Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ajan Kloss, 35 ABY

The temple is quiet – a stark contrast with the constant chaos that fills the base. You close the heavy wooden doors, and all the noise is left outside, along with any kind of trouble that weighs down your soul. Poe looks up at the rose window behind the altar: the rising sun is filtering through the stained glasses, the beams drawing a well known scene on the stone floor. A woman with a child in her arms. Isn’t it peculiar how so many cultures around the galaxy have this dyad in their religions? They may not be the main deities of the pantheon, but you can bet they are present. The Mother with her Child. Why?

“I love this place too.” comes General Organa’s voice, “I come here often.”

“I can see why.” Poe glances over his shoulder, “It’s peaceful.”

So peaceful he could hear his own heart fluttering, snippets from the previous night still flickering in his mind, echoes of what he will soon lose. Can she read his mind? Can she spare him to explain what he’s going through?

“You know the rose window is still intact for fluke?”

The old woman reaches a bench, and then taps the seat with her cane to invite him to join her. Poe sits with her.

“It’s from Alderaan. But it wasn’t there when the Death Star appeared in the sky.”

Poe can’t help but admire her collected voice, her calm attitude. She’s speaking about the day her home planet was destroyed – and her parents with it – and she’s doing it like that moment didn’t destroy her too. Like she’s still intact and full of hope.

“It was in Chandrila at the time. To be restored.” she explains, “All the colors were worn out, and some pieces were missing. I remember the child didn’t have a face anymore.”

Poe admires the stained glass: “It’s beautiful.”

“And it’s not even remotely comparable to what we lost with Alderaan. But every time I look at it,” Leia sighs, her eyes tired yet glinting with her usual sharpness, “I can see it again.”

The sun is high now, and the beams are strong rays, burning through the glass and dazzling Poe’s eyes.

He’s not ready. He swallows dry and opens the mouth to say it out loud.

“General–”

A plea.

Leia stops him, settling a hand over his.

“I know, boy.”

She’s the Mother now, just for this moment, and he’s the Son. Playing pretend for the sake of their own souls.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Poe stifles a sob, his sight suddenly watery. He doesn’t need to answer. He holds Leia’s hand and braces himself for the next words.

“Then you have to let him go. Whatever happens.”

* * *

Kijimi, six months before

“What the kriff are you doing?!”

Poe snatches the rifle away from Finn, eyes darting between him and Hux. The man was on the ground, a leg visibly hurt from a blaster shot.

“He asked for it!” Finn snaps back.

“I asked to be shot in the arm, you scum!” Hux spats.

“Shut up and crawl back to your boss to whine!”

Poe can’t believe it. It’s been a shitty day so far, but this just tops everything else.

“Let me guess: your great plan is lying to Pryde and blaming…?"

“Ren!”

“...of course. Blaming Ren for everything? Are you for real? How did you even become an official?”

Hux's answer is a hiss. If it’s for disdain or for pain Poe can’t say it, what he can say is he’s having a bad idea. So so so bad. But the Falcon engine is running and Rey is shouting from inside and soon they will be surrounded by Stormtroopers. They need to leave now.

“Bring him inside!”

Finn looks at him in shock. He rolls his eyes, then pushes him to hurry. Hux tries and fails to fight them away, cursing and squirming and overall making a scene. They have to drag him on the ship while the tailgate is closing, and then dump him on the metal floor without much care, leaving him there to run to their stations. There’s no time to think about him anymore.

“Poe?” Finn swirls on his seat, his hands flying to the commands, “Why we just saved the ass of a First Order’s general?”

“We did what now?!” shrieks Rey staring at both of them.

“He’s the mole!” he explains annoyed, “We can’t leave him to them, he’s going to fuck up everything!”

Rey opens her hands in an obvious gesture: “Then get rid of him!”

“That’s what I was doing!” protests Finn, and then points a finger at Poe, “And he stopped me!”

“We don’t get rid of people.” he singsons exasperated, “Especially if they can help us.”

“I will not help you scum!” yells Hux from the other side of the ship.

Both Finn and Rey eyeball him. Poe palms his face and screams on his hands.

“Can you at last try?!”

*

Ajan Kloss

General Organa is not amused. Everyone in the room can tell it, but only one can feel it. The furious stare of the most fearsome woman in the galaxy is burning a hole in Poe's skull. More powerful than a blast shot, and more intimidating than every single high rank official present. He knew right away how bad that idea was, yet he can’t help but think it was the right thing to do. And now the only thing is to plead his own case.

“He provided crucial information for the Resistance, without which we would be in severe disadvantage. We can’t just get rid of him.”

“And didn't it occur to you that he might be more useful in his previous position?” remarks one of the officials.

“He would not be so useful once dead.” he points out, “‘Cause trust me, they would have killed him.”

“That’s just an assumption.” says another official.

Poe is starting to regret this whole ‘general Dameron’ situation. It was way more fun back when he could do his wild takes without having to justify everything to an entire war cabinet. The man is a waste of time? Probably. He’s the kind of guy that leaves a man at his fate after he rescued him and his comrades? Kriffin no! And fuck off their stupid rules.

But how can he express this though without being kicked out for insubordination?

“Look, I take full responsibility for what I’ve done–”

“Do you, Dameron?”

This is the first time General Organa addresses him directly.

“What you did can pose a huge risk over all of us.” she coldly says, “Are you willing to be accountable for the consequences, whatever they will be?”

Alright, all this solemnty feels a bit out of place for such a situation. He’s just a Hux . And he’s their prisoner. How much of a threat can he be? Best he can do is refuse to help them and proceed to be an obnoxious jerk, until they will finally get fed up with him and decide to send him to penal labor on Kiffex.

But Poe knows that if he wants to win this battle, as stupid as it seems, he has to play along. 

“I will.” he solemnly says, “For now on, Armitage Hux will be my personal responsability.”

He says it with a serious voice but with a light heart. Because for real, what could possibly happen? Besides, they have an impeding task to take care of: a war to win. They will deal with Hux in the aftermath – as long as they survive. Until then, he will be confined in a cell, from which he can’t do any harm.

“I trust that you will take care of him, then.” wrap up General Organa, “With a help from Rey.”

Poe is too flabbergasted to say anything, and the discussion is overtaken by other, more urgent, issues. He has just the time to lock eyes with Rey and read the same confusion he feels.

Later, after they discussed and planned the next move and the cabinet is dismissed, they leave the room and head to a more private corner.

“I don’t like to be involved in this thing.” whispers Rey, “I didn’t want to bring him here in the first place!”

“I know, I didn’t want to put you in this situation.” Poe sighs, “What you think she want you to do?”

Rey paces around nervously, clasping and opening her hands on repeat.

“Interrogate him, I guess.”

Poe frowns at the idea. It’s logical to interrogate an enemy, even if he spent the last month willingly passing information to them. It’s just– he didn’t strike General Organa as someone who would do – or order to do – something like this.

“Have you ever done it?”

Rey shakes her head. And that, somehow, is not at all reassuring for him.

“As much as I would like to take all the information he’s hiding, I don’t want to do it.”

Poe takes a huge breath.

“Tell her.” he says, only for Rey to scoff at him, “It’s not like she can force you! And I don't think she ever would.”

“You don’t understand–” Rey grabs his arm and brings him to an even hidden corner, “She’s dying.”

The word resonates in his brain for a while, refusing to settle, to take form and weight and sense. And when it finally does, it’s like he always knew it.

“I need to learn as much as possible from her.” Rey eyes are swelling with tears, “And if this means–”

She chokes and swallows, diverting her eyes from him. Poe is pained – for her, for Leia, for all of them that will soon have to deal with it .

“If it means I’ll have to interrogate Hux or whatever prisoner, then I will do it.”

“I’m sorry.” he manages to say, without the guts to look at her anymore.

“You did what you thought was the best.” she tries to reassure him, “I just hope to not end up messing this up.”

“You’ll be great! And I’ll be there with you, so… you know nothing bad can happen, right? I bring good luck!”

He flashes one of his charming smiles at her, and she snorts a tiny laugh.

“Hey, are you starving? Because I am! Let’s find Finn and get something to eat together.”

Rey nods enthusiastically and they move from along the corridor, heading to the canteen. 

“Uh… go on, I’ll catch you up!”

“Squalbuger and caf?” she asks, walking backwards.

He snaps his fingers and smirks: “You know me, girl!”

When Rey is far enough away, he slides in a corridor almost empty. In any base of the Resistance there is a wing reserved for the prisoners. He’s not familiar with it, but as an official he knows how to look. And he quickly finds what he needs.

Hux’s cell.

No one is on guard. He knocks at the door. Once, twice. No answer.

“Hey, it’s Dameron. Can I come in?”

What the kriff he’s asking for permission?!

“It’s not like I can open the door and welcome you inside.” he finally says.

Poe fumbles with the keypad and then the door unlocks with a loud metallic sound. He peeks inside: Hux is handcuffed on a bed, his clothes are changed and his leg has been bandaged.

“They treated you. Good. Did you eat?”

Hux glares at him and that’s already the second time in a day that someone tries to kill him with a stare before lunch. It’s a record.

“Good news! We talked about you.”

“No way.”

“They are… excited to discover how you can help us again!” 

Poe is a master in lying, but sometimes he’s a bit too much.

“Because you can, right?”

“Of course I can.” Hux is unfazed.

“Good! Being collaborative is…” he brings his thumbs up, “Good. The best, really.”

Stars, he’s a disaster.

“Just… keep doing what you already did, give them information and everything. It was great!”

“Or what?”

“Oh… what what ?”

Hux slowly brings himself up, sitting on the bed and facing directly at him. His icy eyes boring into his in an unsettling way.

“What would happen if I would not be collaborative?” he simply asked.

Caught off guard, Poe shrugs his shoulders and tries to elaborate an answer.

“Nothing.” he manages to bring out, “You are safe here. I promise.”

Hux's face hardens, his eyes glinting in a dangerous way.

“Oh, you promise.” he sneers, “Now I feel safe.”

“Yes.” Poe pride steps out, “Yes you are safe. I brought you here, I am responsible for you.”

He looks at him in disdain.

“How wonderful. Protected by the rebel golden boy.”

Poe regretted immediately his stupid concerns about him. He might be responsible for him, but he’s a kriffin war criminal: whatever will happen to him, Hux won’t be able to say he didn’t see it coming.

“Yeah, well. Good permanence.” he heads to the door, “We’ll deal with you after winning the war.”

“You better not make promises you can’t keep, Dameron.” he hears him saying right before closing the door.

And Poe can’t imagine how those words will haunt him in the future months.

Chapter Text

Ajan Kloss

Time flows in a strange way when you are isolated in a cage for too long, with so limited human interaction.

Armitage has the hours marked by the meals slipped in from the small gape on the door, the days by the rising and the setting of the sun reflected by Ajara, the gas giant around which the planet moves. He doesn’t see it directly, of course: the sunlight is filtering through the tiny window cut high on the wall, its frame traveling slowly over the opposite wall, until it’s gone, replaced by the much weaker light from the two moons. It reminds him of Arkanis and its everlasting gloom weather, where the sunlight it’s so rare it felt almost mythical to see it.

It’s all like a mirror game now. Nothing really true is coming to him but its pale imitation – not the sunlight, not the time. Because with nothing in hand to tick down the days, they start to overlap.

Sometimes a nurse comes into his cell to medicate his wound, escorted by a guard while another stands on the doorframe. Armitage asked them once how much time had passed – nobody answered and he never repeated himself again. That scum has no manners. But at least they are keeping him alive. For how long he doesn't know yet, but sure he's already living more than he would if he returned to the First Order like he intended to do.

With all that time alone, Armitage had the opportunity to think a lot. Make some self reflections, and conclude with a hard self-judgment. Whatever his fate will be there, in the hands of the Resistance, it can't be worse than the one that Pryde would have reserved for him if he would have discovered his bad attempt at double-cross. All his plan was hazardous – or as Dameron would say, ‘a shitty take’. Not that Armitage would ever admit to him that he was right: the man is already an arrogant self-centered prick, there's no need to fuel his attitude even more.

But the harsh reality is: rage and spite obtumbered his view and drove his previous actions more than his usual wit and planning. And as much it can be humiliating to accept, if he’s still alive it’s because of Dameron.

Sure he will not waste that chance. No more idiotic moves from now on. Growing up with Brentol as a father gave him the most useful skill at surviving: opportunism. Any other survival training gained during his academy years is pointless compared.

Now what he needs most is to gain information, for information is power. The more he knows the more he can make himself useful for the Resistance, maybe even essential. They already are aware he has something to offer to them: he just has to play it right and earn reliability in their eyes. And in the meantime plan how to escape from their control.

If he managed to trick Brentol and win over him, he could do the same to these scum blindfolded and with his hands tied. They are all but babies compared to him. In the right time and place, he’s about to teach them a lesson they will not forget soon.

*

Days come and go, the nurse came a couple of times again, the reflected light moved on the wall. Nothing changed.

Until it does.

One evening Armitage puts the empty tray of his dinner on the gape of the door and then comes to the small sink to wash his teeth. It’s the only occurrence he approaches that spot of the cell, since up above the sink is hanging a mirror, and he doesn’t like to see himself in that state. His appearance has become a wreck. He lost the tidy, well-groomed look he liked to keep: the hair is now at a weird length that gets in the way whenever he has to bend over, and a patchy unkept beard has covered his cheeks. He doesn’t like it – it’s messy and lacks style and overall doesn’t reflect who he is for real. He doesn’t recognise himself anymore. That is not General Amirtage Hux, First Order official. The stare he gives back to himself every time is the same his father would give him: contempt.

But  right when he finishes rinsing his mouth and straightens up, the same merciless stare notices something weird: the tray is still there. Drying his face with a towel, Armitage turns to look at it, and then pays attention to the surroundings, or what he can perceive from his isolated situation. And finally realizes.

The cell isn’t soundproof and, even if that wing is mostly empty, it's never completely quiet, if nothing because the other wings are filled with people working. But now there’s no noise from outside. Not a sound or a voice, even the buzzes from the air pumps are somehow muffled. Something big it’s happening – if good or bad for him he can’t really tell. But after a long time of odd silence, the building is now shaking at its base like a bomb has been detonated on the core of the planet. Hundreds of ships are departing, their shadows projecting on the wall while passing between the moonlight and the tiny window of his cell.

So it has started – the beginning of the end.

*

When they come for him, Armitage is still not sure about the kind of fate that awaits him.

He already knows the Resistance has won. All that festive tumult he heard going for a day and a night, the fireworks blasting their bright colors, the chants and music and smell of good food – not much First Order style, honestly. Plus, he’s still alive: the base has not been pulverized along with the whole planet. So he’s pretty confident about which side has won.

But that doesn’t ensure his safety at all.

As far as he knows, the person whom he owes his life to may be dead in battle. And Armitage he’s pretty sure Dameron is the only reason he’s not been executed upon he arrived there. The fact that he felt the need to reassure Armitage how he’s safe here, and swear to protect him, speaks volume about his actual situation. And paradoxically it didn’t have the desired effect: on the contrary, Armitage felt even more threatened.

In addition to being quite naive, the man is bad at lying – a disconcerting combination. He wonders how the kriff he managed a spice business before being enrolled in the Resistance. But here he is, laying his life in the hands of an idiot with the hero complex and a planning span skill of two hours. Brentol would be so disappointed. Well then, he’s rotting six feet underground, while Armitage is still alive. Fuck him. He will face this alone and win, as usual. Even if it will be humiliating.

Because that’s how he feels when the cell door is opening. More than scared, Armitage is finding himself embarrassed. Because how else could he describe that feeling? Hoping with all his soul to see Dameron’s face again, safe and sound, is something Armitage never thought would experience.

*

Apparently, Dameron is still alive. And even too much safe and sound, giving his annoying chatter and even more annoying cheerfulness.

He greets him with the most aggravating grin on his stupid face: “Let’s get to business, Hugs!”

Hugs. 

Armitage grimaces in front of his completely unjustified joy, while letting a guard handcuff him.

The man is insufferable while escorting him through the mazy corridors, talking with everyone willing to hear his prattle and giving out high-fives and pats on the back like he just won the war all by himself. He can’t believe he’s basically relying his own fate on this man. A couple of feet behind him, Armitage pull a face over his overly enthusiasm.

“You’re all fools if you think it’s over.”

“Why you think we’ve taken care of you so well?” Dameron glances over his shoulder, “You’re our insurance.”

“If you think the First Order would negotiate to get me back, you’re more stupid than what I thought.”

“Aww! Don’t be so mean to yourself. You are important! I’m sure they’re all missing you. They might even have thrown a commemorative party for you!”

The soldiers escorting them laugh. Armitage is seething with rage for the mocking, but still he manages to remain impassive and fake indifference.

“See, this is the difference between you and us.” he says with pride, “The First Order is full of high ranking officials trained to take the command whenever someone falls. There’s no time for mourning. While you are here celebrating, we are already reorganizing.”

A subtle ‘ooooh’ rises from the soldiers.

“That’s why you are so important, Hux. At least for us.” Dameron stops at a door and dismisses the soldiers, “‘Cause you didn’t fall.”

The door opens to a room furnished like an office. An important office, Armitage guesses. And when he spots General Organa sitting on an armchair near the window, he understands where they are.

One might think it would be an honor for him to meet the near-legendary leader of his enemies. But the admiration General Hux may feel for his counterpart is far outweighed by the fear the man Armitage feels towards Force-sensitives. He was raised to dread and loathe those people among anyone else, to never trust them, to always expect the worst from them. One among the severe but necessary lessons Brentol gave him – and his own experience did nothing but prove him right. He despised Snoke and Ren almost how much he despised his own father, and felt immensely pleased when the first was murdered.

They are abominations of nature that must be eradicated.

Now, being in the presence of one of them – probably the most powerful still alive – is something that the man Armitage perceives as the worst nightmare coming true. So he needs to appeal to General Hux and summon the strength to not give in and crumble.

“Did you explain to him what is going to happen?”

“Uh… more or less.”

“Dameron.”

“He needs to know.”

The last voice belongs to a third person. Someone that Armitage, striked by Organa’s presence, hadn’t noticed at first. The scavenger girl, the one Ren was obsessed with. A no-one that for too long he didn’t perceive as a menace, but right now, standing next to General Organa, it’s clear for him how he can’t underestimate anymore.

“What did you fail to tell me, Dameron?”

It’s General Hux stern voice speaking, taking charge of a situation that Armitage is paralyzed to face.

Dameron looks at him speechless for a moment – a miracle. Then regains the gift of the word.

“We just need to be sure.” he says in what would be a reassuring way.

Armitage narrows his eyes: “To be sure of what?”

“Your intentions.” says Organa, not explaining further.

“I’ve been brought here against my will.” he remarks, “I have no intentions but to survive.”

“Look, it’ll be over in a bit!” cuts in Dameron.

Something cold slides down his spine.

“It’ll be over what precisely?”

“You should have prepared him.” says Organa, sounding pissed.

“We can do it another time.” tries the girl.

“It’ll be over what?” he repeats, refusing to let what is going to happen soon dawn on him.

“We cannot postpone.” states Organa, “I will not allow the same mistakes of the past. He is the best weapon we have and we need to put him in use as soon as possible.”

“General–”

But Dameron’s attempt is silenced by a severe glance.

“Rey. Do it.”

*

People around him are talking, but he can’t grasp what they are saying. Someone is shouting while grabbing at his arm. That’s the only part of him he can really feel, because everything else is clouded. Then the most painful headache hits him, hard and brutal. He wonders if someone had shot him in the head and he’s dying, but as time passes he slowly – grueling – regains control over his senses. It’s not a good thing, though. When his eyes can see again, even the dim light of the room is too much for him and everything is spinning and that torture, coupled with the headache, gives him sudden nausea. He closes his eyes trying hard to shut the feeling, but he soon gives up and rolls over to throw up.

The hand on his arm doesn’t relent, another one is now on his shoulder. The touch it’s somehow a comfort – yet he feels only hate. A visceral, unrestrained hate to nothing specific. Like he could make the entire galaxy collapse if he only finds a way, because the necessary fury – oh stars – that one is more than enough.

“Get away!” he blurts smacking away Dameron’s hands.

When he tries and fails miserably to get up, another wave of nausea hits him. But he grits his teeth and swallows, one breath after another, lying there on the floor, until he’s finally in control again.

Dameron then reaches a hand to help him get up. He ignored him.

Armitage gets up on his own and wipes the vomit from his face with a sleeve. Then he straightens his shoulder, and faces Organa and her pupil.

“Did you find something interesting?” asks coldly.

The girl avoids his gaze – coward, exactly like every single freak like her. Organa, though, is confident enough to look at him while she answers.

“Just what we need.”

“Can I go back to my cage, now?” he politely demands, “Or you need some more time to play?”

Organa nods at Dameron. The man opens the door and waits without trying to touch him anymore. Out there the soldiers are still waiting, and when they take a look at him they smirk at each other, already loading the camaraderie shared around the usual bullying towards the captive enemy.

Armitage couldn't be less bothered: he saw the same thousand of times between the Stormtroopers, why would the Resisetence’s soldiers be different? Men are all the same: give them a target and they gladly would do anything to dehumanize them, so they can have the perfect excuse to unload their lowest instincts.

What instead bothers him a lot is Dameron's reaction to their attitude. The man seems outraged, to the point of stopping and scolding them. They then proceed to escort him to to his cell in complete silence.

On the door, Armitage turns around and looks at him with scorn.

“How does it feel to be so hypocritical?”

Dameron's face is hard, but his eyes cannot lie: he’s stung by his words. A small satisfaction in the shitload in which Armitage is immersed. If he’s really so foolish to believe he can play hero and protect him, maybe he deserves a reality bath.

“I stopped her.” he says while taking off the handcuffs.

“Did you?” he teases him, “How brave of you!”

“You can’t expect to be treated with kid gloves!” he argues.

“But I can expect a virtuous Resistance official to maintain his word, can’t I?”

Dameron’s stare is furious. He closed the door with a loud slam without saying anything else.

“Good night, General Dameron!” shouts Armitage.

He doesn’t give a kriff if his word really meant something to him. He just wants him to feel at least a bit of a shit, maybe even put a womp rat in his skull. Wouldn't it be delightful if he’d manage to sow discord between the high rank of the Resistance? He’s condemned already, why not try and have some fun in the meantime?

Chapter Text

The loud slam of the door is still echoing in the empty corridor. Poe is looking at his own hand, pressed against the metal surface as if with that gesture he could erase the enormity of what just happened. Like all his responsibility about it could disappear behind that door.

But the guilt and the confusion and the disbelief are all there, still swirling and molding in his head, clinging on him like the stink of vomit is clinging in the air. Not even a locked security door can cut them away – and he wouldn’t want it anyway.

If only Poe was such a man. But he’s not. He’d rather be dead than the kind of man capable of such disregard. That’s why as soon as he’s calm enough – yet not too much – he heads to General Organa’s office again. Or it would be better to say, he runs there, so many questions overlapping in his head. He almost crashes into someone, barely able to apologize before regaining his run. But that someone grabs him by the arm and stops him, calling him by his name.

“Poe? Poe!”

Poe twirls on his feet and looks at the person. It’s Finn.

“Oh– blast! Sorry. I don’t have time to– I need to see General–”

“She’s with the other big shots. But Rey wants to see you. She’s shaken. What the kriff happened?!”

He raises a hand to calm him: “Hey, slow down! Where is she?”

“Her quarters. It’s something about him?”

Poe rubs his eyes and takes a deep breath. It really has been a bad idea.

“It’s something about him.” he confirms.

“That gravel maggot–”

Poe has to tackle him to stop him from going to the prisoners’ wing.

“I told you to get rid of him!”

And here we are! Bad bad bad idea that is already backfiring at him.

“He didn’t do anything. It was General Organa’s fault.”

Not in a million parsecs would Poe imagine to formulate a thought like this – let alone saying out loud. And Finn is looking at him like he’s thinking exactly the same thing.

“What–”

But there’s no time to explain. Mostly because he himself couldn't explain what happened, except that something went really wrong. Was it Rey inexperience with that stuff? Was it his fault at not preparing Hux about what was going to happen? Did General Organa know that it would be like that? Again, he has so many questions, and unfortunately he’s pretty sure Rey can’t answer them. In fact, Poe is positive she’s currently even more confused than him.

“Come with me.” he nods at Finn, “Rey needs your attention more than Hux.”

*

Rey is a mess. And Finn is so pissed with all of them.

“You tell her you will not do it anymore!”

“Finn–”

“Promise.”

“Oh stars–”

“Promise.”

“C’mon, let her breathe.”

Finn shoots him with a deadly glance.

Poe is starting to regret wanting him with them. But again, he needs to talk with General Organa, and couldn’t deal with the idea of leaving Rey alone in such a state. Finn is the best at taking care of her – even if in a bit obsessive way. Not that Rey minds it at all, on the contrary, after all those years alone and neglected, Poe can see how she basks in his attention.

“I’m sorry. I wouldn't have let that happen if I had known.”

Two people are suffering bad consequences because of his lightness. And if he can’t stay indifferent about Hux’s state, even less he can about Rey’s.

“As if you could.” she says with a sad smile, “You can’t stop her. No one can.”

She doesn’t say it with resentment. Even after what happened, she still has faith in General Organa, like everyone else. Like him. He can’t help but feel guilty and angry, but she’s the only one that still can guide them. Being conflicted about her true intentions is gut wrenching.

“Anyway, we got what we wanted.” she shrugged, “So she probably won't ask me to do it again.”

“Probably?” pressed Finn.

For the sake of the already saturated tension in the room, Poe holds back saying anything, but he too would like to know more.

“He’s clean. I didn’t find any… plot or something. He’s not scheming anything. He just wants to survive and possibly get out of here, but he doesn’t have any idea of how. He’s going to collaborate in any way we’ll ask him. I didn’t sense any real threat from him except the usual hate, especially toward us.”

“Us? You mean the people of the Resistance?”

“Yes. No. I mean… he does hate them, but not as much as the Force-sensitives.” Rey makes a pained face, like she’s recalling something deeply hurtful and disturbing, “He hates us above anyone else.”

And that would be enough to shake anyone, especially someone who was in Hux's head and could perceive all of this in their own mind. But there’s still something. Rey's eyes are erratic while talking, like something else – something subtle – is simmering in her, trying to find a way to spill out.

“But…?” Poe gently pushes her.

She looks at him, her face pale and her eyes uneasy.

“There was something–”

“Something what?” asks Poe, growing more impatient.

Rey shakes her head, scrunching her face.

“I don’t know, it was– wrong. So wrong. Like–”

Poe opens his mouth to press again, but Finn hits him, looking at him furious. He’s right: Rey is distraught, she doesn’t need more pressure.

“Like a black hole.”

The last sentence is a punch in the gut. They both look at her in disbelief.

“A black hole?” is Finn talking this time. And Rey just nods silently at them.

Poe is just too astonished to utter a word.

He saw black hole once – or it would be better to say if he carefully avoided actually seeing it. Poe is keen to do stunts but he’s not stupid, and most of all he’s – like all people that traveled a lot – a little prone to superstition. There’s this recurring legend between galaxy travelers that says looking at a black hole makes you lose your mind. There are tales about smart, brave travelers, going mad and killing their beloved crewmates and then driving their ship into the black hole, just because they dared to challenge the myth and merely took a glance at it.

Poe never believed too much about any legends, but it’s never too bad to be a bit precautious about them, isn’t it? Besides, there’s no real good reason to look at a black hole, even if curiosity is gnawing at you from inside out. So when it happened to him and a route brought him near one of them, he just looked away until it was time to leave. Its presence, though, was like a magnet to his soul – calling from somewhere deep and dark inside him, chilling his bones to the core. An anguishing torment that felt like only giving up and surrendering to it would finally stop. It took some time for him to shake off that sickening feeling.

Now, the look on Rey’s face is the same Poe still remembers seeing in the mirror for days after that unfortunate encounter.

“What did General Organa say?”

Rey clenches her jaw and then releases a short, fearful breath.

“That’s the worst part. She said that she felt it too. And she looked scared.”

*

On the General Organa’s desk there’s a holophoto on, picturning four people: three adults and a child. They were all so young, yet Poe can recognize every single one of them – war heroes are hard to forget. He grew up with the woman’s face holoprojected all over the places: a symbol of hope for everyone. Holding her child in her arms, she had the same fierce look she has now.

The General’s office is empty. When Poe came to it, he already knew that and he just resolved to wait for her – a much needed break. Honestly it feels a relief to not have to face her right away. The mere fact that General Organa was afraid about something is scaring the shit out of him. Oh Poe is not a kid: of course he knows that she’s human like all of them, thus she can experience the whole spectrum of emotions. But that is again another mixed signal from her that he doesn’t know how to address. As much as he respects her, he’s still angry about how they dealt with Hux and he wants – he needs – to confront her about it, to demand some explanations. Command is hard, Poe knows it very well, and a part of him feels bad to have such an attitude toward her, but she’s the one addressing how hard and challenging command is, urging him to do better. Well, this is better from his point of view.

“I guess we can’t postpone this conversation for tomorrow?”

Poe salutes her. She seems so tired and in pain and he feels a piece of shit, but he clings tightly on to his better and goes on.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you are right.” she says, slowly approaching her seat and sitting with a sigh, “Did you talk to Rey?”

“I did.” Poe licks his lips nervously, “She’s not alright.”

“She’ll be fine. But that’s not what you want to talk about, isn’t it?”

General Organa pierces him with a stare that screams ‘let’s stop with this small talk and focus on the main topic’. Poe can understand her attitude, but he doesn't like it.

“Was that really necessary?” he asks, a little harshly.

“Yes.” she answers dryly, and she doesn’t add anything else.

“Oh, that’s all?” Poe frowned at her, then pointed at the door, “There’s a woman traumatized. She’s your pupil and–”

“Oh, don’t pretend your concern is all about Rey!” the General scoffs at him, “She’s not a baby. She knew what she was going to do.”

Poe is taken aback from her raw answer.

“She may never have done it on a prisoner, but we did train and she was fully prepared.” she intertwines her gnarled fingers on the desk, “No Poe, the one you are really concerned about is yourself.”

That is a low blow, but he can’t really blame her.

“I don’t have to be?” he says back, unyielding “I know I brought to us someone that might pose a threat to us, but I did take responsibility for it.”

“Did you? Hux is under your care, yet you didn’t do your job and got him ready.” she sternly points out.

“You didn’t say you would interrogate him like that!” he snaps back.

He’s slowly derailing, losing his manners to the rage he feels rising at her collected and very right words. He has a point but she’s right: he didn’t do his damn job.

“It is the usual procedure with high ranking enemies.” she reminds him, “You should know by now, as you are a general yourself. The only difference has been, I usually do it by myself, but this time Rey did it.”

“And it didn’t go well.”

“Because you didn’t get him ready.”

“Or maybe because you didn’t get Rey ready.”

Not even in their most heatet arguments Poe dared to speak to her with such insolence. And her response doesn’t fail to come back punctual and cutting.

“Do not dump your failures on me, Poe Dameron. I will not take your dewbacksheet.”

Poe has to breathe deep and slow for a few moments. This stubborn passing of the buck between them is ridiculous. They both have their reasons, they just need to stop and listen to each other.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

General Organa gives him a look that tells him she’s not buying his fake apology. But still, she doesn't say anything to fuel their argument, and waits for him to keep talking.

“But with all due respect, Rey is a mess, Hux is a mess… something went clearly wrong and I just don’t want this to ever happen again.”

She seems to mollify a little bit. After all, they have the same concerns, so there’s no use in fighting each other.

“I am far from willing this to happen again.” she tiredly says, “But I can’t guarantee to you that our mutual desire will be respected. And I urge you to not load Rey with your own concerns.”

She shoots him a warning glance, waiting for his reply.

“You will use her again.”

Finn will not be amused. And frankly, the idea doesn’t amuse him either, but he knows he can’t do much about it. The topic is very much closed.

“She will use her power again, if the Resistence needs it to be done.” she corrects him.

“But not on Hux, I hope.” he tries, at least that topic is still open, “You got what you wanted, don’t you? What did you find? Rey was vague but she said she didn’t find anything worth to worry about.”

General Organa leans back on the seat and stares worriedly at him. 

“Look, I don’t want to know the details.” he reassures her, “I just need to know if he’s a threat.”

“Do you think that in that case he would still be alive?” she looks hard at him, a stare that would be enough to intimidate a whole room let alone a single man like him, “Some weeks ago you took an obligation among him, I took an obligation among all the galaxy. Roughly forty years ago.”

They both look at the holophoto for a long, silent moment.

“I can assure you we will never dive into Hux's mind anymore.” she finally says, her eyes still on the holophoto.

Her face is a mask of sorrow and tiredness. It’s a pain to see her like that, but Poe knows that his pity would only unleash her – rightly – anger: there’s no space for such things right now. Not until he works out what is really going on. Because there is something that she’s not telling him.

“So, something did go wrong.”

Her stare shots back at him, her face again hard and collected like the usual.

“We should not discuss it.”

“I promise I will not say a word to Rey. I saw her, I don’t want to worsen–”

“It’s not about her.” she cuts him, “It’s about him.”

Well, that is a turn he didn’t see coming, and now he’s speechless. What can be so important about an enemy not much threatening anymore that General Leia Organa is taking so seriously?

“Do you think since we interrogated him like that, that we don’t have any scruples?” she says, “Any prisoner has their right to their dignity. Even war criminals like him.”

Poe is definitely confused:  “I’m not following.”

“I told you to prepare him not to make our job more easy, but to give him the opportunity to shield the most intimate sides.” she explains.

Now, as much as Poe appreciates her ethics in such a field, this seems the worst take one can make. Prepare a prisoner to be Force interrogated so he can hide whatever he wants? You can as well give a shot of painkiller to any prisoner that needs to be interrogated in the old fashioned way.

“But how do you do it?” he tries to respectfully elaborate, not wanting their talk to escalate like before, “How can you tell a personal secret from something about the First Order?”

She rolls her eyes: “How can you fly your spaceship through a meteors field?”

“It’s not a skill I can explain in two sentences.”

“Exactly.”

And now he feels pretty stupid to even ask. He guesses he just needs to have faith in her Force-interrogation skill, like he does in every other field she mastered.

“So, she saw something personal about him? That’s all? Rey talked about… a black hole?”

The General seems to ponder about it for a bit, diving in some reflections that Poe can’t grasp.

“She saw the trauma left by something.” she carefully elaborates, “Something that even he doesn’t remember.”

Luckily, Poe is not familiar with loss of memory linked to past trauma. But he does know some people that are. You can’t be on the front row of a war for too long before meeting someone like that. It just didn’t occur to him that people like Hux – privileged and powerful high ranking First Order’s officials – can be among them.

“What was it?” he asks out of curiosity.

“She couldn’t tell, and as you know I couldn’t see it by myself. What I sensed is that it’s a kind of block, locking away something about him.” she stops, and again she seems to ponder, her stare far away from them, “It’s ancient, rooted in his childhood.”

Those words gave Poe chills down his spine. What kind of trauma can result in a kriffin black hole into the soul of a person.

“But as I said,” she comes back to them and looks seriously at him, “We should not discuss it. So this will be the first and last time we’ll talk about it.”

With no more questions nor objections to ask anymore, Poe just nods at her.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d really fancy going to rest.”

She gets up, and Poe salutes her: “Good night, General.”

“Good night, General. See you tomorrow at the meeting.”

He doesn’t miss how she stressed the last word. She isn’t mocking nor scolding him for having troubled her with his concerns. That’s her way to show how she indeed appreciated that discussion. He might be doing some stupid shit and over reacting, but overall he’s doing a good job. Now he just need to focus on his duties: make his move worthy and put Hux in good use.

Chapter Text

They don’t let much time pass before dragging him outside his cell again. Which it can be read both as good or as bad, depending on who made the decision. Dameron is oddly silent for the whole walk from the prisoner’s wing to the command wing. A bad sign or just the result of the whole mess that happened some days before? Armitage can’t really tell, and he’s fairly pissed about it. He was used to knowing – and leading – almost everything but whatever resolution was taken about his fate nobody around them knows, since he’s sure that the news of his death sentence would be welcomed with celebration equal to the victory ones.

When Dameron and the soldier escorting them stopped in front of a door, his brain freezed for a moment. He didn’t expect to be brought again to Organa’s office. He stares at the door in front of him as his stomach wrings, giving him a wave of nausea.

Not again. – he thinks, palm sweating and all his body running cold, the breath crushed under a rib cage that suddenly has stopped working.

The door slides open, Organa is standing inside.

No no no, not again!

A voice breaks through the panic attack, grounding him again.

“Control yourself.” General Hux orders him, “Don’t you dare show yourself so weak in front of these freaks.”

Armitage forces himself to breathe in and out, in and out, until he can manage to walk again and cross the threshold.

“Where did you learn that technique?”

Still recovering, Armitage glances her from a distance. It’s a disgrace that Organa noticed what just happened to him, but he could really blame anyone by himself.

“Grand Admiral Sloane.” he answers dryly, “But I guess I am not here to talk about my personal issues.”

Organa goes around the desk and sits. Armitage doesn't fail to observe how she moves: he’s in pain. Probably sick? That would explain why she let her pupil interrogate him instead of doing it herself.

“You are right. You are here because we found a way to use you to the advantage of the Republic. Though I guess this is a personal issue for you.”

“And what would happen in the eventuality that you discover I am not useful?” he inquires, “A fake trial followed by a death penalty?”

“The Republic justice system doesn’t do fake trials.” she replies, and he can’t help but snort a laugh.

Organa ignores him: “But it does include the death penalty, yes.”

At his side, Dameron moves. Without her stare leaving Armitage’s face, she raises a hand to quiet him and keeps talking.

“Besides, I highly doubt that you will not be useful to us in dismantling what remains of the First Order.”

Here we are. He cannot say he is surprised: that is exactly the same thing he would do in their situation. Too bad he can’t actually help them.

“Let me guess: you need me to find where the supersties are hiding.” he sighs, “Unfortunately, this is not possible.”

A bad news to all of them, but in his current situation he gets a little satisfaction in upsetting their apple cart.

“Oh, we already know.” Organa waves a hand uninterested, “Project Starshark, isn’t it?”

Armitage is baffled.

“You didn’t think you were the only high ranking official we got in our hands, did you?” pipes in Dameron.

He frowns at him in confusion.

“We know that you don’t know. You can’t possibly, like anyone else that wasn't in the right place at the right time.” says Organa, “Quite a drastic resolution, if you ask me. Who planned it?”

“It was General Pryde’s idea.” he says coldly.

“He chose a showy name for a private party.” comments Dameron.

And as much as Armitage despises him, he can’t say he’s wrong. Pryde was a pompous prick, of course he had to name his projects with the same attitude.

“We are working on it.” Organa gets the conversation back on track, “We need you, General Hux, for other matters.”

Armitage narrows his eyes: “What kind of matter?”

He can’t really think of something more important for them than find and kill the rest of the officials.

“We are regaining control over the planets that were under the First Order’s grasp.” Organa explains, “We found that a lot of your bases have strict access areas that require a high ranking official permit.”

“You have the codes. We bring you there, you open the door for us. That’s it.” sums up Dameron.

“That’s it?” Armitage shifts his gaze from him to Organa, distrustful, “And what I get in exchange? A lifetime enslaved on Kessel? I’d rather get executed tomorrow.”

“On Coruscant.” Organa corrects him, “In the special wing for war criminals.”

Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center. Armitage has never been there, but sure he knows everything about the most important prison of the galaxy. They say with the right connections you can have a decent life inside there, even enjoy some good times. All in all, if this offer was genuine, it wouldn’t be a bad end for him. But Armitage isn’t the kind of guy who believes in such happy endings.

“You don’t have that power.” he scrunches his face at her, “They can’t commine a penalty just because you, General Organa, want it.”

“You are right. That’s why we submitted an official request to the high court.” Organa pulls out a holofile, “And they accepted it.”

Armitage leans out to read it: it’s authentic, as far as he can tell. This can really be his way out from a death sentence – or worse, for a lifetime of penal servitude in Kessel. Even better: if he plays it well, he can gain enough time and information to find a way to escape.

“So, what do you say?” Dameron asks.

“I don’t think I have much choice, do I?” Armitage straightens up and looks at him.

He shrugs, a content smirk opening on his stupid face. 

“Well, if we have reached an agreement, we can move to the next step.” Organa looks at Dameron, “Take him to the sickbay: he needs to be chipped.”

*

Armitage doesn’t take the mention of the chip well, but he’s really not in the position to object to any kind of restriction practice they intend to do to him. So he braces himself and follows Dameron out in the maze of corridors, until they reach another area of the base he doesn’t know.

“I guess that saying I don’t have any intention to escape is worthless.”

“Sorry Hugs, we need to be safe.” Dameron gives way to him and lets him enter a room, “You don’t want to be here as much I didn’t want to be on the Steadfast, I wouldn’t blame you if you try to get away. But we can’t allow it.”

A medical droid reached them and began tinkering with some instruments, opening and closing every drawer, brawling with some cables, dumping into the furniture.

“Please, choose a spot.” it says with an heavenly voice comically contrasting with its clumsiness.

“A spot?”

“The spot–”

Crash – the droid drops a tray full of instruments, interrupting Dameron.

“–where to insert the chip.”

“Right.”

Armitage looks worriedly at the droid and hops to the cot, rolling up his left sleeve to expose the forearm.

“Uh, I don’t think so.” Dameron stops him, “Too easy access. Sorry. Another one?”

He stares at him with murderous eyes and then unrolls the sleeve. Well, at least he tried. A chip is a huge problem to face in the eventuality he would have the opportunity to escape: the arm is a pretty good option to be able to remove it by himself. Alright, he will figure it out at the right moment. Is not like he'll have the chance to escape tomorrow.

“Please, choose a spot.” repeats the droid, still managing to knock over a rack.

“Ask him.” Armitage is talking to the droid but he’s staring at Dameron, “I feel like he has more say in this than me.”

He looks back at him with a devilish grin and then leans to the droid.

“Between the shoulderblades.”

Armitage purses his lips in a grimace.

“Very well.” he says through his teeth, and takes off the shirt of the prison uniform they gave to him.

Dameron turns around.

“How polite.” he mocks him, “You know I have cameras all over in my cell, right?”

“None of my business.”

“This will hurt a little bit.” the droid informs him, approaching with a needle big almost like his pinky.

Kriff. He’s going to cry like a kriffin baby in front of Dameron.

“Of course. They are my business.” he snarks back, “I can’t even take a piss without an artificial eye following me around.”

“You know, I think that's the first time I heard you use foul language.”

“I will apply a mild local anesthetic.”

“Just do it.” he snaps at the droid.

The stupid machine goes around and he irrationally holds his breath, waiting for the pain.

“Breath.” 

“Shut up. I already have to worry about being stabbed to death or paralyzed by a damn shoddy droid, the last thing I need right now is your unrequired advices.”

“Stars, you do talk a lot when you are nervous. There, give it to me.”

Some circuit noises. Who is talking to?

“This is out of standard procedure.”

“I said give it to me!”

Oh, the droid. He’s talking to the droid. He’s asking to give him–

He gives himself a whiplash trying to turn his head towards Dameron: “Wait–”

“Relax, it’s just the anesthetic.”

“I said I don’t need it.” he spits through his teeth.

“Listen, I saw big buff men whining like babies because they didn’t want it.” Dameron shakes the bottle of anesthetic, “I was one of them.”

“You are not big nor buff.” he snorts.

“Eh, still felt humiliating.”

He shrugs and then a cool feeling spreads between his shoulder blades.

“Wait, did they chip you?”

“Yeah. All high ranking officials are chipped.”

“Why?”

“To make it easy to track us down if we are lost or kidnapped? Isn’t it common practice in the First Order?” Dameron puts away the bottle, “Give me that.”

“This is out of standard procedure.”

“Again? You’re a broken record, buddy. Give me that.”

Circuits noises and some more metallic hustle.

“Sloane wanted to do it. They stopped her citing funding problems.” he recalls disgusted, then he frowned, “What are you trying to do?”

“Stay still. I’ll do it.”

Such a simple yet damn frightening sentence.

“Do not touch me!”

Armitage hopes at least he doesn't sound so terrified as he fears.

“For stars’ sake, would you just calm down?”

Dameron goes around and stands in front of him, the needle in his hand.

“I have to file a report about–”

“Shut up.” Dameron yells at the droid, “Or even better: shut yourself down.”

More circuit noises, and then silence.

With that rattletrap shut and the needle still far away from the chosen spot – well into his eyesight – Armitage feels less anxious, at least enough to talk without the flight-or-fight response still running his brain.

“Tell me you’ve already done it.”

“Chipping someone? Nah.” Dameron shakes his head, “But I saw it done plenty of times. It can’t be so difficult.”

He really says it like it’s somehow a significant plus point.

“Well, this is very reassuring.”

“Look, it’s either me or the ‘shoddy droid’.” he mocks Armitage’s talk, “Your choice.”

“You’ve just shut him down.” he points out.

“It’s a kriffin droid .” Dameron waves a hand over the machine, “I push a button and it’s working again.”

He sounds aggravated. Armitage feels trapped, but they did pass the buck to him so they are both trapped. That’s no use in fighting all the little things: this would only make the whole situation even more unbearable for both. Not that he cares even a little about Dameron, but since Armitage owes him his own life and wellbeing, he can’t be a total prick with him all the kriffin time. The risk is to piss him so much that he dumps him at his own fate.

“Alright. Do it.”

Dameron stands in front of him, petrified.

He stares back at him: “Do it before I change my mind!”

“Yeah, sure.” the man scrambles to his feet to come back behind him.

“On the count of three.” he grabs Armitage left arm, “One, two, three–”

“ Shit! ”

The pain is sharp, but tolerable. And before he has the time to register it, it's gone, replaced by just some numb soreness.

“Does it hurt?”

“Just– go on and finish.”

“Almost done.”

Armitage can perceive the needle slipping away from under his skin. It’s a weird feeling and he can’t help but shudder.

“Maybe I should have put on more anesthetic.” a loud clang and then some rustle.

He feels Dameron fingers pushing something over his still sore skin. He frowned looking over his shoulder, but of course he couldn't see anything.

“There, you earned a cute patch!”

Dameron hopped on his side with a crooked mirror to help him take a look.

“It has little Ewooks on it!” he grins to him.

Armitage looks away, gripping hard on the cot’s edge. Again, this is the man he’s forced to put faith in order to survive? He can’t believe a First Order’s General like him has fallen so low.

“What’s that pout? Everyone likes Ewooks!” Dameron puts away the mirror and hands him his clothes, “Still sore? I would give you an candy, but I don’t think we can walk into the canteen without a mob trying to lynch you.”

“I’ll stick with the cute patch.” says Armitage while getting dressed again

He’s already fed up with his bullshit, he can’t wait to be again in the quiet of his little cell.

“Or it would be better to say… the patch will stick with you!”

And then he laughs . Good stars, what a nightmare Armitage he’s going to live.