Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As a rule, General Armitage Hux didn’t believe in fate that was not in one's own hands. For one thing, that would mean that even incompetent people achieved their goals simply because some foolish sorcery had preordained it that way. For another, he certainly hadn't dedicated his entire life to the higher goal of his work and the achievement of galactic peace under the strict hand of the First Order, only to have a caprice of nature intervene. Everyone was responsible for what they achieved in life. Hard work, discipline and order led to success – nothing else.

The whispered tale of soulmates fated to share their lives, wills and desires as if they were two parts of a whole was high on the list of outlandish notions that, in General Hux's opinion, belonged in the realm of imagination. Under his command, he stopped pointless fantasies about destiny whenever he picked up that someone was lost in them. The First Order hadn't come this far because some Force-controlled soulmate magic had a hand in it.

Of course, Hux still knew the stories about these so-called soulmates, even though their dissemination was forbidden in the Order. Allegedly, connections had developed between people in the past that at first seemed completely inappropriate and impossible. Two people looked into each other's eyes for the first time and felt a tug that compelled them to want to be close to the other. The whole process was accompanied by a soul mark, but Hux suspected people had secretly tattooed themselves to depict the marks as legendary signs created by fate. People came up with the most bizarre ideas when they were left to themselves and their illusions.

General Hux's knowledge that his own future was self-determined and not guided by a semi-religious fate was shaken for the first time when he had the Resistance pilot interrogated on the Finalizer. On Jakku they had captured the man and Hux's people were working to prise the rebel’s droid's location out of him, but so far to no avail. Annoyed, Hux paced from his position in the background to the prisoner, who hung strapped into the interrogation chair, half unconscious and bloody. If you wanted it done right, you obviously had to do it yourself.

Hux backhanded the pilot and was grateful for his gloves that spared him from touching the filthy rebel. The other man gave a stifled groan and rolled his head to the side.

‘Where's the droid, rebel scum? Answer me. You won't like what will happen otherwise.’

‘I don't know nothing,’ came the slurred reply.

The pilot looked up, his eyes rolling aimlessly in their sockets. He seemed to have to concentrate hard to look straight ahead - whether from fatigue or injury, Hux didn't care. It was annoying and time-consuming, so he reluctantly held the rebel's face by the chin.

When their eyes met, Hux felt a sharp tingling surge through his stomach, followed by a rush of adrenaline coursing through his body. It was as if the world blurred for a moment, and the faintest flicker of iridescent light danced just beneath his vision. Suddenly he wanted to touch the pilot with his bare hand, to lead him out of the interrogation room and free him. The look in the other's dark eyes bored deep into him and Hux was sure he would never forget the defiant expression that lay beneath the pain. It was intoxicating and had to be stopped immediately.

‘We'll see,’ Hux sneered and turned round. He put his arms behind his back and assumed his usual bolt-upright pose. He ignored the prickling in his stomach that continued to smoulder. It was the most inappropriate time to fall ill. Hux didn't realise where this spontaneous nausea could be coming from. He urgently needed to check whether there had been anything unusual in his last ration. On the other hand, the dubious feeling might have been due to lack of proper food, as he was living mostly on caf and stim pills. Be that as it may.

To one of the stormtroopers who had conducted the interrogation, he commanded, ‘Get Ren. Let's leave the prisoner to his persuasive methods for a while.’

Then Hux hurriedly left the cell to research his nausea before it could develop into a more serious problem. The pulling and tingling had spread to his shoulder, accompanied by a slight stinging sensation.

The prisoner was Ren's problem for the time being and disappeared from Hux's thoughts as soon as he left the cell.

Chapter Text

The data pad didn’t show any abnormal values. Blood sugar, heart rate and organ functions all appeared normal and in the ordinary range. Hux was, by all accounts, in perfect physical condition.

He’d been to the medcenter briefly and quietly had a droid run some tests. There were no abnormalities. The nausea made no sense and the slight dizziness that gripped Hux as soon as he returned to the cell block after the examination remained inexplicable.

Clenching his teeth, Hux forced himself to wait outside the captive rebel's cell until Kylo Ren emerged. Not a moment too soon, he was back from the medical center when the bloody Force wielder emerged from the interrogation room. He’d found out in less than half an hour what Hux's people hadn't learnt in half a day - the location of the droid on Jakku.

Since they’d learnt everything from the rebel pilot, the order would no longer need him. The quickest way would be to simply dispose of him in space via the airlock.

Hux made his way back to the bridge. With every step he took, the aching in his chest lessened, but he felt a constant twinge on his shoulder blade that refused to subside. Since his tests hadn't shown anything strange, it couldn't be anything serious. So, he would deal with that later.

For now, it was time to make the prisoner disappear. Hux puzzled over his own thoughts. No, to have him killed. That would be the end of it. He approached the first stormtrooper he encountered after this decision.

‘Stormtrooper!’

‘FN-2187, sir,’ came the reply; did Hux hear an undertone of insubordination?

What was he supposed to do with the trooper's operation number? He ignored the information.

‘Go to interrogation cell 8 and deal with the prisoner.’

‘Deal with him, sir?’ the soldier asked in astonishment. Hux narrowed his eyes. Was the trooper questioning him?

‘Take him to the airlock. Then you go to reconditioning,’ Hux ordered.

He didn't wait for the stormtrooper's salute but briskly made his way to the bridge. His shift took still a few hours, and he had more pressing concerns than a rebel due for execution.

---

That couldn't be true what incompetence Hux had to work with. Normally his staff wasn’t acting like idiots. Not only had the prisoner made it from his cell across the Finalizer to the hangar unnoticed. No, he’d taken a TIE fighter and tried to escape with it at that very moment.

A futile manoeuvre, considering the canons on the warship's outer hull and the ventral canons, sure, but also brave and reckless. Stupid would be another word Hux could’ve used to describe the action.

How in the galaxy had the resistance pilot made it to Hangar 6? It must’ve been absolute luck.

‘He had help from one of our own. We're checking the registers now to identify which stormtrooper it was,’ Hux informed Kylo Ren, who was standing next to him on the bridge.

‘FN-2187,’ Ren mumbled, but loud enough for Hux to hear him. A chill settled into Hux’s gut. He’d spoken with that trooper barely half an hour ago. He’d sent him to that exact cell. Perhaps it hadn’t been luck. Perhaps it had been fate. He clenched his jaw. Angry with himself, Hux suppressed the thought.

‘The TIE fighter has left the hangar, sir,’ reported one of the workers on comm in that very hangar.

The deviant stormtrooper had apparently escaped with the rebel scum. They had damaged the main gun and then fled towards Jakku, which was the most ridiculous escape plan Hux had ever heard of.

It didn't matter. If the rebel wasn’t spaced, he’d be shot down. Either way, he’d die. The canons would do the rest. It was just a light fighter that shouldn't be a problem for the bigger guns.

With the constant tingling in his stomach radiating into his chest and shoulders, Hux watched tensely from the bridge window as his men tried unsuccessfully to catch the single TIE fighter.

He beckoned Captain Phasma, the stormtrooper commander, to join him.

‘FN-2187 reported to my division, was evaluated and sent to reconditioning,’ Phasma explained to Hux in a tinny voice.

‘No prior signs of nonconformity?’

‘This was his first offence,’ Phasma said coolly. Hux thought he could clearly hear her disdain for FN-2187, though it was difficult to judge from her helmet.

A projectile from the ventral canon finally found its target at that moment and the light ship shot towards Jakku.

‘Pursue and disable,’ Hux ordered, pressing his lips together. The whole thing was probably not worth the effort, but there was a small chance that the rebel and the traitor had survived the crash. In the back of his mind, Hux had a completely different feeling - hope that at least the pilot had survived. He suppressed the thought as quickly as it’d flashed.

---

It was after the end of his shift and Hux was in his quarters. He was in his refresher unit and had just stepped out of the sonic shower when his comm beeped. At first, Hux ignored the call and got partially dressed. But a short time later, the device beeped again, indicating that it was Mitaka trying to reach him again.

‘Lieutenant Mitaka?’ Hux answered the call as he turned in front of the narrow mirror to examine his back. Hux deliberately overlooked the old scars, even though they must’ve appeared hideous to someone seeing them for the first time. It was obvious that they weren’t the result of simple accidents or minor mishaps but had been added in a controlled and planned manner.

More interesting, however, was the circular mark on Hux's left shoulder blade. It looked as if the skin there had been burnt or inflamed, and only recently. A pale grey circle mingled with the angry red. What was that? Hux leant backwards closer to the mirror.

‘General Hux? Sir?’ Mitaka asked, croaking. His voice sounded as if he was ill.

Right. Hux focussed on the call again.

‘Repeat, Lieutenant.’

‘The prisoner and FN-2187 have escaped.’ Hux felt a small rush of adrenaline run through his body. ‘We couldn't secure the droid on Jakku.’

Mitaka's tension could be felt over the comm. Hux remained silent, already contemplating how he was going to convey this failure to Supreme Leader Snoke. Maybe he could use it to his advantage. Starkiller Base was ready for action; the time was ripe to use it against the Republic. Hux straightened up and squared his shoulders.

‘Inform Ren. Then set a course for Ilum.’

‘I've already informed Kylo Ren, sir. He was... not pleased.’

Mitaka's brief hesitation told Hux more than the lieutenant actually said. Ren had once again indulged in one of his childish tantrums. How had this man made it this far up in the First Order? Obviously, it was only his skills in the Force that were responsible, rather than his controlled behaviour and tactical calculation. Hux loathed Ren from the bottom of his heart.

‘I see. That will be all, Lieutenant. Dismissed.’ Hux cut the connection.

Then he took one last look in the mirror. Hopefully he hadn't picked up some serious illness or rash. That was all he needed. He pulled on his tunic and walked out of the refresher.

---

After six standard hours, the lamps automatically lit up Hux's bedroom and woke him up. The general got up as usual without wasting time lying around. Then, as he did every morning, he allowed himself the luxury of doing 30 minutes of stretching and relaxation exercises. Physical fitness contributed to increased performance and concentration, so it was only logical to exercise regularly.

Hux stood at the foot of his bed with bare feet. He knelt down, pressed his palms and feet into the floor, then lifted his buttocks until his body assumed a triangular pose. He felt a pleasant pulling sensation in his back and legs. He took several slow, controlled breaths, then lifted the figure up again and fell into the next one. After the allotted time, he finished his exercises and actually felt a little more relaxed than when he started. Hux knew from experience that the relaxation would soon evaporate again - at the latest when Ren crossed his path.

After coming out of the refresher, Hux changed into his usual black uniform. Before he put on the jacket, however, he turned round curiously to look in the mirror. His shoulders and his body as a whole showed no pain or other behavioural patterns that would indicate illness. It was probably only the adrenaline during yesterday's shift that had caused him to feel this unusual and extremely unwelcome discomfort.

Completely speechless for a few moments, Hux blinked into the mirror.

‘Fuck,’ escaped him involuntarily. In Hux's opinion, swearwords were for people who had no control over their lives and Hux certainly didn't belong to that group. However, in an exceptional case - and the situation on his back could certainly be regarded as such - the odd curse would escape him.

There on the left side of his back, just above the shoulder blade, was an image the size of the light grey and red circular discolouration that Hux had noticed before his sleep cycle. Now, however, the colours were different - bright, striking and so incongruous with the rest of his body, his clothes, hells, the whole ship that surrounded him that Hux would’ve liked to remove the outrageous thing immediately with a knife. But he was too shocked to move a muscle.

A dark green circle, in the centre of which a bright blue area stood out, in the centre of which an even darker blue area could be seen. The thing was surrounded by brown-green threads. With some good will, it could be described as a feather, although Hux had no idea what kind of creature would wear such an eye-catching plumage. It looked like an eye that stared into Hux’s core of his being. It was simply hideous and strangely terrifying.

Carefully, Hux ran a finger over it and felt what he’d describe as a prickle, for lack of a better word. Strangely, he felt it less in the tip of his finger and instead deeper inside himself. As if he’d bumped something that’d been sleeping and was now stretching and waking up, blinking lazily with one eye. Whether with a green-blue feather eye or a brown human one, Hux couldn't tell.

‘Fuck,’ Hux groaned once more.

Chapter Text

A crawling sensation on his face woke Poe. He bolted upright and immediately regretted the sudden movement as a sharp pain shot through his entire body.

‘Oh kriff,’ he groaned, feeling his head. Sand trickled from his hands. Fragmented memories flashed before his inner eye – black. Blinding. White-hot. Poe’d hit the ground hard. Hard enough that the air had cracked out of his lungs and the world twisted sideways.

He’d crashed before – hell, more times than he would admit to General Organa – but this was different. No controlled descent, no stabilisers, just a streak of fire and hope.

The TIE fighter!

Pain shot through Poe's head as he frantically looked around for the light ship. It lay behind him in the dunes, a smoking pile of scrap metal. It was useless, he could see that at a glance. Poe painfully got to his feet. He felt himself over and seemed to have been lucky once again, as he couldn't find any injuries apart from minor cuts and grazes. Still, his body ached like hell thanks to the torture on the damn First Order ship. His face and entire torso burned from the abuse, but nothing seemed to be broken.

After he had been freed from the cell, everything was a bit blurry, but he’d never have managed to steal a TIE on his own. Someone’d been with him.

Poe frowned as he thought hard. A handsome face flashed in his memories. The stormtrooper! No, Finn! His name was Finn. Had Poe seriously given another adult a name? The First Order was so fucked up that they gave their soldiers numbers instead of names.

Poe shook his head, ignoring the throbbing headache, and focused on the current problem: the starfighter was completely destroyed, Finn was nowhere to be seen, BB-8 was also gone, and there was generally nothing to be seen in the area. The pilot looked around. Desert surrounded him, there were no settlements in sight, and the sun was beating down on him. What's more, Poe had no water with him. Exhausted, Poe snorted. To cool off at least a little, he took off his leather jacket and threw it carelessly into the TIE. He’d to get out of the sun before he was completely roasted.

Since he had no idea where exactly they’d crashed, let alone where he was, Poe tried to orient himself by the position of the sun and then set off in the direction where he thought the village where he’d visited the archivist was located. Either he could make contact with the Resistance from there or get a clue about a place or person who could help him. On the way, he kept an eye out for any signs of Finn or BB-8, but unfortunately to no avail.

After hours, he reached the settlement; it was already dark. The fires had been extinguished and no one was to be seen. After the attack by the First Order, the people were now in hiding; the streets were deserted – even the animals had disappeared – and the small cantina lay in darkness. Poe walked cautiously behind the huts instead of across the main square past the damaged fountain. After a few tense minutes, he reached Lor San Tekka's hut. It lay as dark and dead before him as its former occupant had in the square just a few hours earlier. Poe cursed the First Order once again. Kriffing imperialists.

He had to get off this planet. He crept into the hut, lit a small lantern and drank the first bottle he found. It was stale, overly sweet tea, but better than nothing. After looking around and carefully clearing away some odds and ends, the pilot found the communicator Tekka must’ve used to contact the Resistance. Poe sent out his call for help and then had to wait, something Poe was particularly bad at. So he tried to keep himself busy somehow. The best place to start was treating his wounds. He found nothing in the hut that would allow him to properly dress his wounds, so a rag and a little water had to suffice. With a shard of glass that had probably served as a mirror, Poe was able to see the damage to his face. Bad, but not irreparable.

Exhaustion overcame him when he had finished his makeshift cleaning, and he collapsed onto the old, upholstered piece of furniture in the room. As his back hit the surface, a burning pain shot through his shoulders. What the...?

Groaning, Poe sat up again, slowly took off his shirt and fiddled with the mirror until he could catch brief glimpses of his back. What was that? Had he bruised his back? It was quite conceivable, because there were large parts of the interrogation by the Order's people that Poe couldn't remember (or his brain was mercifully keeping him from remembering). Perhaps he’d bumped somewhere. But that should’ve caused a different kind of pain, not a burning sensation like inflammation.

The lantern provided too little light to see much, and Poe couldn't change his situation at the moment, so he got dressed again, taking care not to lie flat on his back. He dozed off.

---

‘It's definitely a soul mark,’ Dr. Kalonia concluded after her examination. She turned off the light above the treatment table and motioned for Poe to put his shirt back on. ‘Only you get captured, escape with a stormtrooper, and end up with a soulmate in the process, Poe.’ The doctor chuckled to herself. She put away the medical instruments she’d used to examine the mark on Poe's shoulder blade and confirm its authenticity.

‘I don't understand,’ Poe muttered, ‘Doc, I can't explain how this could’ve happened. To be honest, I don't even know if I believe in soulmates.’

The pilot jumped off the table and buttoned his shirt. Dr. Kalonia simply looked at Poe with a critical, motherly gaze. ‘You don't believe in it, even though our general has one? She's probably the best proof that the whole thing isn't just a Force fairy tale, hm?’

‘Well, it's General Organa and Han Solo, of course those two heroes are soulmates. It still felt more like a story, you know.’ He sighed deeply, then nodded to the doctor. ’Thanks, Doc. Later.’

After the examination, Poe made his way to Snap's living quarters. On the way, he grabbed a bottle of D'Qar brandy from the canteen, which some Resistance members distilled on the base. He jogged to the quarters and knocked on Snap's door, who invited his guest in subduedly.

As soon as Poe arrived in the living room, he let himself fall onto the sofa with a groan. Tired, he waved the bottle of brandy. ‘Are you free? Can we get drunk?’

Temmin Wexley, known as Snap, came out of his kitchen with two glasses in his hand, which he placed on the table in front of Poe in response. ‘Hey. Why are we getting drunk? You look like shit. Slide over, mate.’ Snap snickered and dropped into the seat Poe had hastily vacated. Then he filled two glasses, handed one to his friend, they clinked glasses and drank. It was early evening and perhaps too early for hard liquor, but somewhere in the galaxy it was always 2 a.m., so...

They were silent for a while, until Poe finally asked, ‘What do you know about soulmates?’

Snap stared at him with his mouth agape. ‘No! You didn't!’

‘Snap, calm down. Answer my question.’

‘Okay. Let's pretend for a moment that this isn't about one of the people in this room.’ Snap skilfully ignored his friend's groan and poured two more drinks as he continued, ‘Soulmates are rare, very rare. They say that sometimes the Force brings two people together who are meant for each other. They are two sides of the same coin, one part is not complete without the other. Once their paths have crossed through the Force, their soul marks reveal themselves and show who the partner is. Man, it's pretty romantic if you ask me.’ Snap sipped his brandy and studied Poe's face. The Black Leader had furrowed his eyebrows and a deep crease showed on his forehead. He played with the glass pensively.

‘And do you know anything else about it? How do you know who the other person is?’ Poe cleared his throat and continued to avoid looking at Snap.

’Mate, I have no idea if you can sense it somehow, since I don't have a mark and I'm not close enough to anyone to ask them about it. Stories about soulmates say that the mark appears as soon as you look into the other person's eyes. Then it's as if a kind of bond develops between the two people.’ Snap paused and then smiled, reminiscing. ‘I remember reading the story of Tritar and Icola over and over again.’

’That rings a bell. Doesn't it end with the death of the two of them?’ asked Poe.

‘It's a tragedy, of course they die. But it's a touching story about soul marks and what they mean. In there, they looked at each other – it must’ve been love at first sight – and then the soul marks appeared on their shoulders, causing them pain. He had a swan and she had antlers.’

Then they both fell silent again. Poe poured a third drink for both of them. They drank and remained silent. At some point, Snap’d had enough and nudged Poe's shoulder with his own.

‘Now show me your soul mark.’

‘I don't have... I mean... it's not...’ Poe stammered, which was so not like him. A blush spread across his cheeks. He rolled his eyes and energetically put down his empty glass. ‘All right!’

Poe stood up and took off his shirt for the second time that day. Then he turned around while sitting and showed Snap his shoulder blade. He waited tensely for a reaction and only flinched slightly when Snap touched the mark.

‘Wow, it looks beautiful. And it just popped up like that?’

As he explained what’d happened after his encounter with his presumed soulmate, Poe got dressed again. Inexplicably, he felt uncomfortable showing the symbol openly. Maybe he would get used to it.

‘Awesome. But why a pouncing fox? What's your soulmate like? You haven't said anything about them yet.’ Snap seemed excited, almost as if he’d received a mark himself. Poe felt like he was talking to his buddy about a crush, like teenagers did. Inevitably, however, he had to grin at the thought of his mate.

‘Well, don't freak out, but he’s a stormtrooper.’

Snap choked on his drink and coughed. Poe patted him vigorously on the back until he calmed down. ‘What? Poe! How?’  Snap wheezed.

‘His name is Finn, and strictly speaking, he's a deserter. I lost him when we crash-landed. I really hope BB-8 is with him. Did you know that those kriffing First Order only give their stormtroopers numbers instead of names?’

They launched into a rant about the Order and its twisted military-political system.

Finally, both pilots leaned back into the sofa cushions and stared pensively – and clearly drunk – at the ceiling, which was spinning ever so slightly for Poe.

‘He's a survivor and listens to his instincts, which told him he’d to leave the Order. Those are kind of fox traits, right?’ Poe muttered, half to himself, half to Snap, who nodded sluggishly.

‘Yeah, buddy, totally foxy.’ He snorted at his lame joke, but Poe had to agree. Once they had calmed down, something more important came to mind than the reason why this particular animal represented Finn: how in the galaxy was he going to find his soulmate again?

---

Still pumped up from the fight on Takodana, Poe jumped out of his X-wing. He’d barely taken off his helmet when BB-8 rolled up and excitedly reported on his journey and how he’d made it back to D'Qar.

‘Finn saved you? Where is he?’

He looked up and saw a familiar figure running towards him. For days, Poe’d been having confused dreams about a person in black clothing who touched him with gloved hands. Each time, he wanted to look up at the stranger's face, certain that he’d see his soulmate, but before he could, he would wake up drenched in sweat and thrumming with anticipation. Now, as he saw Finn running towards him, he noticed that the person in his dream was much slimmer. Finn was muscular and about Poe's size. The man in the dream – Poe was pretty sure it was a man – was definitely taller and slender. But perhaps that was just dream logic and didn't mean anything.

Poe felt close to the man in his dream and knew, without them exchanging a word or even seeing each other, that it had to be him – his soul mate.

Grinning, he ran towards Finn when he called his name. Soon he’d be able to take him in his arms. His eyes darted over the other man's appearance. He looked unharmed and was wearing Poe's jacket – his heartbeat inevitably quickened as something possessive awakened in him.

The soul mark remained calm, strangely so. Both Dr. Kalonia and Snap had said that soulmates could somehow sense in their mark that they were close to each other. It was supposed to tingle or pull or throb, but it remained silent.

On the other hand, Poe hadn't noticed its formation either, only discovering it much later. Could it be that other physical symptoms – such as adrenaline or pain – had masked it?

‘Poe Dameron, you're alive,’ Finn exclaimed.

‘Buddy! So are you!’

They crashed into each other and hugged intensely. Then they chattered excitedly. Finn's enthusiasm infected Poe and they happily exchanged stories about what they’d experienced.

Finn looked him urgently in the eyes and asked him for help in contacting General Organa. Together they made their way to the command room.

Finn seemed to feel only joy and relief at finally finding his friend again. They were both alive and no longer injured. He seemed content and happy.

Poe hardly felt his own pain of disappointment and pushed it aside roughly. Something was wrong; this was not how it was supposed to be. He ignored his jumbled feelings of confusion, sadness and anger at himself. He was incredibly happy that Finn had made it to D'Qar and had apparently joined the Resistance. Poe was also sure that, in time, they would become good friends, maybe even best friends.

But they weren't each other's soulmate.

‘Fuck,’ Poe groaned.

Chapter Text

They left hyperspace and appeared a few thousand kilometres away from the Resistance ships above D'Qar.

‘We caught them in the middle of their evacuation,’ said Captain Peavey, not without satisfaction in his voice.

Hux felt the corners of his mouth twitch in agreement. He’d slept terribly the last few nights since discovering the mark on his shoulder. The mark itself wasn't the problem, but the dreams that had been haunting him since then irritated the general. Hux hated not knowing what was going on. The dreams, or visions – they felt more real than dreams should be allowed to feel – involved him, Hux, and another person. From the appearance, Hux would guess that it was a man, but the face remained in darkness, no matter how hard the general tried to make it out.

Sometimes they seemed to just sit together and spend time with each other, but most of the time the dreams were of an intense sexual nature. Several times a night, Hux woke up with a painful erection. Through sheer willpower, he forced his body to relax. He would not chase after a silly dream and let it dictate what he had to do. Besides, it would be a defeat and an admission that the visions affected him more than was appropriate.

Two days ago, the repulsive feather had appeared on his back. Naturally, Hux had visited a medical droid that same day to have it surgically removed. He’d then meticulously deleted the data about his treatment from the droid's log. It would be the end of him if Ren or Snoke found out about his condition or this abomination on his skin.

Hux was distracted by his sleepless nights and the painkillers flowing through his bloodstream. He tried his best to ignore the pain and thoughts of the mark and focused on his upcoming triumph over the Resistance. He didn't want to miss their annihilation. He stepped closer to the window; his arms firmly crossed behind his back. If he didn't move too much, his shoulder hardly hurt, and only occasionally did a sharp pain shoot through Hux's entire back. It was fine. He would deal with it. By tomorrow at the latest, the Bacta would have done its job, and his skin would be back to normal.

‘I have my orders from Supreme Leader Snoke himself. This is where we snuff out the Resistance once and for all,’ he sneered and smiled cruelly down at D'Qar. He turned to Peavey, ‘Tell Captain Canady to prime his dreadnought. Incinerate their base, destroy their transports and obliterate their fleet.’

Suddenly, Hux felt an all too familiar hated tingling sensation in his back. That couldn't possibly be...

‘Resistance ship is approaching, in attack mode,’ was reported at that moment.

Hux strode over to his subordinate and glanced at the radar. He raised his eyebrows dismissively. What did that mean?

‘A single light fighter?’

In disgust, he looked out the window in the direction from which the spaceship was approaching. The tingling sensation intensified and spread to Hux's stomach and limbs. He felt warm. It wasn't necessarily an unpleasant warmth, just completely ill-timed. He had to deal with the approaching fighter.

‘Attention. This is Commander Poe Dameron of the Republic fleet, I have an urgent communiqué for General Hugs,’ a confident voice came over the radio. It sounded vaguely familiar to Hux, but he couldn't for the life of him remember from where. His unreliable body distracted him from clear thinking.

‘Patch him through. This is General Hux of the First Order. The Republic is no more. Your fleet are Rebel scum and war criminals,’ he sneered, ‘Tell your precious princess there will be no terms, there will be no surrender.’

The pilot did not respond immediately; there was no sharp reply to Hux's threat. Instead, his voice sounded surprised: ‘Hi, I'm holding for General Hugs.’

The audacity of this filthy Rebel to mock him. Hux took a bold step towards this Commander Dameron's fighter. He felt as if he could see his hated enemy in front of him, which was of course impossible due to the distance.

‘This is Hux. You and your friends are doomed. We will wipe your filth from the galaxy.’

Again, he did not receive a direct answer. Was the pilot mentally challenged?

Hux's shoulder hurt and he felt unbearably hot. He felt himself starting to sweat under his uniform.

‘Okay. I'll hold,’ said the pilot.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello? Yup. I’m still here.’ Hux could see the other man’s arrogant expression in his mind’s eye. He sounded bored, even though he was about to be wiped out by the First Order. Come to think of it, why was Hux even bothering with this worm? He should have him shot down immediately.

‘Can you– can he hear me?’ he asked the communications officer instead, like an idiot.

‘Hugs?’

That name again.

‘He can?’ Hux asked his subordinate, who nodded repeatedly. Was he dreaming? What kind of charade was he caught up in here? The pilot was obviously playing a sick joke.

Hux felt as if dozens of needles were pricking his shoulder, and at the same time, it felt as if an inflammation was developing in fast motion and getting worse with every passing second.

‘With an “H”. Skinny guy. Kinda pasty.’

Pasty? Hux seethed with rage but tried to control himself enough to finish their talk. What was he doing? The whole scene was disgusting.

‘I can hear you. Can you hear me?’

It could only be lack of sleep that was causing him to make inappropriate decisions. People who didn't get enough sleep behaved irrationally. There were dozens of tests and scientific papers on this.

‘Look, I can't hold forever. If you reach him, tell him Leia has an urgent message for him...’ Dameron said.

‘I believe he's toying with you, sir,’ Peavey interjected cautiously. Hux glanced at him as if the man were insane, when it was obviously the general himself who was acting unpredictably.

‘...about his mother,’ the Rebel finished his despicable joke.

Hux would wipe that smug arsehole from the galaxy.

‘Open fire!’

The guns narrowly missed the light fighter, which performed a daring and seemingly unpredictable manoeuvre. What was the point of all this drama? Was this a game for Dameron?

Hux curiously followed the rebel's path, who was by no means trying to escape. Instead, he steered completely alone towards the much larger battleship that had just appeared.

‘He's going for the dreadnought.’ Apparently, Captain Peavey had come to the same conclusion as Hux.

‘Ha! He's insane.’

A small part of him that simply could not be silenced whispered in the back of Hux's mind that Dameron was not insane, but rather courageous, even if a certain recklessness could not be denied. He was obviously a first-class pilot and gunner, because one after another he disabled the guns on the outer hull of the dreadnought. Talented, courageous, willing to take great risks when he believed in something.

He's ideal, purred the unwelcome voice in the back of Hux's mind. Instantly, he felt ashamed of this thought and banished it. Reluctantly, the general straightened his shoulders, which caused an unpleasant pulling sensation in his body. As soon as the resistance scum was wiped out, he would go to a med droid and get another dose of painkillers. Hux hadn't expected the First Order's painkillers to be so ineffective that they were unable to remedy the after-effects of his minor medical procedure. Disappointing.

In front of him and all his subordinates on the bridge, several explosions tore apart the dreadnought. The planet's gravitational pull did the rest, causing the ship to slowly but steadily descend onto D'Qar. Hux watched the events unfold in disbelief. This couldn't be happening.

That dauntless pilot did that, his lizard brain provided unhelpfully.

His inappropriate thoughts were distracted when Hux heard that the Supreme Leader wanted to speak to him. Nervousness shot through Hux. Snoke must not find out about the unpleasant matter that was plaguing him. It would be the end of his career and of himself. And of this admirable Rebel, his cursed subconsciousness reminded him. Hux trampled it mentally before the Supreme Leader could pick up on the thought.

Once again, Hux squared his shoulders and braced himself to close his mind as tightly as possible without arousing suspicion.

---

Caf and stim pills only kept a person awake for a limited amount of time. Sure, you could get through many standard hours or days with just these substances, but at some point, the body had to rest. Hux hated not having full control over his physical actions, but even he had to sleep from time to time.

He’d already gotten little to no sleep before their attack on the rebels on D'Qar. Now, another eight hours since the Supremacy had begun its pursuit of the remaining Resistance ships, Hux was in his quarters, laboriously peeling himself out of his uniform. He was glad that no one was witnessing this further humiliation. Snoke would wish he’d treated him with the respect his rank deserved. Hux would get his revenge when he knocked Snoke off the throne to take his place as Supreme Leader. How he despised this man and his apprentice Ren. Force users with their magical games were a disgrace to the First Order.

Hux groaned as he finally let his jacket slip from his shoulders. He immediately felt relief when his skin was no longer covered by the scratchy fabric. He stepped into the refresher unit and examined his shoulder blade. With pursed lips, Hux stared at the feather. It was in exactly the same place as before. The skin was reddened, as if from a rash.

All right. It was absolutely impossible that he would get the exact same rash on the same shoulder blade twice. Maybe, just maybe, it could be that yes, Hux was staring at a soul mark.

There was the option of having it cut out again, but the general suspected that it would reappear within two standard days. The second option would be to ignore the mark. Hux was very much inclined towards this solution. How likely was it that he would ever meet the other person with the matching soul mark (again)? The galaxy was vast and it would be a miracle if they met again.

That brought Hux to option three: search for his soul mate. He was rather sure he was a rebel. If it were someone on his ship, Hux would have sensed where he was and found his way there – assuming that the feather on his back was really and truly a soul mark.

Since he didn't feel any such connection – Hux didn't know exactly what to imagine a connection between soulmates to be, he’d never been particularly interested in the subject – it had to be someone who wasn't stationed on this ship. That narrowed the selection considerably and pointed to a guest or a prisoner.

Hux frowned at his thoughts. He hurried over to his data pad on his desk and called up the logs of visitors and the like under his command. The selection was indeed very limited. He tapped away at the pad and went back several days in the logs until he found what he had suspected.

Prisoner #438-A9: Rebel pilot, caught over Jakku. In possession of a droid containing sensitive data. Urgent: retrieving droid from Jakku.

Status: escaped.

Hux lowered the pad and stared into space. That was him! The general was 100% sure. That was his potential soulmate. He just knew it. As much as he hated to admit it, Hux felt the truth deeply in his body, mind and heart. A rebel of all people! The Force must be playing a cruel joke on him.

Groaning, Hux roughly put the pad back in its place. He deleted his search from the log and left his office. Once in the bedroom, he let himself fall onto the bed, half-dressed, which was uncharacteristic of him, and remained lying on his stomach. His back ached and throbbed. Despite the pain and his racing thoughts, Hux dozed off.

A blurry figure appeared before his inner eye, but no matter how hard he tried, the person did not become clear. Slowly, Hux approached the presumed dream soulmate, who seemed to be turning towards him.

A brown spot that might have been a face, framed by black hair? Was the person speaking? It felt as if Hux were underwater. He heard someone speaking, but he couldn't make out any words. The voice was more on the lower register, like a man’s voice. Puzzled, Hux shook his head and raised his hands defensively to show the other person that he didn't understand. The dream soulmate came closer and reached out with a blurry hand to touch Hux. Their fingers touched and twisted around each other as if it were their natural posture. They seemed to merge. The other person's hand was warm and held him like a magnet. Hux wasn't sure if he could let go if he wanted to, but he didn't test it.

Because for some inexplicable reason, he didn't want to let go at all.