exhuxperation | 04. mental link

[At the mention of Thrawn, Mara actually rolls her eyes. There's a little groan, there. Thank the Force he's dead.]

[But onto more important matters-] It happened the year the first Death Star was destroyed, and honestly I wouldn't be surprised if the entire thing was covered up, considering Imperial Intelligence's involvement. [That's what Mara was always called in official records. Imperial Intelligence, nothing more or less.] A group of Stormtroopers were told to fire on innocent civilians based on bad information, so they defected.

[ Not a fan of Admiral Thrawn then. Unsurprising. His strategies were either loved or hated. No in-between as many of the Imperial officers seemed to inspire. ]

They defected. [ He echoes, mind monetarily distant. FN-2187 had been on that mission alongside Ren. Sniffing out Lor San Tekka and information about the droid. Afterwards, he'd defected alongside that rebellion pilot, Poe Dameron. Awful. ]

How much trouble did they stir up?

That's just the start of it. Then they went around calling themselves 'The Hand of Justice' and rooting out corrupt Imperial generals and Governors. [She speaks of it fondly, despite the subject. She has the look of someone recounting some youthful triumph, a memory long passed.] Imperial Intelligence had to hunt them down to make them stop cleaning up their messes. It wouldn't have happened in the perfect world the Emperor wanted, but perfection is... admirable, but unlikely.

[To Ren, a creature comprised entirely of bone and blood and necessity, compassion is a poison; like a mantra the warning against it burns in his veins. Even galaxies away, without an immediate foothold to find, the damage done by Snoke's training lingers on. He's stiff where Hux's fingertips find him, inflexible against the press of his lips— and when Ren's pulsebeat finally leaps into his throat it's more suited to either rage or action than any amount of kindness.

He wasn't meant for this. For weakness. For the brittleness of affection after years of starvation.

His hold on Hux turns sharp, forceful enough to hurt - it drops off only a short second later, thumb slipping away alongside the set of his fingers, as though he's choking on his own long-standing conflict. An accurate assessment: much of his failing even while in service to the First Order fell on a lack of momentum, an inability to function alongside the balance he was meant to draw strength from. Shameful, that it still haunts him even now.

That he feels so cold, where someone else would be warmed by the heat of Hux's breath. By the earnest longing that lies behind it, parallel to his own. Instead— stare glassy, both hands laid out at his side, back straight as the barrel of a rifle and braced against an imagined threat— he does nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Again.]

[ When he was younger, Brendol Hux had told his son that he would not tolerate a weak will. That if he were going to remain a slip of a boy, he was to use his mind to best others. And that mind would have to be sharp, ruthless. There was no room for sentiment in the beast called war. Military regulation was prim, proper, cordoned off from the personal. One left that at in their quarters once the uniform was on.

But eventually, it would've been expected of him to lead a life much the same as the Commandant. Secure his power, marry, carry on the line.

That expectation had been sitting in his chest, locked away with anything he deemed weak. Over the years he'd gotten sharper and sharper with himself, leaving only ambition and an unstoppable drive. Anything aside from that would not be tolerated. Except he'd felt the devastation while Starkiller fell apart. Felt it all the way to the bone, lancing through.

Ren's lack of response feels the same, only more raw. This time he'd made a decision to show a part of himself he'd felt unnecessary. It'd gotten in the way before; against his better judgment he indulged. But Ren's grip is painfully tight around his wrist and he jerks back immediately, eyes wide. He closes them for a moment, both arms dropping to his sides. When he looks at Ren again, his expression is closed off as it normally was on the bridge of the Finalizer. ]

I apologize, that was uncalled for.

[ And as he'd gained emotional distance, he mirrors it by stepping away from Ren entirely, giving him space to inevitably leave. ]

[ Hux's eyebrows go up at the mention of the name. Hand of Justice, hmm? How ridiculous. Though he's torn on their actual actions. Sniffing out the corrupt would've been helpful in terms of an internal thing, but to have so much freedom. Well. Problematic. ]

Perfection is not realistically attainable, no. Were you part of the intelligence force, then, Mara?

I had reason to keep an eye on their behavior. [Which is all she'll say. She doesn't want condemnation or congratulation for her actions, her training, her capabilities. What she wants is understanding, and until she's sure she'll get that, she's happy to leave this General in the dark.] The group was eventually convinced to disband, and they became mercenaries. They dropped the 'Hand of Judgement' name as well-- it up that Hand of the Emperor rumor.

[Silly thing, rumors.]

And you seek to bring that Empire back, without all its nasty flaws?

Considering they defected, that's reason enough to keep an eye on things. [ She's being evasive but they hardly know each other, regardless of the understanding they seem to be reaching. He's not about to spout every secret of his, nor his life story either. ]

Still, it seems as though it worked in the Empire's favor. Perhaps not so much for those who were lining their pockets. [ There's a twitch of a smile. Routing out the greedy is admirable. ]

The Order was built on many of the Empire's precepts. Bringing organization and communication to as many places as possible. The Senate made decisions very slowly and many of those negatively affected the less fortunate, especially in the Outer Rim, where trade has been so limited over the years.

[ This is getting too specific, so he'll leave it there. ] I suppose it doesn't matter much now, myself and Ren are all that remain of that dream.

The Order. That's the group you and Kylo Ren belong to? [But Hux's final comment brings a Mara to pause. Her hard expression draws together into a frown, confused and-- more than she'd like to admit it-- disappointed.] And now it's over.

[It's a statement and a question. It's very familiar.]

First Order, yes. [ He's just as disappointed by it as her. Moreso, honestly. Hux stares down into his caf, tries not to think of the Starkiller, how he had everything in the palm of his hand. Doesn't want to think about the Finalizer and all of the crew. Phasma and her precise walk. It feels like something shook loose when the oscillator failed; parts of him went with the planet. ]

It's gone. [ And more open than he's been with most anyone else: ] Adjusting has not been easy.

[Something about that vulnerability catches Mara's sympathy as well as her attention. He's telling her story, though he can't know it. This man is an ally; there's truly no reason to ponce on his weaknesses.]

It won't get easier, [she says, calm and collected, but in her mind, the memories of hiding, running, explosions and screaming, all flare into a fever pitch.] You'll have to... rebuild yourself.

It's fine. [Is the response that comes, too sharp to be a comfort when they've both been severed from the figurative shoreline.

For so long they've been here at one another's sides, fixed shadows under Snoke's watchful gaze— and now not. Isolated by the very thing that had brought them both together in the first place. He could ask Hux why he chose to reach out for physical contact, but Ren already knows: just as he clings desperately (foolishly) to potential validation, just as Ilde set her heart in his hands, their collectively suffocated cravings find purchase in quiet, narrow spaces.

There's no explanation he can give that could possibly convey how gutted, how empty he feels in the wake of it all. Having to choose time and time again to be anything but human.

A mirrored sentiment Ren finds when he glances upwards towards the General's hard-set jawline. It prompts an urge to say something more— to puncture the tension that comes from blistered skin and alleviate some fraction of pressure— but he was never prone to eloquence or sincerity. ]

Her brood might search for retribution.

[And like this, at least for the moment, they might find it.]

[ Ren's words don't match his tone. It's too hasty, as though he was backpedaling. As though he wanted to leave but his body hadn't caught up with his mind.

Hux feels displaced by it, can't stop the spiral of thought that he'd just upset the balance between them. Nevermind that it'd been precarious to start, but he'd tipped it right over a different edge. Here in the privacy of his room, it's easy to forget about Snoke, about what his responsibilities had been on the Finalizer, as strange as that is to think about. Over the time he's been in the nest, he thinks he's rebuilding himself. Remembering parts that he'd long buried.

Tension continues to hang between them and Ren doesn't yet move. Hux doesn't want to walk away either, frozen on the spot with something tugging in the hollow of his chest. Expression still cautiously neutral, he meets Ren's glance, taking a moment to parse the meaning from the response. ]

I– perhaps it would be intelligent to have backup nearby, just in case.

[ If this is how Ren wants to play it, he'll go with. Carefully, he picks his way toward the dresser, ready to head out of the main room after he pulls clothes out. He pauses by the doorway, looking back over at Ren still sitting on the bed. ]

If you need anything in the meantime, you should retrieve it.

No. [He owns little; cares about little in the way of physical possessions to the point of skirting the edge of his origins. Luke Skywalker might even be proud in his own way— if he knew.

Ren lifts his gaze, steels himself just as he always does. No faltering, no pause for consideration or tender concern.] All that I require is here.

[Aside from his mask, but Rey would never seek to steal that from him.

Would she?]

[ Ren's negative reply is of no particular surprise. He's used to being contradicted by him, after all. So instead of growing frustrated, he waits for the rest that is sure to follow. In time, Ren would pipe up.

And he does, though Hux's initial non-shock is quickly swallowed by a strange wrenching feeling in his chest. It cinches tight in his throat somewhere; he has to look away to regain his train of thought. Later, he'll address the meaning behind those words later. For now they'll do as just an answer. ]

Make yourself comfortable, then.

[ Promptly, he leaves the main bedroom, drawing in a slow inhale as he goes to the bathroom to change. Toweling his damp hair and pulling on clothes should just be a mindless task but instead he's looping Ren's words. He must've meant he didn't possess much, a fact that Hux had known about him previously. Was he just imagining something else underneath it all? Combing his hair back and satisfied with his reflection in the mirror, he goes back into the bedroom, anxiety crawling up along his spine. Hux stops just short of where Ren has settled, the layer of clothing over his skin making him feel less exposed physically and emotionally. The latter half is still in turmoil. ]

Ren.

[He's taken to resting. Shirt stripped to expose the bandage to the cool air, laid out on his back, fingers running lazy circuits across Anakin's saber. It's calming, that tangible promise that he's finally taken back what's rightfully his. Soothes the agony boiling under his skin.

For now, he almost feels at ease—

At least until Hux's tension filters back in, heavy as a blanket as it settles across his skin.] What.

[It isn't sharp or livid, doesn't function as a dismissal, though he's clearly been shaken from his own forced reverie.]

[ It isn't like him to skip over details. Especially when something is right in front of him. As it is now—Ren is laid out on his bed, sans shirt, motions idle. Hux hasn't seen him so relaxed in possibly as long as he's known him. So when Ren tenses out of his more meditative state, he feels a slight twinge of regret at speaking up.

That isn't precisely going to stop him.

Padding over to the bed, he perches at the edge on one side, mattress dipping under his weight. One leg is pulled up as he sits half-Indian style so it's easier to turn to Ren and look at him. There's a moment of hesitation before he commits to the motion more thoroughly, sliding to sit next to Ren's hip. Reaching forward, his fingertips set lightly on the scar on Ren's side. A leftover from Starkiller's destruction. It left physical marks on him, opposed to Hux's mental ones. Stopping the motion, he lightly lays his hand on Ren's abdomen, fingers fanned out. ]

Would you let me do that again?

[Like a hand to still water, Ren's muscles tense beneath Hux's palm, fingertips stalled against cold metal. Old memories.]

Why would you want to?

[Hux was fragile in physical stature alone, but where his mind found purchase, he was iron, steeled to the bone and devoid of emotional vulnerability — ever the counter to Ren's instability. Are they not still unified in their goals? Has so much changed between them in the time it's taken for Ren's own volatile conflicts to subside? Weakness was never the General's aim before, and yet he's laid himself bare to it. Invited the idea with open arms and offers it freely to Ren in the process, as though it's somehow innocuous.

But Ben Solo was raised at his Uncle's side, plagued by the tenets of the Jedi and hounded by obligation where Snoke's ideals took hold: if affection meant anything, it meant poison, blindness.

Betrayal.]

[ At the tension, he pulls his hand away. Slowly, so it doesn't look like he's flinching.

This is an out. He could take it back, write it off as a delirious moment. An error in logic that he won't repeat. But it sits in front of him, something he could grasp. Maybe it's finally all the pressure of command giving way to what he's buried. Or maybe it is a whim, something he just wants in the moment and intends to get, ruthless as that may seem.

Except, if Ren were to push him away, he'd take his answer and settle for it. The idea of coercing him into this kind of physical contact is repulsive. A reminder of what too many officers would brag about in seedy bars on shore leave. He was above that. ]

I enjoyed it and want you to as well. [ Never one to face away from a situation, he keeps his gaze steady on Ren's face, expression as neutral as possible even as it feels like his pulse is loud in his ears. ]

You enjoyed that. [Ren scoffs, entirely self-aware in the moment (however rare and fleeting it might be) dropping his hands to his chest as his stare— unsurprisingly critical— follows the line of Hux's arm upwards. Sheltered, spoiled, those facets of his personality do little to alter the fact that he's the child of Han Solo and Princess Leia: he's seen intimacy, he's seen passion and contempt in the faces of those around him at ports and senatorial gatherings alike. Not in the mirror, but...

What he and the General shared moments prior? A fumbling disaster at best.]

How desperate you must be.

[And when all else fails, fall back on dogged, needling habits.]

[ And just like that, they fall back into old habits. It's safer, isn't it? To pretend that neither of them have feelings other than distaste and anger. Knifing comments that cut on the emotional and mental levels. Bring up the walls and never speak of it again.

Hux stares at Ren for a long moment, expression focused and non-reactive. His first urge is to snap right back. Tell Ren that he's an ingrate, that a yes or no answer would've been sufficient. He can practically feel the sneer trying to work its way onto his face at the very thought.

No, this time he won't be drawn into a petty argument. Instead, he slowly arches a brow, still keeping eye contact with Ren. ]

Admittedly, it's more enjoyable if the other person reciprocates, so perhaps I should've known better.

[ Her words sound too much like pity at first and he wants nothing to do with it. But, after the rush of shame and failure, he collects his thoughts– she's merely understanding. Only a few moments before, she mentioned that she had seen the Death Star destroyed. Old enough to remember it. Young enough to feel as though her entire foundation crumbled underfoot.

They have a similarity. Maybe even moreso than he and Ren did. ]

Where does one even start. [ Being thrust into the Nest hadn't been an ideal way to start all over. He's still too defensive, too closed off. ]

[Mara considers how to answer. Being too truthful would show her hand, reveal more of herself than she cares to. Instead, Mara makes a deliberately misleading statement.]

[Dryly,] I started at a bar, myself.

[ He turns his gaze to her, eyebrows raising slowly and in fractions. ]

Didn't get enough of poor souls pouring their miserable stories at your feet while you served? [ Is that a hint of a smile??? ]

[Mara snorts.] I never said I served. [She grins, bitter.] How observant of you.

[A lifetime of training in combat, espionage, slicing, mechanics, engineering, the Force, all to become a waitress.]

COMMAND over oneself and others	AMBITION nothing will stand in my way
ORDER chaos will not be tolerated	MANY over the individual

04. mental link

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this sure is 100 years late

fffff

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