done when Peavey was beating you—”

Hux’s face reddened at that. “That was different—”

Ren only gave him a smirk in response to that, which was infinitely worse than anything he could have said. He continued, after the deliberate, loaded pause. “—Then, remember, that escape would have a higher chance of being successful if both of your arms worked. And especially the dominant one,” he said, his eyes lowering to Hux’s right elbow that he was nursing.

And Hux froze. Then, his voice gravelly, hoarse: “How dare you.”

“How dare I mention escape? Which you very clearly want, if it was possible?” Ren tilted his head to the side. Then, he smiled. “Ah. Do you think I am taunting you with something you desire but cannot have? Not my intention. I had only thought it’d make the right decision easier for you to make.”

“I—”

“Tick tock, Hux,” Ren suddenly said, beginning to look uninterested, which, for some reason Hux refused to think about, stung. “I have duties, you know, being the Supreme Leader. Entertaining prisoners isn’t my priority, as hard as that is to believe.”

“I don’t…”

Ren waited a good few moments, expecting an answer, but Hux’s voice trailed off, and he couldn’t find it in him to speak, even when he tried to. And, Ren sighed, as though Hux gave him a response that he was simultaneously expecting and was disappointed by.

“Well, that’s an answer enough, I suppose,” he said, running his fingers through the thick waves of his black hair. He turned towards the door to leave, and that, oddly enough, sparked an unease at the bottom of Hux’s chest. Because he was suddenly more aware than ever of his arm, how it rendered him unable to move, unable to do anything, and how if it wasn’t given medical attention, it wouldn’t heal properly. What if this was the last time Ren gave him the option to use bacta? How would he would tolerate this pain for the undetermined amount of time Ren would leave him alone, and the idea of Ren leaving just like that—

It made Hux feel nauseous. He didn’t know why. What had changed? His will had been so strong before in spite of his pain, because then he had no choice. At least then he was able blame Ren solely for his suffering, because he was the one who broke his elbow. But now that Hux was given the option of having his elbow being healed, the responsibility of his pain would then rest not only with Ren, but also himself, who rejected the possibility of it being alleviated. And as much as he hated Ren, there was a logic to his words—rejecting this was just his senseless pride preventing him from making the choice that would very clearly benefit him. And ultimately, he thought of being left on the floor, unable to move, with a pained, fractured elbow and with the knowledge that it could have been healed, that he could have been able to move if he could just gotten over his stupid arrogance…

It was unbearable. And so, he raised his head and shouted, “Wait!”

And Ren paused. Then, he turned his head to look at Hux over his shoulder, looking quite smug and knowing despite the curiosity in his gaze.

“I… I want bacta.”

But Ren didn’t move from where he was, halfway to the door, back still turned to Hux. “Wrong,” he said, voice low. “This isn’t about what you want, is it, Hux?”

He wants me to ask, Hux remembered. And swallowing his reluctance, his defiance, his pride, he forced out, “May you heal me with bacta?”

And it was then that Ren turned to fully face him, now looking at him with considering eyes.

“That’s improvement,” he said finally. “But, I think you can do better.”

“Better?” Hux felt angry humiliation. “I did as you asked!”

“You did,” Ren agreed. “But I did tell you that I was being generous, wasn’t I? Did you not refuse my offer, in spite of my warning that the price was not always going to be so cheap?”

“I didn’t refuse!” Hux snapped.

“You didn’t answer—that’s refusal enough.” Ren smiled. “But don’t worry, the new price won’t even be that much more than the old one. You’ve already done the hard part, in fact. Why don’t you address me by my title as you do it? That’s not so difficult—it’s nothing that you haven’t already done, right?”

“You—” Hux hissed.

“Me? What about me?” Ren looked irritatingly pleased with himself.

Hux wanted to protest, but he recognized the truth in Ren’s words. He already had asked, already humiliated himself, and he, previously, had called Ren by his title. This wasn’t anything new.

The idea of doing it still pained him, however.

But Hux knew that if he didn’t do it, not only would he have humiliated himself, he would have humiliated himself for nothing. And so, he asked, feeling quite pathetic, “May you heal me with bacta, Supreme Leader?”

“Not bad,” Ren said, his eyes dark and intense. “Let’s up the ante even more, shall we?”

And Hux felt at once embarrassed and furious. “I did as you asked!” he snarled.

“You did,” Ren agreed, voice low and almost soothing. “But I didn’t say that calling me by my title is solely the new price. You see, I have too high expectations of you to believe that you can only do so little. You should be flattered.” Then, he said, nearly sweetly, “So now I’m going to ask you for one more thing, and I promise that this part is the last one, and once you’re done, you’ll get your bacta. It’s very simple—just one more word, and you’ll be healed. Do you think you can handle that, Hux?”

Hux had to fight back frustrated tears. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” He intended his voice to be fierce, but it only came out to be weak and bitter.

“Of course you have a choice,” Ren said. “You can reject at any time, and we’ll stop.”

That’s no choice. “You know I won’t reject,” Hux growled.

Ren only smiled. And Hux wanted to curse.

“What is your new price?” Hux asked, wanting to get it over with.

“As I said, it’s very simple,” Ren said, eyes gleaming. “All I want is for you to say ‘please’ when you ask the question.”

“I told you that I won’t beg—” Hux spat out, outraged.

“Hux, this is another word that you’ve already said, a word you used when you pleaded for my forgiveness—and that was a situation that was infinitely more humiliating than the one you are in now.” Ren’s voice was so reasonable, so matter-of-fact, that it made Hux feel ill. “And moreover, are you really begging? I’m not asking you to beg for mercy, Hux. I’m only asking you to be polite when you make a simple request to me, your Supreme Leader, as you’ve surely learned being in the hierarchy of the military for so long.”

“But—” Hux began, but his voice sounded weak to his ears, and to his embarrassment, he could feel his body beginning to shake.

“It’s only one word,” Ren insisted, gently. “One you’ve used before with me, in even worse conditions. Think about it—once you say it, you’ll be able to move again. I’ll even get you clean clothes, how about that?”

“I… I don’t want prison garb,” was the only thing Hux could say.

“And prison garb you won’t receive,” Ren said. “I’ll find something out of your wardrobe. A black uniform just like the one you’re wearing—you’ve always liked this kind, right?”

Hux trembled, his will and defiance withering. Because even if he said no, even if he refused at this point, he had already lowered himself before this man. And, if he would reject now, he would have prostrated himself for absolutely nothing. Moreover, no matter how awful, how disgusting Ren was, the rationality in what he was saying was undeniable.

And he really wouldn’t mind clean clothes. What he was wearing was now rumpled and dirty after being kicked by Peavey.

“May you heal me with bacta, please, Supreme Leader?” Hux asked, and each word burned on his tongue, made his eyes water. But he refused to cry. Not in front of Ren.

But then he looked up. And Ren was smiling, malicious and self-satisfied. “Very good,” he purred. Hux felt sick, for he realized that the praise made something in his stomach turn in a strangely pleasant way. He refused to think of it. Refused to acknowledge it. “Very good, Hux.”

And Hux lowered his eyes down to the floor, unable to meet Ren’s arrogant gaze. “Now I want my bacta.”

“Of course,” Ren said. Then, Hux felt cool gloved fingers beneath his chin gently lift his head. He allowed them to; he was too exhausted to do anything otherwise.

And finally, his eyes locked with Ren’s. And Ren’s expression was now oddly serious, which caused Hux to be uneasy.

“From now on, if you want to make a request, I expect to be addressed by my title, and I expect you to say ‘please’.” Ren said. “Do you understand, Hux?”

Hux looked away. “Understood.”

Satisfied, Ren released him. He reached for something at his side, and Hux realized that it was his comm.

“Send in bacta from the medbay to Prison Cell 512,” he told the device, addressing whoever was at the other end of the line. And then, he lowered the comm, tucking it back to his waist.

“It’ll be coming soon,” Ren told Hux. Then, after a brief, thoughtful pause, he warned, “Don’t fight them.”

“What would be the point of that?” Hux asked, dryly.

“Yes, what would?” Ren agreed, his eyes gleaming. Hux refused to acknowledge the victory in them.

The sleeve was tight at his elbow, puffy and clumsy and not very graceful. It felt warm against his skin, but a pleasant kind of warm, especially when compared to the uncomfortable chill of the prison cell, and the fracture didn’t feel nearly as bad as before, though the ache was still obvious.

But Hux couldn’t appreciate the alleviation of his pain, because he spent most of his mental energy refusing to think about what happened and what he’d done to get the privilege of bacta. But, in spite of his own denial, he did know one thing:

He had to get out of here.

Hux had deemed that escape should be reserved for a situation turned dire, and this, he believed, was quite dire. For, what should he wait for, until he was on his deathbed? He was once already disadvantaged enough, still disadvantaged, with how his dominant arm was practically impossible to use in spite of the bacta at work.

Moreover, to depend on Ren helplessly, with no other option… the idea was nauseating in and of itself. Hux had decided to bear it not long ago, but that was before he saw the complete and raw violence that Ren was willing to inflict on him; he was slapped and choked and dragged and thrown to the side, yes, but those he could ignore, get over. But, his arm? This was something else. A whole different kind of pain that was only being repaired by Ren’s generosity, a new kind of dependency being introduced that Hux didn’t want to fall into.

And yet, hadn’t he just experienced that? What had occurred between him and Ren some time ago… it was complete and utter reliance. Hux had to essentially beg for his arm to be fixed, something he’d never had to do before. He was completely in Ren’s control, and he was beginning to realize just what this control meant. And Ren was tantalizing—he was skilled at manipulation in ways that he hadn’t predicted. Hux could feel himself falling, and he wouldn’t—he couldn’t—allow himself to.

And the only way he could do that was escape. He already knew what that meant for him, but at least on some Outer Rim planet, he would have control of the smaller things. Here, he had control of nothing at all, in spite of Ren’s insistence on choices. And, with each passing moment, Hux grew to realize that him waiting here, hoping that he would be able to regain all that he had lost, meant risking losing pieces of himself—pieces that he refused to give up. After all, his mind was his most valued possession, and he would not let Ren take that.

Maybe the life he imagined he would have on the Outer Rim planet wasn’t ideal, but it seemed to be infinitely superior to this dependency that Ren seemed to be trying to encourage in him. And so, Hux would escape. He would escape Ren, escape the First Order, and free himself from this mess that he was entangled in.

But, that yet again brought the question of how?

Hux intended to find the answer. Soon. But how soon? He was thankfully mobile again, with his arm stiff in the sleeve but not nearly as pained as before, and the new uniform—from his wardrobe, as Ren promised—was sitting on the bedside. He felt an urgency—he needed to act quickly, before Ren had another bout of violence that broke something else and would make escape near-impossible.

And he would escape. He just needed the right time and the right opportunity.

And the opportunity did, in fact, come, and it came shockingly soon.

The droid had dutifully removed the food rations that Hux, in a fit of stubbornness (perhaps to overcompensate for his earlier capitulation to Ren), continued to refuse eating. But, to do this, he had to ignore his growling stomach and hunger, and this alone was difficult considering that there was not much in the cell to distract himself with. Hux hoped that the droid wouldn’t bring him more, because even those hard, inedible pieces of garbage were beginning to look more and more appealing to him by the minute, and he did not intend to start eating them with his hands and fingers.

Sleeping was difficult on an empty stomach, and the prospect of sleeping in this prison cell made Hux feel quite uneasy. Still, his lack of sleep was beginning to drain on him. And in one moment, he was struggling to keep his eyes awake, and the next, he woke up, feeling quite bleary and discombobulated, and not nearly as energized and revitalized as he would have liked. Rather, he felt even more exhausted by his rest, which irritated him.

But what irritated him more was the fact he’d slept at all. He wasn’t surprised he did—the reason why he was able to stay up such insanely long hours and sleep so little when he was General was because he had a lot to focus on, a lot to do. Here, all he did was lie around, plan aimlessly, and feel sorry for himself, which was not conducive to staying awake. Also, the only beverage he was allowed to drink was water, and therefore, caf wasn’t an option either.

Worst of all, was the fact that by sleeping, Hux lost what little sense of time he had left, because how long was he out—three hours? Six hours? Ten hours? Each hour made a world of difference. How long was he imprisoned? He predicted a handful of days… or perhaps a week? Maybe less? He wasn’t even sure anymore. While he hoped he was at least somewhat accurate, the idea that he was beginning to unravel like this in such a short amount of time was insulting.

It only propelled his desire to leave even further.

But then, he heard footsteps. Hux stiffened, sitting up from where he was lying on his bed, and he found that his back ached slightly; the bed was just as bad as it was the first time he’d tested it. He turned to face the door, eyes narrowed because those footsteps… those footsteps were certainly not Ren’s. But they couldn’t be Peavey’s, despite how they sounded exactly like his, because Peavey was warned—with death—to not come back here, right? And as lowly as he had always perceived the man in his eyes, he was certainly not a fool.

But, of course, the door slid open, and in walked Peavey. He looked more than a little worse for wear, certainly not as composed as he was earlier. It should bring Hux pleasure to see, but his visceral reaction was fear, because he still vividly remembered the pain of Peavey’s kicks. His body was still sore from the experience.

“You aren’t authorized to be here—how did you get into the cell?” Hux asked, trying to hide his panic.

“Friends in high places, and the Supreme Leader is planetside dealing with diplomatic matters,” Peavey said, his admission somewhat hypocritical considering his earlier accusations of nepotism against Hux, but, oddly enough, he didn’t seem to realize it—and, was he slurring? Hux narrowed his eyes. “They won’t be in those places much longer if things go on like this.” Then, with dry, but hysterical laughter that genuinely startled Hux: “Everyone nowadays is killed by him, so what difference does it make? You must be so happy, Hux, watching us all fall! Misery loves company, doesn’t it? And you’re perhaps the most miserable man I’ve had the misfortune of knowing—had you been in a better position, I’m certain you would be celebrating with a good scotch.” Sneering, he said, “I suppose prisoner food rations will have to do.”

“Everyone…?” Hux repeated. But as Peavey walked closer to him—and Hux had to stifle to urge to crawl off his bed and dash to the other side of the room—he smelled something faint in the air. “You’ve been drinking,” he breathed out. Well, that explained at least some of his behavior.

Still, he had never seen Peavey like this before. What did Ren do to him?

Then, Hux realized that he could use this moment to learn much-needed information which may or may not be vital to his escape; though even if it wasn’t, anything he found out would be good to know and gave him something to think about, would let him feel less insane and pent up in this tiny, uninteresting cell. And Peavey, being at least someone inebriated, was likely to let slip more than he would have otherwise sober and clear-minded.

And so, Hux said, “I didn’t celebrate.” He met his eyes without flinching. “I hadn’t even known. My cell is quite secluded, and I have been told little about what occurs outside of it.” He then asked, “Who did… Ren... kill?”

Hux felt his teeth grit at his hesitation in saying Ren’s name, but it was still better than being unable to say it at all—it was an improvement, surely.

“Any person that publicly opposed him, which, surprisingly or not, there were not many of,” Peavey said, sounding bitter. “Most were people who had thoughts that were either antithetical to what he believed or simply critical. You can imagine the state of fear that the First Order is in, having a mind reader as its head.” Then, with a sneer: “I must have been wrong; you are getting special treatment from the Supreme Leader. You are merely jailed for your crimes—the rest of us do not get such a luxury since we are swiftly, and often publicly, killed. I wonder why? Did you give him favors to ensure your survival?”

Hux’s teeth grit at the implications behind the ‘favors’ that Peavey spoke of, but he tried to keep his temper cool. After all, a drunk Peavey was a Peavey he could take better advantage of. It would not do to lash out at him when he just needed information.

“Snoke was also a mind reader,” Hux said carefully. “He must have been, since he had Force abilities.” It was why Hux was so fearful of him whenever he was in the same room with him.

“But he was a leader who strove for order, and he was a being that knew, from experience I imagine, how to handle the power he had,” Peavey said, sounding derisive. “There’s only order in our ranks now because the Supreme Leader can read minds and can use a lightsaber—although some respect him, many don’t. He rules by fear for the most part, and fear can only go so far.”

“And why are you here?” Hux asked, genuinely curious. “You do recall the threat to your person, correct? Do you understand the danger you’re in? You are drunk, undoubtedly, but you aren’t so drunk that you’re unable to think, surely?”

But then, Hux came to a realization—or, more like an epiphany. Many epiphanies, actually.

Peavey was not the kind of man to get drunk; he consumed alcohol, sure, but only socially at those snobbish socialite parties that the First Order occasionally had on planets it was allied with. But Peavey drinking to the point of it actually impairing his senses and mental capabilities? Hux doubted it—Peavey was always a stickler for control. So, something was wrong, very wrong.

Things must not going well for him in the First Order. After all, why else would he come to Hux of all people, when he had been threatened not to do so? Peavey was visiting his prison cell for a reason, and Hux believed that this reason was very likely the same one behind his drunkenness.

And so, the somewhat dusty clockworks in Hux’s mind went to work. He intended to discover what Peavey’s purpose was, and the fact that he had something to analyze and investigate, something he needed his mental faculties for after all these hours (days, likely), was honestly exciting.

“Captain Peavey,” Hux said, hiding the eagerness in his tone and keeping his voice hushed as though speaking to a spooked animal. “What is happening? Are you in danger?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Peavey hissed. “I know you’re enjoying yourself. You always do, when other people suffer. I’ve seen your face when your rivals were taking to their executions. You were gleeful, you sociopath.”

“And yet you took a great amount of pleasure in my own arrest,” Hux said smoothly. “Not that I’m angry about that. After all, nobody is really friends in the First Order, Captain. We are all power-hungry, and we are all cruel—that is what makes us strong, and it is what makes our men more capable than those in the Resistance; they embrace weakness, we rid ourselves of it.”

“Are you implying that the people—the loyal people—that the Supreme Leader is murdering, is him ridding the First Order of weakness?” Peavey’s eyes darkened. He seemed as though he was ready to attack him at any moment, and Hux couldn’t have that again. Not when he needed Peavey to at least be civil with him.

“You’ve interpreted me incorrectly,” Hux said. “I, myself, have worked with both the current Supreme Leader and many people of the First Order, and of both of these, there is only one I truly despise. And can you blame me?”

“Why? You may hate him, but he protects you,” Peavey said, spitting these words out as though they disgust him. “The rest of us suffer, and you, while not in ideal conditions, are at least to an extent safe in this cell. He picked you over me!” His voice raised by the end of his statement in drunken outrage.

“Yes, and that was foolish of him, wasn’t it?” Hux cocked his head to one side. “What kind of leader would pick a prisoner over a captain?”

“Exactly—” Peavey began, seething, but then cut himself off. He looked confused for a moment, then guilty and uneasy, and his expression closed off.

Damn it, Hux thought, frustrated.

“He has the right to do so,” Peavey said sudden, appearing quite unsettled, his words sudden and odd considering the statements he was previously making, but he seemed to be trying to convince himself rather than Hux. That, however, wouldn’t do; Hux would not allow him to continue with this self-deception.

“You hate him,” Hux said matter-of-factly, because it was obvious Peavey did. He criticized him, he snuck to Hux’s cell to criticize him, but once it came to actually expressing his abhorrence, he shied away. Peavey stiffened, his eyes widening. He hadn’t expected Hux’s blunt remark. “You hate him just as much as you hate me.”

“He is my superior,” Peavey said, looking uncomfortable. “You are no longer. You never deserved to be in the first place.”

Ah, that’s it. Peavey repressed himself even in his intoxicated state. He could not comfortably admit dislike towards a man higher than him on the hierarchy—after all, he never did say a single insult to Hux until he lost his superior position to him, and he likely wouldn’t do so to Ren either. At least not directly. But he was drunk and more pliable. Hux intended to break his will, because he was certain that Peavey had come to him for a reason that even he himself could not admit to without offending his own strict morals. It was likely only his drunkenness that enabled him to act on his suppressed feelings. Now, all Hux had to do was ensure that these thoughts and feelings Peavey was trying to subdue came out.

“Then he doesn’t deserve to be either,” Hux said gently. “Whatever you hate about me… he possesses as well. At the very least you can say that I was beneath Snoke. But unruly Ren controlling the First Order himself? Is that really what you wanted when you joined the First Order, hoping for the Empire once more?”

“You cannot turn me against him,” Peavey said stiffly, but he looked unsure more than anything else.

“No, I cannot, because you are already against him,” Hux said smoothly, liltingly. “Because he is against everything you stand for: order, control, experience. You despise me for my youth, and the Su—Ren is younger even than me. You hated me for my incompetence—well, is he any more competent than I? Neither of us deserve to rule. I have been brought to my knees—” He gestured towards himself, and Peavey followed the movement almost hungrily. “And I learned, the hard way, that I have been wrong entirely. Had you been in charge… well, the Fulminatrix would not be destroyed, and Captain Canady would still be alive. And the Resistance would not have successfully evacuated.” Then, slyly: “If only the same could be done to our beloved Supreme Leader.”

Peavey seemed tense, his hands fisted at his sides. “No. What you’re saying is—”

“Treason?” Hux allowed his voice to lilt derisively. “And yet, you being here is treason, is it not?” Peavey flinched at this. “You are in my cell despite being told explicitly not to be by the Supreme Leader himself. You are directly going against orders. Speaking of… why, Peavey, are you here?”

“You’re right. I should leave,” Peavey suddenly said, now looking very unsettled, clearly beginning to regret his choice. But Hux wouldn’t let that happen.

“I know why,” Hux said suddenly. He was taking a gamble, but he had little other choice. “You want to find out what I know about him.”

Peavey turned on him, his gaze fierce. “No I don’t,” he snapped. “You just told me that you don’t have—”

“I am not knowledgeable about the situation outside the cell, I admit, and I am not going to pretend otherwise,” Hux agreed quickly. “But I have spent five years working with the Supreme Leader. We have had a close, though antagonistic, relationship with each other; do you honestly believe that I have not uncovered a single weakness of his during then, when we were fighting for a power we both wanted?”

Peavey narrowed his eyes. “You would have used such a weakness by now if that was true.”

“I was arrested very soon after he became Supreme Leader. I had no opportunity to.”

“You’re lying,” Peavey accused.

“Maybe.” Hux smiled. “But, you have no choice but to trust me, don’t you?”

Peavey froze. “Excuse me?”

“You visited my prison cell for a reason, didn’t you?” Hux asked, voice cloyingly sweet. “The Supreme Leader himself had threatened your very life if you came here again. Yet here you are. You need me. You require something that I possess, and I suspect that it is my knowledge, because what else? You hate me for my strategy, and you despise me for my youth. But undeniably, you appreciate experience above all else, and of everyone in the First Order currently, I have the most experience in handling the Supreme Leader. You know this. And you are here.”

“You… you think I am here to betray the Supreme Leader?” Peavey laughed, but it seemed strained and uncertain at best. “I would never. I respect order, and to what you are saying is treason!”

“And yet, you said only moments ago that he rules purely by fear,” Hux said. “And that order created solely by fear is one that will inevitably collapse.”

“It’s still order—”

“The noble Imperial High Command of the Galactic Empire—what exactly did it seek?” Hux asked suddenly, changing to a different tactic. The best way to take advantage of the old officers was by using their nostalgic romanticism of the Empire against them, after all. “Order, correct? And that is what you respected about its members; that is why you admire them, even now. But look at our current Supreme Leader; he seeks only power, not order, over the galaxy. As you said, he murders those who have different ideas from him, those who have thoughts daring to criticize him… he is simply a child getting off on his newfound power that is not even rightfully his.” Hux, by the end of his brief speech, was, in all honestly, speaking from his feelings rather than strategic manipulation. In spite of this, it worked because Peavey’s eyes lit up in agreement.

“Maybe so,” he said, clearly wavering. “But—”

“Captain,” Hux said gently. “You would not have went against direct orders and put your life at risk by coming here for something that is minor. What has happened since you last saw me?”

Peavey’s willpower was faltering, and his eyes were darting around the room as though Ren would surface out of nowhere. “I...” His gruff voice trailed off.

“Yes?” Hux coaxed. Just a little more.

“I beat you, the last time we met,” Peavey said, looking at him, alarmed in spite of the drunkenness clouding his gaze. “Why are you being so civil with me?”

Hux was, thankfully, prepared for this question. “Because we have a common enemy,” he said, eyes glinting. “And judging by your presence here, I think you agree with me that relatively minor dislikes should be put aside for bigger issues.”

Peavey deflated at this, finally giving in. Hux felt victorious, but made sure that it didn’t show in the features of his face, because, while the man standing before him was clearly drunk, he most likely wasn’t drunk enough to not notice his smug satisfaction if he revealed it.

“The Supreme Leader is likely going to have my circle of allies killed, me included,” he admitted, looking tired. “At least, that’s what rumors around are suggesting, and I do not trust him enough to disbelieve them, especially considering how he treated me earlier when I had attacked you. As I said, he’s off the ship to deal with diplomatic matters with a planet we recently acquired, and, I knew that it would be in his absence that I would have my only chance to visit you.” Then, desperately: “You had known him for so long and so closely! You must know his weakness, Hux, surely!”

So, all you have is this brief window of time to visit me, and yet you wasted so much of it denying the reason why you were here, Hux thought disdainfully. Your repression and pride have made you foolish, Captain.

“I am considering a coup,” Peavey continued. Now that the floodgates have been opened, he seemed to be open to revealing everything to him. “A revolt. Many people are bitter towards him. We need a good leader—an experienced one who is able to effectively make the Empire’s vision a reality. Not necessarily me, of course, but someone worthy.”

This is what Hux wanted and hoped for—a revolution, and yet, all he could feel was… indifference and even contempt. Because, just by looking at Peavey and his drunken recklessness, knowing how little allies he likely had, and how clearly rushed this all was… the coup was clearly a failure before it had even begun. It was not well-planned in the slightest.

This could not even be called a coup, honestly. This was only a dead man desperately trying to make a last ditch effort to save himself. But this did not mean that Hux could not use the situation to his advantage.

Peavey had been correct earlier—Hux could not help him because had he known a significant weakness of Ren’s, he would have used it by now. In reality, he had nothing. Ren could not be beaten with a blaster or any simple weapon; he was practically invulnerable to anything as long as he had the Force. But Peavey believed that Hux knew a weakness, and that was what was important. Hux thought of the blaster at the man’s side, and took a moment to pray that what he was planning on doing would work. Everything counted on it.

“I will tell you,” Hux said finally. “On one condition.”

“Yes?” Peavey looked at him, intense and impatient.

“This,” he said, raising out his right arm that the flexpoly bacta sleeve was still wrapped around. “Take it off for me, please.” The elbow didn’t ache as he moved it, which led him to believe that it was, after sleeping with the sleeve on and wearing it for quite some hours, healed. He had been ordered not to remove the sleeve even after the elbow recovered—a droid would come later and take it off for him. Hux wouldn’t have a problem with this normally, except he needed for it to be removed now.

And, he also needed Peavey to come closer to him.

Peavey tensed, evidently not pleased by the prospect of following Hux’s orders again, but he walked over to him anyway. He leaned over Hux, who was still sitting on the hard bed, to remove the sleeve. At such a close proximity, Hux could smell the alcohol coming very strongly off of his skin. But more importantly, he could see the barely-perceptible shape of the blaster hidden at his hip, and he eyed it hungrily. Peavey fumbled clumsily at the sleeve, clearly not experienced in getting it off, but he ultimately did succeed.

Hux released a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as the cool air of the cell met the warmth of his right arm. He tore his gaze away from the weapon to rest on his elbow, which was no longer swollen as it once was. Peavey took a few steps back and watched as Hux bent and unbent his now perfectly healed elbow.

“Very nice,” Hux murmured, pleased. Bacta was, as always, brilliant.

“Well?” Peavey demanded, impatient. “What is the Supreme Leader’s weakness?”

“Turn around,” Hux said, eying the black uniform Ren left for him on the other corner of the bed. “I’m going to change first.”

“You’re kidding, you just said—!”

“Let me get decent,” Hux snapped. “It takes no more than a minute to change my uniform, which is certainly less than the amount of time you spent pretending you didn’t come here to ask me for my help!”

Peavey’s teeth clenched. “How dare—”

“Turn. Around. And don’t move, please. It’s the least you can do after kicking me last time we met.”

Peavey, reluctantly and with a huff, did just that. Hux smiled. Perfect.

He hadn’t been entirely dishonest to Peavey because he did quickly change into the new uniform; his current uniform was noticeably filthy with the marks that Peavey’s kicks left on it, and that wouldn’t look very nice for any potential onlookers, right?

Indeed, onlookers, because once Hux finished putting on his uniform, feeling more like himself with each new article of clean black clothing he wore, he eyed Peavey’s breeches where he knew the blaster was. And, remembering all the fighting that he learned up from the academy, he slowly stood up from the bed…

“Are you done ye—”

And Hux, in the same move he used last time though even more effectively due to the lack of a debilitating wound holding him back, used his leg to sweep Peavey off his feet, making him collapse to the ground with a shocked gasp. Before Peavey could do anything, say anything, Hux was on him, pushing him to the ground with all he had, and one of his hands dipping to the side of his hip where the blaster was.

“No!” Peavey shouted, his struggling intensifying, realizing too late what Hux was going for. Hux already claimed the weapon for himself and raised it to the back of his head.

“Don’t move,” Hux warned.

“You lying piece of shit!” Peavey snarled. “You—”

“I want you to open the prison cell door that you got open with the help of your friends in high places—lovely hypocrisy, by the way, where is all your talk of merit now that you’re about to die?—and take me to the escape pods. I know where they are, so if you lead me elsewhere, I will know. Ask for help, and I will kill you first.”

“There’s no point, they’ll recognize you—”

“Not if you pretend to be moving me elsewhere under the authority of the Supreme Leader. Not if there’s a Captain escorting me,” Hux sneered. “No one would believe for a second that you, who was well known to despise me secretly even when you were my subordinate, would free me.”

“They already suspect that I’m to be killed by him!” Peavey yelled, frantic. “They’ll think that I’m acting desperately to prevent that by using you to take down Ren. You don’t even have handcuffs on—they’ll see it!”

“Maybe,” Hux said, uncaring. “I doubt it. Everyone knows how crazy you are about order. They’d rather believe that you’re accepting your death to support the hierarchy rather than saving yourself and causing a revolution. Well, either way—” And then, he dug the gun harder into the back of his head. “You’d better hope that they suspect nothing.”

Peavey then attempted to turn around and lunge for the gun, but Hux was faster, better trained—had longer, more flexible limbs. Peavey’s skills in fighting were rusty at best, and Hux was able to outmaneuver him and keep the blaster out of his grasp. And when Peavey’s hand came too close, well—

Hux pulled the trigger, and Peavey screamed in pain, grasping his bloodied hand.

“You fucker!” he spat out.

Hux took a few steps back, smiling. “The door,” he said calmly, with a gesture. He hadn’t felt this alive, this powerful, in a very long time.

Peavey glared at him, but he staggered to the door nonetheless. “The Supreme Leader won’t let you get away with this.”

“Well.” Hux shrugged, a smirk twisting his lips. “He’s planetside, is he not? Now is a better opportunity than most, I suppose.”

The cell door then slid open without much preamble—all it took was a retinal scan and other security measures confirming Peavey’s identity. The man didn’t have to contact any of his friends, but he surely needed them nonetheless since, had Ren had his way, the door surely wouldn’t have opened for him. Hux didn’t even have the time to feel disdainful at the obvious—and ironic—corruption here, because suddenly, white light flooded into the cell. His eyes burned from the brightness, but, for the first time since being arrested, it felt wonderful.

He stepped into the light, drawn to it. And finally, after long days being locked away in that dark room, he was outside of the prison cell.

But Hux didn’t allow the gleefulness and feeling of freedom to overwhelm him. He got to his senses quickly, and he turned to look at Peavey, who was glaring at him hatefully.

“Well, Captain,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

The first thing that Hux realized about the corridors, past their brightness, was their warmth.

And it was an odd thing to think, really, considering that First Order ships were all kept to a relatively cool temperature. But, compared to the prison cell, which was uncomfortably cold—cold enough that the poorly-made blanket and his own uniform were ineffective against its low temperatures—this felt to Hux as though he had stepped into a Nabooian sauna.

Indeed, Hux, after presumably days of being forced to tolerate miserable chilliness, couldn’t help but take a moment to bask in the heat. It was only a moment though, for he did not have the luxury of properly celebrating his newfound freedom. After all, he knew very well that while getting out of the prison cell was a very good first step, it was hardly freedom when he was still in the ship. Moreover, he had to make sure to keep his wits about him. He was still holding a high-ranking First Order officer at blaster-point, after all—and while Peavey was severely disadvantaged with many of the bones in his right hand being, well, destroyed by Hux’s shot at the appendage, Hux was still the prisoner here and it was Hux’s freedom that was on the line.

Consequently, he made sure to keep moving and keep moving quickly, though cautiously as well. He and Peavey walked side-by-side, with Hux at his right; it would be too suspicious for any potential onlookers if Hux was behind him and too dangerous for Hux if he exposed his back by being in front of him. He kept the pace brisk, and whenever Peavey slowed down a bit, he made sure to speed him up by digging the blaster—strategically pressed against the right side of Peavey’s lower back, much closer to his disadvantaged hand than the other—harder into his flesh beneath his uniform. It would likely leave a bruise later, but he didn’t care. Hux was alert and well aware of the danger he was in; there were cameras, after all. But, he took a calculated guess that the cameras were either down or being taken care of by Peavey’s friends, and so he resolved to move on quickly in the meantime.

Though, with a sardonic smile, Hux did acknowledge that Peavey’s own stakes were quite high here too, considering that, if Hux were to escape, chances were that Peavey would be killed, as would be the rest of his circle of friends. To be fair, however, if seemed as though such an outcome would have happened anyway, judging by what Peavey had told him of Ren. Oh well; such were the politics of the First Order.

The escape itself—or, at the very least, the beginning of it—was relatively tame compared to what Hux had been expecting. The hall was shockingly empty for one so close to the prison cells. Certainly, along the way, Peavey and he had been intercepted by a single low-ranking officer. And, it seemed that Ren’s orders were, to an extent, enforced when, after identifying Peavey on his datapad, the officer sternly told Peavey that he was not authorized by the Supreme Leader to handle Hux. But, it was only one officer, so Hux simply took that opportunity to pull the blaster from where he had been pressing it against Peavey’s lower back, hidden from the stormtrooper’s line of vision, to shoot him in the head before he could properly finish his sentence. The officer had fallen to the floor with a loud thud, dead.

And Hux asked Peavey, who looked more than slightly shocked by what had occurred right before his eyes, “Has the Supreme Leader told the officers that you are not to interact with me?”

“He disallowed me from entering your prison cell, yes, and I believe that he must have marked it down in my files in the database that I should not be near you.” Peavey eyed the corpse in front of him with distaste. “I assume that came up when the officer looked up my identity and authorization.”

“Ah,” Hux said, thoughtful. “That causes problems, doesn’t it? But, I suppose that there is little we can do at this point. At the very least, I am not wearing prison garb, so hopefully I would not immediately catch the eye of anyone on the lookout for prisoners.”

“Oh, Hux.” Peavey gave him a cruel smile. “Who wouldn’t recognize you in the First Order after all that has happened?”

This made Hux freeze, anger simmering at the bottom of his stomach. “Watch your words, Captain,” he said icily. He returned the gun to where it had been pressed against Peavey’s back, making the threat in his words very clear. Peavey’s eyes narrowed in hatred and outrage, but, with some obvious difficulty, he kept his mouth shut. And, with that, they continued to walk down the hallway; a heavy, bitter silence in the air between then.

One of the many things that Hux despised about the Slaughterer were its inefficiently long and winding corridors. Serpent-like in their designs, they had been built as preventative measures against potential Resistance break-ins. Hux had strongly disagreed with this, for they would serve much more as a disadvantage when officers in the First Order had to mobilize. Every second wasted during a battle was a second that could cost them everything, after all. But, unfortunately, this was a case that Hux lost, and hence, the Slaughterer was made in this fashion. Large in size—not as large as the Supremacy, for Snoke refused to be outshined—but large enough to appear impressive and intimidating on the outside, which Hux supposed was the intent behind it. Though, there was not much substance within it, which, in his opinion, was a much more important and pressing concern.

His Finalizer, while small in comparison to this ship, was compact. Effective. He hadn’t designed it, but he had certainly modified it once it was under his command, and therefore, it was excellent in its architecture. Though, Hux didn’t like to think of his own ship very much since he no longer had any sort of command over it. This privately infuriated him, for it was his ship, and he knew it better than anyone else. The idea of someone taking command of it, of someone dirtying it, left a sour taste in his mouth. Was he even credited any longer for being its commander, or had the propagandists taken his name out of recorded First Order history already, as they had done to many other disavowed officers before him?

The tense silence between him and Peavey did not last for long, because once his mind focused on the task at hand rather than being consumed by spiteful thoughts, the second thing Hux realized about the corridors were how distinctly empty they were. Indeed, the entire expanse before and behind him—yes, Hux checked—had not a single person or droid in sight. They had met that officer earlier, but that seemed to be the only sign of life (though, not much life anymore, Hux supposed) that they’d bore witness to so far on their little trek. All he could hear were his and Peavey’s own footsteps against the smooth floors. It was… unsettling, to say the least. Good for him, he supposed, but still unsettling. And while this wasn’t especially odd, especially on the Slaughterer, which was meant to be used only temporarily, surely, there should be someone—at least a droid—doing patrols? Ren was planetside, which meant that he must have taken a good number of stormtroopers and officers with him, but he must not have taken all, right? Surely he was not that foolish?

“Where had the guards and droids been near my cell?” Hux asked Peavey, as they walked through the long hallway. “They usually make rounds there, correct?” At least, he believed so. He hadn’t handled the prisons very much himself when he had been General, after all.

“I had my... friends send them away when I came to talk to you.” Peavey sounded like he clearly regretted his decision. Which was understandable—had there been other people or droids there rather than simply one lone low-ranking officer, he might not have been in such a precarious situation right now.

“Ah, right. Friends in high places.” Hux allowed disdain to sink into his voice. “I suppose I should thank them for making things easier for me as well. After all, judging by your presence in my cell in the first place and what you said to me earlier, the cameras must also have been dealt with. Some of your friends had handled those, I assume? Looping the feed, perhaps?” Peavey bristled at this.

“You have no right to speak—” Peavey snarled, stopping mid-step to swivel around and face him, halting Hux and preventing him from moving forward.

Hux scowled. He was beginning to think Peavey was more trouble than he was worth. He couldn’t handcuff him or properly restrain him (not only did he not have the tools to, it would also appear incredibly suspicious to any potential passerbys), which meant that there was always the risk that Peavey would successfully attack or flee from him, which, if either were to happen, would be… not ideal at all. Detrimental, even. But, despite the risk factor that Peavey was, Hux also needed Peavey to access areas for him that he, a prisoner, would be forbidden from entering.

It was a troubling situation, but not the absolute worst he could be in. Furthermore, Hux was the one with the weapon, which shook up the power dynamics between them. He raised the blaster to aim at Peavey’s chest, and he met Peavey’s fiery stare with a chilled confidence that he did not actually feel. He could not show any weakness—he did not have the luxury to.

“I think I have plenty,” Hux said, scornful smile on his lips. “Say, Captain, your, ah, friends must have sent quite a number of stormtroopers and officers away if you were able to get into my cell—and with a blaster, no less.” It would very much explain the emptiness of the area as well. “It would be a shame to not take advantage of your friends’ kindness, correct? Especially since I doubt that they have very long to live.”

Peavey’s face twisted into an absolutely furious expression. “How dare—”

“You are the one who put them in danger, not me.” Hux eyed him coldly. “Though, to be fair to you, it seems as though you are all acting on desperation—which, I suppose, makes some sense. The Supreme Leader is likely to have each and every one of you killed, after all. I suppose I am being a bit unfair by assuming that you would be rational in such a situation.” Lips curling into a sneer, he said, “Though, on the subject of rationality… earlier, I had wondered why you’d bring a weapon into the prison the first place—which was an obnoxiously stupid move, might I say—but I imagine that Snoke’s death and the subsequent chaos that supplanted established hierarchy must have made you quite paranoid. The recent threat to your person by the new Supreme Leader himself did not help things, surely.”

Had looks been able to kill, Hux was certain his corpse would be lying cold on the smooth floor right now. Peavey was appearing absolutely murderous. His eyes darted momentarily to the blaster in Hux’s hand, the blaster that Hux was currently levelling at his chest.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Captain. You are at a disadvantage here, with you being drunk and your dominant hand shattered by a blaster bolt,” Hux told him coolly. “I am perfectly willing to do the same to your other hand, which, I imagine, would not be particularly pleasant for you. And doing so might be an inconvenience for me, but it would be considerably less offensive than having you attack me at every turn.”

Peavey’s eyes were burning. It was admittedly amusing to see.

“My friends’ help only extends so far,” he spat out. “Sooner or later, you will have to maneuver your way around stormtroopers and officers and cameras—I wonder, Hux, if you are capable of pulling such a feat? No Resistance member has yet escaped the Slaughterer.”

“Well, I had better be capable,” Hux said, voice all saccharine. “For, if I fail, do you think that you will face no consequences? Even if you are the one who brings me to justice, even if you are the one who takes me down, you are also the one who gave me the opportunity to be free in the first place.” Tilting his head to the side, he asked, almost gently, “Or do you think the Supreme Leader would forget that?”

It was here that Peavey’s complexion—reddened from drink, earlier—became pallid. He said nothing, but his expression—angry but horrified and fearful, despising Hux but recognizing the truth in what he was telling him—said enough.

“I believe that I can trust your amenability now, yes?” Hux smiled. “Because, if so, please step aside. The longer you hold us here, the likelier it is that the Supr- Ren will return from his little diplomatic mission before we reach the pods.”

And so, Peavey did acquiesce, moving out of Hux’s way and appearing a bit ill now. The two began to walk again, with Peavey looking considerably distressed. Being reminded of how fucked he was no matter how this ended must have made him recognize how hazardous his position was. He was surrounded by the possibility of death on all sides. Hux, too, was facing the potential of being killed, but, considering everything, his chances seemed slightly better than Peavey’s. Not that Hux felt particularly sympathetic for the man, especially after how he attacked him, what, hours ago?

Ah. Speaking of time. How could he have forgotten?

“How long have I been imprisoned?” Hux asked. It was a question that had maddened him, and now was the best time as ever to get the answer.

Peavey, still appearing bothered, did look pensive for a moment, as though he was counting the days down. Finally, after a few seconds of silence, he said, “Five days, I believe.”

Five days. Only five days. Hux had predicted a number like that, but it was humiliating all the same, how such a short span of time could affect him so. Though, it comforted him as well, to know that his absence from the rest of the galaxy was brief. Indeed, the idea that he could be locked away in that cell for years, with space drastically changing while he remained the same, creating a contrast between his world and the outside…

It was terrifying, wasn’t it?

Hux forcibly pulled his mind away from such unsettling thoughts and pushed it back to the matter at hand, for he would not have to worry about such a bleak scenario if he were to escape successfully.

“Ren is planetside,” he said. “Do you know how long?”

“No. I hadn’t been told, nor had I asked.”

Of course Peavey wouldn’t. Hux wanted to sneer, but he kept his composure. Peavey was being surprisingly docile right now, and while this surely wouldn’t last, Hux much preferred the state he was in to his normal self and wanted to keep him like this as long as possible.

“This means that he’s taken a considerable number of stormtroopers and officers with him, correct?” he questioned.

Now Peavey was beginning to look wary. “Not all.”

“Not all, yes,” Hux agreed. “But still quite a lot.” Voice lilting, he said, “The corridor at the lowest point and the leftmost—to our left, specifically—side of the ship… not many go there, do they? It is tucked away and hidden, with plenty of measures taken to prevent people from entering and leaving it. It also happens to lead to the escape pods, doesn’t it?”

Peavey’s lips tightened. “It seems you don’t know the ship nearly well enough then. There are sometimes many stormtroopers there, and if you’d been a competent enough commander, you just might be aware of that,” he taunted. Ah, there he was again. Pity.

Hux, without preamble, grabbed Peavey by the collar with his left hand to pull him close in a swift, but strong tug. Peavey, not expecting the move, tried to back away in shock, but the pain in his right hand severely weakened him, with any rash movement making his body protest in agony. Hux knew it well, for very recently, he himself had experienced it. With this advantage, he found it quite easy to, with his right hand, smack Peavey hard across the face with the blaster. His head snapped to the side, and he looked stunned, mouth agape.

“Don’t treat me as a fool,” Hux snarled, voice deadly but quiet. “The Slaughterer might not be my vessel, but I’ve had command of it since the Supremacy’s destruction.” Then, glacially: “Unless it is wartime, the entire area is kept relatively empty save for some stormtroopers in case of an emergency. And, of course, they are there in case of any runaway prisoners, such as myself—though, again, most prisoners wouldn’t be familiar enough with the ship to even know about this corridor, or have an… associate—” And Hux gave Peavey a cruel, smug look here, to which Peavey stiffened, abhorrence and rage burning in his gaze. “—who would be willing to give them access to it. And does this same corridor that we are standing in not branch off into that one?”

Peavey’s jaw tensed.

“There are still people with weapons there,” Peavey bit out.

Hux looked at him, distinctly unimpressed. “And what’s your point? There are people with weapons everywhere.”

“If I am wrong, and if you know the ship so well, why threaten me to lead you to the pods?” Peavey’s working hand was tightened into fist, white from the tension.

Hux raised an eyebrow. “I thought I made that point clear in the cell. Don’t be daft, Captain, it does not do you any favors.” Tilting his head to the side: “Or, are you suggesting that I should kill you where you stand?” Hux, in an almost lackadaisical manner, raised the blaster to point at Peavey’s forehead. Peavey froze, looking terrified.

“I... I—”

Hux let it linger there for a few seconds, simply revelling in the fear tightening all the features in Peavey’s face, before slowly dropping the blaster back down to aim at his torso. “I need you to access the pods for me. And I need you to access that corridor. Neither would accept a prisoner, would they?”

“No. No they wouldn’t.” Peavey swallowed, looking away.

“And, as for the stormtroopers… you are a captain, correct? If you order them to leave said corridor, they will. They are programmed to be obedient—I had made certain of it.”

Peavey’s gaze met his, defiant. But wavering. “And if I don’t?”

“I shoot you,” Hux said pleasantly. “Then I shoot the stormtroopers—they are infamous for being terrible shots, after all. And, as you’d just witnessed, I am perfectly capable at doing so. Moreover, I am certain that I could best them, especially considering the limited capacity of stormtroopers that there usually are in rotation in that corridor. Though, I’d rather not attract too much attention and your… aid would benefit me greatly, so your cooperation would be appreciated.”

“I hate you,” was all Peavey said. He was shaking in fury.

“I would not have expected otherwise,” Hux said. Then, nodding his head forwards, gesturing to the expansive halls before him, he said with a vicious smile, “Let’s get moving, shall we?”

The door to the hidden corridor was tightly sealed and powerful both in its design and material. It was impenetrable, by most means. It was very obviously built specifically with the intention of not being able to be broken through by brute force, however that brute force might be applied. The security systems of the door were extremely precise and well-made, top of the line in terms of what the First Order had and produced, but all it took was for these systems to properly identify Peavey for them both to be allowed to pass through. Which was understandable, considering that there was no reason that Peavey, as high ranking as he was, should be disallowed from entering. It was also a reason why Hux needed Peavey in the first place. But, Hux couldn’t help but feel an odd trepidation forming at the pit of his stomach, though he couldn’t discern its cause no matter how deeply he thought about it.

The corridor itself did not look too much different than the other ones. It was noticeably  wider, evidently prepared for a great number of people to pass through in case of an emergency, and its walls seemed a tad more durable than most. But other than this, it was indistinguishable from the rest of the halls in the Slaughterer.

But, what surprised Hux the most was the fact that the corridor was empty. Completely, utterly empty.

“Where is everyone?” Hux asked, more than a little bothered by this. He knew that it would be less populated than other routes that led to the escape pods, which was why he chose this particular corridor to reach it, but he had genuinely predicted at least some people and droids standing guard or doing patrols, as was expected. It was the First Order, after all. Typically, First Order ships were constantly working, a machine refusing to stop. But… this?

This was bleak. Pathetic. Was this Ren’s rule? Did he really take so many stormtroopers and officers with him that he left the ship unguarded? It would explain the fact that the only living face they had seen the entire way was that of the single officer, but…

It didn’t make sense. And as much as he liked to think that Ren was an idiot, Hux had been made uncomfortably aware as of late how brilliant the man actually was. He had underestimated him, which was a mistake he could not afford to repeat.

“I… I don’t know,” was all Peavey could say. He sounded genuinely taken aback. “I had some officers and stormtroopers called away from the area around the prisons, since the Supreme Leader had disallowed me from being near you, but… I hadn’t given my friends a single order here. They don’t even have authority over this corridor.”

“Could the Supreme Leader have taken them with him when he went off ship?” Hux narrowed his eyes in thought. He didn’t think so, but it didn’t hurt to bring up the possibility. “Because, yes, your friends’ interference might explain why, other than that single officer, the area around the prisons was entirely empty. But the corridor leading to the one we are in now was left unguarded as well. And, while I am certain that there were cameras there, no one came to apprehend us. There is a similar situation here. Is this not peculiar, Captain?”

“Well, things had been a bit… restless since the Supreme Leader took power. And especially after you lost your position.”

“Oh?” Hux raised an eyebrow, now acutely interested. “How so?”

While he was very aware of how people struggled to readjust with changes in leadership—after all, he had still been General in the very beginning of Ren’s rise to power, and he himself had difficulty finding his footing in the fallout—this was the first time he heard that his own loss of power had affected things in the First Order.

“Making up for the significant empty space in our ranks after your… removal, while not necessarily too hard, all things considered—” Peavey gave him a cold sneer here. “—has still affected how we work. You were a major player, Hux, since you were a general. This means your sudden absence has… impacted things, to say the least. A machine does not run properly when a major gear falls to ruin, especially not without immediate replacement.” Then, with disdain: “Much of the First Order hangs on the thread because of your and the new Supreme Leader’s incompetence.”

“Keep talking like that, and I will take your other hand,” Hux said, but absentmindedly in spite of how Peavey (who still had a red mark on his face where he had been hit with the blaster) froze, looking at once disgusted and fearful.

So nobody had been completely honest or upfront with him as to how easily the First Order was getting by without him, which was to be expected. Still though, it did make him feel a perverse, dark sort of pleasure to know that things were, to an extent, mismanaged without him. He then asked Peavey, “No immediate replacement? Not even a temporary one?”

Peavey didn’t answer. Hux felt impatience flood through his system, and he said, irritated. “I can and will shoot, Peavey. Your value is becoming significantly lower to me now that we are in the corridor and there aren’t many people here.”

“There had been plenty of in-fighting,” Peavey said, but he spoke each word as though they pained him. “Still, there is in-fighting. The Supreme Leader had publicly decided who should temporarily replace you—Colonel Weq, if you know them—but that person was killed by the next day. The Supreme Leader had to uncover who did it, and he then killed the murderer and decimated the circles that the murderer was associated with. Ever since then, he hadn’t announced any new general to take your place, temporary or otherwise.”

“So, in other words, things aren’t doing too well in my absence,” Hux said, smirking.

Peavey looked annoyed by this, and he said, harshly, “Right now, yes. But if one person gains a foothold, a new stability can be established.”

“Hm.” Hux decided to think about this more later. But for now… “Enough of this discussion. The fact that this escape so far has been so easy is… troubling,” he said. “But there’s nothing that can be done except to take advantage of it.”

“I suppose so,” Peavey said, looking at him darkly. And, with that said, they began to walk down the long, wide corridor to where the escape pods were.

Still, Hux could not help but feel as though they were heading right into a trap. As though they were playing right into someone’s waiting hands. Which was ridiculous, for who could have placed such an elaborate trap? It could only be Ren, surely, but Ren was planetside, was he not? And, even if he wasn’t—even if, by some enormous misfortune he was in a position where putting into place such a calculating scheme was possible—there would be no way that Ren would be able to temper his emotions long enough to not immediately storm in and behead both him and Peavey on the spot, right? Yes, he might be… more intelligent than Hux had once believed him to be, but he knew Ren. He’d seen how deranged and crazy he was. However brilliant he could be, he was still, at his core, wild and untameable. He was still a person who struggled with self-restraint and was blinded by his emotions where it mattered.

Still, the sensation lingered, and Hux, illogically, felt eyes at the back of his head. It could have been the result of an overactive imagination, and it very likely was, but he still couldn’t help himself from swiftly turning around, alarmed, half-expecting a man clad in black with wild eyes and a gleaming red blade to be standing in the corridor behind him. But he saw nothing.

Peavey noticed. He was startled by Hux’s sudden movement, and so, he turned his head around, following his gaze to see what had made Hux react in such an uncharacteristic manner. But when he found that there was only an emptiness where Hux was looking, he looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Is there something I’m supposed to be seeing here, Hux?” he asked, sounding unimpressed and disdainful.

Hux felt his face heat up, embarrassed.

“Focus on getting us to the escape pods, Captain, rather than being distracted,” he snapped.

“Funny,” Peavey said, smirking. “I believe I could say the same to you.”

Hux shot him a fierce glare. “Don’t forget yourself, Peavey.”

There was a heavy moment of pause, where Peavey only looked at him with a steady defiance. After the loaded silence lingered a bit too long, having its own implications that Hux refused to dissect, Peavey turned back to the long corridor stretching before them.

“No, of course not,” he said, the emotions in his voice unreadable. And the two continued walking.

Hux should have known to trust his intuition. But how could he, when the light at the end of the tunnel, the freedom he so desperately yearned for, was all within his grasp?

And so conveniently, as well.

Indeed—convenient enough that the halls (even those that were not under the jurisdiction of Peavey’s friends) he passed through were void of any life. That even despite cameras imbedded in the walls, no one came to intercept them. And, that by the time they had reached the pods, Hux was left with the distinct sensation that it had all been too easy.

But what could he have done then, other than to take advantage? He could kill—he had shot that lone unfortunate officer, after all—but there was no one to kill besides Peavey, whom he still needed. Neither he nor his reluctant accomplice had the skill to hack into the security system or splice, and even if they did, many of those systems—the cameras, for example—were protected by a thick layer of durasteel that even a blaster bolt could not completely penetrate.

Hux was aware, then, that he was somewhat hypocritical condemning Peavey and his peers for desperation when he himself was acting on something similar. After all, his own plan, which he was forced to put all his faith into, was so flawed at its foundations that in ordinary circumstances he would curl his lip at it. But, in the position he was in, what else could he do?

The escape pods beckoned him. He stood near one of their sealed entrances, and he gave Peavey a sharp order: “Access this one for me.”

Peavey appeared though he would like to do anything but, and although Hux could see a wistful look in his eyes—Peavey must have understood that he was a dead man walking who looking directly at his chance of survival—he also knew that Peavey was shaped and defined by the Empire in such an intrinsic way that he, likely, could not exist without it, even if this dependency meant harm to himself.

Even if it meant dying.

Hux had worked with Peavey for some years. He had not thought about him much, at least not in comparison to people he was actually interested in, but with that length of time and the close proximity they worked in, it was hard to not pick up some things about the good Captain. Indeed, seeing through Peavey was remarkably simple for Hux, who had an analytical eye when it came to behavior; it was a skill he always was in possession of, but it only sharpened when he took charge of the training of stormtroopers, where the ability to understand and recognize certain behaviors was not only helpful, but necessary.

And what he learned of Peavey was that he needed the stability and hierarchy of the Galactic Empire, and, consequently, he would do anything to work and exist beneath this autocracy. Even it meant being within the ranks of merely an echo of it, an imperfect reflection. Of course the First Order could never satisfy him—it could never become the Empire (in ways both good and bad), and the Empire was so clearly what Peavey required to be content. But he would never get that again, so if he were to live, he would live unendingly embittered, repressed, and disappointed.

So Hux decided that it would be an act of kindness to shoot him right in his head once he did what he needed to do. He pressed his finger a little tighter against the trigger, his blaster aimed at Peavey to ensure that he wouldn’t do anything foolish as he accessed the pod for him.

And, to do a little more than just that. But Hux couldn’t even smile. Not when his own position was still hanging off a precipice—he would only allow himself satisfaction once he reached a planet to flee upon, and even then, he couldn’t relax, for there was no doubt, considering what he knew, how much he knew, that the First Order would be hunting for him—

Peavey was in the middle of a retinal scan when the bright white lights of the corridor suddenly dimmed, the scan itself ending midway. The hallway turned black, and Hux froze, dread crawling up his spine.

“What is this?” Hux demanded. “What is happening, Peavey?”

“I don’t know—”

“What did you do?” he hissed, unable to stop the hysteria from revealing itself in his voice. “You rat—!”

“It’s not me,” Peavey said, panicked, eyes wide in the darkness. “I swear, I didn’t—”

He couldn’t finish his sentence, for the sudden darkness of the corridor was broken through by a vibrant shade of red. Peavey released a mangled gasp, and it was only then that Hux realized that the crimson blade had been activated right through Peavey’s torso from behind, tearing through the dark fabric and into the man’s chest. Peavey’s eyes—haunted, fearful, desperate, pleading, hateful—met Hux’s, and somehow, that look alone caused a horrified shudder to run down his spine. But their gazes locked only briefly, for the blade crudely and cruelly exited his body, causing him to double over. Peavey whimpered from the painful sensation, and it was the last noise he made before he fell into the floor with a heavy thud.

The dark hallway was turned a sickening, dreadful red by the glow of the cross-shaped lightsaber. It was a weapon that had caused so much death, and Peavey’s was just another number, another tally, to its kill count. Or, to be more accurate, the instigator behind all of this suffering was the man who wielded it. Indeed, standing in the center of the vivid crimson light, looming above Peavey’s body in his signature black robes, was Kylo Ren.

Hux—sharp, brilliant Hux who had aced all of his classes with ease and rose to become a general known for his quick thinking and cunning—found that he did not know what to do. His mind was blank; he could feel his mouth part in shock. His hand was still on the raised blaster, and he instinctively directed it to point at Ren rather than where Peavey had been. His hand on the weapon felt unsteady. He should have been prepared for this situation; he had thought he was prepared, but now that the worst case scenario was happening, he found himself at a complete and utter loss.

“Hello, Hux,” Ren said, breaking the silence. He looked oddly tranquil, strangely calm. But Hux knew him too well to think that was a good thing.

“Supreme Leader,” were the only two words that tumbled out of Hux’s mouth, and they came so naturally that he should be disgusted with himself, but he could not bring himself to feel so.

“Ah, you heed my words,” Ren said. “I’m pleased that you remember what I had said. Or, perhaps, are you speaking instinctively? Even better, if my orders have had such an impact.” There was a smile on his face, but it was not reaching his eyes. The expression seemed to fit him ill, lips upturned into a shape not suited for his features. His black eyes, lit red by his lightsaber, had a distinct madness to them.

“Step forward,” Hux said, but his voice seemed distant to his ears. “And I’ll shoot.”

The threat was weak to him, pathetic—he knew that Ren was able to knock blaster bolts out of the air with a wave of a hand. But he had to say something. His blaster—it was all he had, all he could bargain and threaten with. Naturally, Ren looked not the least fearful, and his eyes even gleamed with a gentle amusement, as though he was looking at a foolish but cute child doing something particularly silly.

“Hux,” Ren said, not even bothering to acknowledge his pitiful attempt at a threat. “What do you think of Luke Skywalker?”

The topic change threw Hux off guard, disorienting him. His mind—typically acute, now struggling to keep up—tried to hard comprehend what he was being asked. “Luke…?”

“Yes, him,” Ren said. “Surely you have heard tales of him—most in the galaxy have, at some point.”

“He is dead,” Hux said, speaking coldly and mockingly, because he remembered how much it bothered Ren, the matter of Skywalker. Purposely inflaming Ren’s anger might not have been the smart thing to do in his situation, where it might be better to use coaxing words before striking when the opportunity was right, but he could not construct such an opportunity in his head. All he saw in his future was destruction and death. His own corpse joining Peavey’s.

“Indeed he is,” Ren said, not nearly as affected as Hux thought he would be. “It is something that I’ve had to come to terms with, I admit. It is hard to find closure when all you find on Ahch-To are his robes strewn across stone, with neither his living body nor corpse left for me to witness. I’ve suffered with that, with the possibility that he had survived, but logically, he is dead.” Then, his deep voice lilting: “Are you not impressed with what I am saying, Hux? You’ve never been able to accept that I have an ounce of rationality within me, after all—and to your detriment, perhaps.”

“Why do you bring Skywalker up?” Hux asked, eyes narrowing. His arm was beginning to tire, but he refused to lower the blaster. The smell of blood entered his nose—Peavey’s blood, reminding him of the stakes at hand.

All seemed hopeless, but he could not end up like him. He would not.

“Once, he was my master,” Ren said pleasantly. “Which he failed at. Terribly. But, he did have his moments, and I will recount to you one of them. One day, when he had lost all the hope that he had been so highly regarded for, he had given me wise words that I did not have the experience to believe at the time. Do you know what they were?”

“How could I?” Hux spat out, furious and spiteful to hide his growing fear. He could swear that he could feel viscous liquid at his shoes, but he could not look down to check. Could not give Ren that opening. And although it was irrational to think that such a thick liquid from a source so far away could have reached him already, it still felt as though there was blood lapping at his boots.

“What he said to me was,” Ren spoke as though Hux said not a word, “that it is crazy to think that if you try the same thing repeatedly, you might, by some miracle, eventually achieve an outcome unalike from the rest. Odd for him to say, I know, but he had been cynical, embittered by this time. Cynical enough that he had the heart—or the lack thereof—to try to kill me, a child, by his very own lightsaber while I had slept that night.” Thoughtfully, he said, “I believe that he might have said that with the thought of me in his mind, the me that he had deemed so irredeemable, indefensible, and evil that I was not even worthy of my existence. That me, a little boy, could not be saved—” And he said this word with such scorn, such acid, that it sounded almost like an insult. “Like his father was.”

Hux found himself momentarily shocked. Luke Skywalker, the man whom so many deemed a hero, tried to murder his own nephew? But he had never thought Luke Skywalker a hero—the opposite, really, for what kind of hero would willingly try to destroy an attempt to establish order within the chaotic mess that was the galaxy?—and so, his surprise did not last very long. Indeed, it was overcome quickly by his anger and, as he tried desperately to ignore the body of Peavey on the floor, terror.

He should have succeeded, was all that Hux could then think.

“You’d want that, wouldn’t you?” Ren said. “You wish that I had died that night. Cruel, to think of such towards your own Supreme Leader.” Then, after derisively lifting his hand and flinging Peavey’s corpse against the far wall as though it was nothing but a broken toy that he was no longer interested in playing with, he said, “Come closer, Hux. I would like to see you better.”

“You are not my—” Hux began, furious, but he was cut off by an invisible pressure shoving him to the ground, hard. It dragged him across the smooth floor in a cruel, mocking imitation of what Snoke had done to him prior.

And once he was at Ren’s boots (and he remembered, hatefully, how he had been forced to put his lips to them all those days ago), he could feel a warm, thick liquid at his fingertips. Despite already knowing what it was, he could not stop himself from looking. He lifted his head as much as the Force allowed, and he found that Peavey’s blood was pooling around him, soaking through his fresh uniform and reaching (contaminating) his skin. He blanched and instinctively tried to pull away, but the invisible pressure did not budge.

“As I was saying,” Ren carried on, “my master told me a philosophy that I have now, from this moment on, learned to accept as a truth. It is crazy, isn’t it?” The atmosphere was becoming heavier, darker. Hux then felt the Force wrap around his neck harshly, digging into his flesh and making him gasp. It was not strangling him, but it still felt distinctly like a noose. Hux couldn’t help but wonder if that was what Ren’s intention was. “To do one thing, and do it again, and again and again and again… and then delude yourself into thinking that perhaps this time it would be different.” His voice losing its former calm. It was crescendoing and becoming louder, more passionate, more angry.

Then, the invisible pressure that had coiled around Hux like a snake abruptly—and painfully—pulled him up so his gaze could meet Ren’s intense, furious, and penetrating one. Despite the fact that he was not much shorter than Ren, Hux could barely touch the floor with the tips of his boots, which he was trying to do because he wanted, desperately, to relieve the pressure at his neck. “You had thought me delusional, correct?” Ren sneered. The grip at Hux’s throat became tighter, more unbearable—now he was being strangled. “Then tell me, Hux, how delusional it was of me to think that you’d be different from Rey?”

“I—I don’t—“ Hux spluttered. Desperate, he tightened his grip on the blaster in his right hand, and he raised it to roughly point at Ren’s head. Without much thinking, he pulled the trigger. But his shot was sloppy (how could it not be, in his situation?), and he was attacking a highly skilled Force user. His attack was bound to be unsuccessful, and indeed, it was. Ren stopped the shot mid air, the bolt floating between Hux and Ren mockingly.

“Pathetic—you couldn’t have actually believed that’d work? You always criticize others for acting illogically when they are in frantic or in hopeless situations, yet you have done exactly that multiple times. And your attempt to shoot me? A perfect example of it. But you’ve always been a hypocrite, so I am not surprised.” The expression on Ren's face was cruel, taunting. He closed one gloved hand into a tight fist, and Hux’s blaster crushed into itself—a formidable weapon and Hux’s last defense (or, more accurately, his last illusion of safety) turned into mere broken metal in an instant. Its shards dropped to the floor with a clatter. With a wave of his other hand, the bolt was thrown to the side. Similarly, the invisible pressure at Hux’s throat released. Hux gasped for air, oxygen flooding his lungs.

“You would think,” Ren continued, his voice sounding far away, distant, “that I’d have learned by now. How people betray me, run from me the moment they find the opportunity to. Yet, here we are.”

“I am not like her,” Hux snarled, voice still raspy. His throat burned—how much had he been choked these last few days? Countless, it seemed.

“You’re right.” And here, Ren’s eyes were shards of black ice. “At least she tried. At the very least she attempted to understand me. To… care for me.” His voice cracked here a little—he was clearly still affected. Then, the walls came right back up, his face twisting into a bitter and hateful expression. “Which is better than you or Luke Skywalker ever did—disgusting cowards you are, fleeing at the first sight of something you could not conquer, could not twist to your flimsy codes and ideas of what is meant to be proper, so you condemn, you murder, you hate, you flee. For five years, you demeaned me, tried to destroy my spirit because you thought yourself better—by whose standards? Your arbitrary ones? It was the same with Skywalker. You dogs, you rats, are all the same.”

“If you like that girl so much,” Hux spat out. “Then go to her!”

“Go to her? She, who has also betrayed me?” Ren was sneering. “You two are both traitors. She just had the decency to treat me as a human before she realized that she could not change me and fled.”

“Oh, I don’t want to change you, you fool,” Hux hissed. “I want to kill you.” Oddly enough, it felt as though a weight had been removed from his shoulders just by saying those words. After days of being in a prison cell walking on eggshells and fearing Ren, it felt fucking good saying them. So good, in fact, that he repeated, “I want to kill you” with such vitriol, such hate, that he felt almost high from it.

“So did Skywalker,” Ren said, lips curled. “So does Rey now, I imagine. You aren’t special. You are exactly like them, and you are right—I am a fool. I’ve always despised you as both a man and an officer. You’re a hypocrite, a sycophant, a coward, and a traitor. I should have known from the start you would do something like this. Yet, here I am, having given you a single opportunity, a single instance that you could leave me, and just like her, you abandoned me.”

“Given me?” Hux felt something cold crawl up his spine. “What do you mean?”

Ren smiled then, but it was an ugly smile, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness of the corridor. “Oh, did you honestly think that the corridors just so happened to be empty for you and Peavey? That the cameras, what, just stopped functioning? That everything was working in your favor just because?” He looked at him with contempt. “Please. Don’t act stupid, Hux.”

“How did you know?” Hux rasped out. “I thought you were planetside…?”

“I was planetside,” Ren growled. “Until Colonel Vuln—do you remember her? Because she certainly remembers you—as the officer commanding the Slaughterer while I was away, made me aware of your escape. She planned to send quite a number of stormtroopers to cut you off  before you could reach the pods. It would have worked, easily. But, do you know what I did next? I rejected her plan, and I instead asked her to pull all stormtroopers away from the corridors that you were going through. Why, you might ask? The answer is thus: I wanted to see what you would do. I realized that this was a perfect opportunity to see if you would act as she did. A test, if you will. And, you did as I predicted—which means, your actions mirrored hers almost exactly: you tried to leave me.” Then, he said, a vicious jeer in his voice, “Might I add—I didn’t send Peavey to your prison cell. That idiot came to you himself… with a death wish, clearly, so I obliged and answered it accordingly.” He derisively gestured to the man’s corpse.

“What exactly were you testing of me?” Hux mocked, with false bravado to mask his fear. “Loyalty? I have none for you. I’d rather die than profess to you any sort of fealty.”

Ren tsked. “Now this is the problem with you, Hux. Your actions and words don’t line up. After all,” and, he smiled maliciously here, his voice acidic and vindictive, “that is not what happened when I found you in the throne room with Snoke’s dead, shriveled up body, was it?” Hux froze. “What was it, again, that you had said to me then? Might you repeat that for me?”

Hux grit his teeth, knowing exactly what he was referring to. When he didn’t immediately respond, Ren went on to taunt, “Though, on the subject of actions… Really, Hux, how did you think your plan would work out? I understand that it was a last-gasp attempt to escape, but, come on. I expected more of you.” His eyes darkened. “Even though I perhaps shouldn’t have.”

“I saw a chance and I took it,” Hux spat out.

“You were always a filthy opportunist,” Ren sneered. “Slimy, like a politician—always finding weaknesses to exploit and take advantage of. Which is why I shouldn’t have been as fucking angry as I was when I found out.”

“Oh, poor you,” Hux spat. “You had me arrested and imprisoned—you expect loyalty from that? You call me a traitor, but a traitor to what? You? In that case, yes. Yes, I abhor you, and I would leave you to fucking rot if I could.”

“And so would she! And Luke Skywalker!” Ren’s eyes were venomous here. “Luke Skywalker attempted to kill me—yes, such a hero that he is! Trying to murder his own sister’s son, only a boy at the time… and to think that is what Rey ultimately chose over me…” Then, he glared at Hux, appearing half-mad. “And what were you choosing over me, Hux, by heading to this escape pod? Freedom? No. You wanted to rule the First Order and the galaxy yourself—and I know this because your thoughts are not as quiet as you think they are. Giving that dream up and living beneath the authority of others would not be freedom to you, would it? So if not that, then what?”

No. It wouldn’t. What had awaited Hux past those escape pods was not the life he wanted, far from it really, but it was a life.

A life away from you.

And with this thought reverberating through Hux’s head, strong in its certainty, Ren froze, his eyes wide. He must have heard it. He must have.

Ren stood still for a good few moments, as though processing something he had just found out, something unexpected. Which was ridiculous, because what did he fucking predict? Whatever nonsense he had just been spewing, however much he criticized himself in the past for his naive stupidity, he was still a delusional idiot who made himself out to be the victim. He was still a sociopath who bent others until they broke when they refused to do so for him.

And then, Ren’s gaze burned with a fury that, in all honesty, would have made Hux back away if he was able to.

“Oh, is that so?” Ren asked, his voice deceptively low. There was a danger underlying its deep timbre that made a genuine, instinctual fear spark within Hux. “You would rather give up everything than be with me?”

Hux did not answer, but the way he met his gaze steadily, defiantly in spite of the terror pounding in his chest said enough.

At this, Ren’s face distorted into something absolutely monstrous—unhuman, even.

“So fucking be it,” he said.

And with that, the invisible pressure twisted around Hux’s torso to shove him to the ground. He landed hard enough that it hurt, but the sight of Ren approaching, looming above him with lightsaber in hand glowing red against the black of his robes, sent adrenaline rushing through his veins. Desperately, he attempted to crawl away backwards, but the Force—disgusting, impenetrable, invisible—mercilessly pinned his back to the ground like a butterfly, making it impossible for him to move further.

Hux did not want to die—he couldn’t die. He had so much to do. So much to accomplish. Going out so soon, going out like this… it was not worthy of him. It was a waste of all the potential he had. He had been so close to all that he dreamed of… so fucking close… He couldn’t let it all slip through his fingers. But his mind, frantic and fearful, was not working properly. And, as Ren moved to stand right above him, his brain, a panicking mess, was less of a tool and more of a hindrance. Hux could no longer depend on it.

But, his keen eyes were still working well, and he saw, at the upright corner of his vision, the broken blaster discarded on the floor, not particularly nearby but still within his reach. It was impossible to shoot with, of course, but some of the metallic pieces it was broken into appeared quite sharp. They weren’t ideal, but they were something. And so, with his right hand that, unlike his chest, was not being held down by Ren’s invisible power, he snatched the gleaming metal before he could think twice. It stung, the way the sharp edges of it sliced into the meat of his palm, and he hissed from the sensation. But he didn’t hesitate (couldn’t afford to) to stretch his right arm up and slash the side of Ren’s lower thigh.

Hux wished, momentarily, that he had managed to pierce Ren’s femoral artery—a wound that would almost certainly be fatal—but he doubted that he was able to, considering that the injury he dealt was not nearly as deep as he would have liked.

Still, he did what he intended to do—give himself the opportunity to take back dominance in this fight (if it could be called that).

Ren staggered back with a pained gasp, not expecting the move, and in his shock, his grasp on his lightsaber weakened, allowing its hilt to hit the floor and roll a safe distance away. The Force on Hux’s chest also released, allowing him to sit up and rush forward to knock Ren off his feet. He pinned the man to the floor. Ren bucked against him, defiant. He was strong, undoubtedly; his body was powerful and lean, all muscle. Hux aimed a punch at Ren’s face, and to his surprise, he got one blow in before the Force closed around his fist. With his other hand, he raised the shard with the intent to push it right into Ren’s heart this time. It was hard though, with how his palm was wet with his own blood and burning with pain, and before he could make a move for Ren’s chest, Ren’s hand—large and gloved—caught Hux’s grip around the sharp metal and squeezed.

Hux gasped at the agony pulsing at his palm—Ren’s powerful grasp ensured that the shard dug hard into his flesh. His grip was strong enough that it actually hurt, and Hux briefly wondered if he could break the bones in his hand just by tightening around it hard enough.

“Like a crippled snake,” Ren sneered, as he pushed Hux’s hand, bending it back until it was painful. He took this moment of weakness to sit up and push Hux to the ground, successfully reversing their positions. “Slipping your broken body out of my grasp and digging your shattered fangs into my flesh.” And then, the Force propelled the metallic shard to slip through Hux’s weakening grip. Its sharp edges slashed right through his skin to meet Ren’s fingertips midair. Hux released a strangled whimper, and Ren tilted his head, curious. “And, you hurt yourself to do so. Why do you fight so hard?”

“Why?” Hux echoed, enraged by Ren’s ignorance. He jabbed a knee up, aiming for the bleeding wound at Ren’s thigh, and it hit. But, to his surprise, while Ren did wince, he met Hux’s gaze with a self-assured smirk across his face.

“Oh, Hux,” he purred. “You don’t understand the Force at all. You can hurt me, yes, but I draw power from pain.” Then, he pressed his gloved fingers against the deep slashes across the palm of Hux’s hand, and it fucking stung. Hux bit his lip to keep himself from moaning. “The same cannot be said of you. It was kind of me to tell Agent Jenran to not have you tortured physically—just imagine how you would have bent at the slightest agony!”

“You would be surprised at how much I can take,” Hux grit out.

Ren’s black eyes gleamed, and if Hux looked into them closely enough, he could see a predatory kind of interest there.

“Oh?” Ren’s voice lilted. “Would I be?” Hux felt him trail a gloved finger down his wounded hand, and he resisted the urge to pull it away. “Well you had better hope that you’re right, because I think that after the nonsense you’ve pulled, I am in desperate need of surprises.”

“Not all can be as volatile and erratic as you,” Hux spat.

“Mm, maybe not,” Ren agreed. Now, his focus was on the sensitive underside of Hux’s wrist. He was tracing something there—the veins, perhaps? As he did so, however, he appeared thoughtful, as though analyzing something he had only just come to realize. “But as of late, I admit, I had been seeing unexpected behavior of you. This… your escape… had been a major setback from that. I am now doubtful of your worth to me, but still, I am willing to listen.”

“And I thought mere moments ago you intended to murder me.” Hux had intended to say this mockingly, but his words came out breathy instead.

“Oh, I had. And I am still considering it,” Ren agreed. Then, he mused, sounding considering, “But, I am a reasonable person who is… open to being convinced. Because, this whole time, even as you threw curses at me, not once did you call me anything but my title, did you?”

Hux stilled at this. Fuck. Almost instantaneously, he opened his mouth to do exactly that, but Ren shot him a dangerous look, and not a sound exited his lips.

“Do what I know you’re thinking about,” he said. “And I will slit your throat before a single name even comes out of it.”

The threat was clear. Hux, with a spiteful glare, reluctantly acquiesced.

“You are disobedient, yes,” Ren said. “But purposely, to spite me. Which I will not tolerate.” Then, his eyes glittered. “But… how much of that defiance is forced, I wonder? How much do you compel yourself to rebel and fight even against your very nature simply to upset me?”

“My nature,” Hux repeated, repulsed. “What do you know of my nature?”

“Very little, actually. In all honesty, your nature,” Ren said, his voice lowered, “is what most interests me. It is, in part, why you are still breathing.” Tilting his head, he ran his eyes up and down Hux’s face. “Only very recently have I realized how adaptable you are. Most spectacularly, during this encounter, you’ve yet to repeat the misconduct that I’ve been reprimanding you for over and over during your imprisonment. Is it finally getting through to you?” Ren moved his hand so that it was now against his throat. Hux hated how it rested there, heavy and impossible to ignore, especially as he felt his gloved fingertips dance along the place where he knew his neck was bruised. “Or rather, am I finally getting through to you?”

“Get your filthy hands off me,” Hux said, half-heartedly. But Ren ignored him. Instead, he continued to trail his index finger down his throat and over his Adam’s apple. His touch was feather-light but unbearable. The sensation of it was all Hux could focus on.

“Escape,” Ren continued, “which is undeniably rebellion and therefore cannot be condoned, has not explicitly been forbidden by me in the same way that calling me by my name had been. You might not refer to me as ‘Supreme Leader’ comfortably in these circumstances, but it is flowing easier off your tongue than ‘Ren’ is. I know, because that’s how you first—and instinctively—addressed me in this very corridor.”

“You can’t base all of that on one instance of it happening,” Hux snarled.

“Of course not,” Ren said, his lips curling upwards. “So I’m sure that if I listen to the recordings in the halls that you and Peavey have walked through to get here, you certainly would not have called me by my title, right?” At Hux’s frozen expression, Ren’s smile widened. “Or, am I wrong…?

Hux recovered quickly. “What are you trying to say?” he growled.

“What I’m saying is… maybe you aren’t hopeless,” Ren said. “That maybe you have potential. It’s unforgivable that you attempted to escape from me, but you have learned to call me by my title, as I have told you to. That means that you are capable of being taught.” He then met Hux’s gaze, his black eyes filled with a wicked intent. “Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Nonsense,” was Hux’s response, but it came out weaker than he intended. “You are speaking nonsense.”

“You can call it whatever you wish,” Ren said, amused. “But these are the rules that you must live by.”

This inflamed Hux’s anger. “I don’t live by your rules!” he snarled, furiously twisting his lower body around in hopes of getting Ren off of him. But, his struggles did nothing—they only made Ren smirk before he reached down, grabbed hold of both of his wrists in one hand, and pinned them to the floor. He fought against it, but Ren’s strength was unwavering. It was embarrassing how easy it was for Ren to do so—was Hux so weak? Furiously, he contributed his inability to escape Ren’s grasp to the fact he hadn’t been eating or sleeping well. Surely, he wasn’t this easy to best in combat…?

Then, Ren pressed close, taking hold of Hux’s chin in his gloved hand and ignoring how Hux tried to move his head away in protest, to whisper, “Oh, but you already are. And you will continue to do so, whether you want to or not. Whether you say you want to or not—words and actions, remember? And that’s the point of this, Hux—I don’t need you to willingly surrender and obey me. You will do so ultimately, no matter what curses you fling at me or how you have your little moments of hollow defiance.” Then, with gleaming eyes: “And yes, Hux, you will live, because I decided you will live. You will come to see this as mercy, but the person you are now—well…”

Here, Ren smiled at Hux in a way that it made something ice-cold sink to the bottom of Hux’s stomach. The way he was looking at him—deadly, vicious, dangerously confident—caused his heart to pound in terror and something else (something suffocating) he could not identify.

And Ren purred, “He will have wished that I had killed him.”

With those words, he released his grip on Hux’s chin entirely. Hux could not even bask in this momentary, meaningless kind of freedom, for Ren raised his hand to the side of Hux’s head. Hux felt a pressure there, a tension that was heavy, powerful, inescapable—

And all went black.