When Stars Collide
Chp 7: Dreams and Datapads
2187 . . .
Why would Hux have chosen Finn's number? Was he so torn with guilt about the former stormtrooper that he had to remind himself every time he logged into his datapad?
Maker, he was a glutton for punishment.
There is only a small collection of holovids, ranging in topic from educational to comedy. Nothing very interesting or helpful.
So, Rey turns her attention to the icon that holds the holobooks.
At first, she is annoyed by the amount of holobooks Hux has downloaded onto his datapad. There are at least a thousand.
Could he have read them all? She wonders.
But then she's impressed. For a General, busy with all sorts of other duties, he sure reads a lot. When does he find the time?
Art and War by Mitth'raw'—- she can't pronounce the rest of the name. It's far too long. She wonders if this is all for naught. If looking through his datapad won't yield any new information about the General. Or any information that might be helpful to her current predicament.
But she skims the titles of the holobooks anyway, books of historical non-fiction of course and there's so many on the Clone Wars. At least a dozen. Fifty or so on the Empire, maybe more. In any case, she doesn't really know what she's looking for. She only knows he's up to something, but she doesn't exactly know what.
More books, these on training tactics, various weaponry, military strategy, even books on business management practices.
Then there's the fiction, and he has a surprising number of novels that might fall into the romance genre. Or adventure, since they're mostly about smugglers wooing girls far out of their league, princesses and Jedi Knights even.
There are several other books on things like plants and animals, and she sees the holobook about wild space flora and fauna he'd mentioned earlier.
It's after those holobooks that she halts, there are several books about the Force in particular. A treatise on mystical interpretations of the Force. Another that is merely a description of various Force abilities in detail. A manuscript that was published sometime during the Old Republic. Books that the First Order might not deem appropriate reading material for any of their members.
She shifts uneasily, glancing back at him on the bed. She wants to make sure he's really asleep. So, she holds her breath for a long minute, and when he makes a small snort and rolls over onto his uninjured side, she sighs.
Then she sees it.
The books about how to destroy Force energy. And everything clicks into horrifying place.
Was he searching for a way to remove Ben's Force ability?
Or block it somehow?
The idea is painful, it makes her stomach roil. Would he do the same to her if he could?
There are books about animals that dispel the Force. Of objects that can also render the Force inert. Even objects that can drain Force energy. She shudders. Was this what he had planned? What he was trying to accomplish?
She closes out of his holobooks with a dreadful thought, was he going to use any of that information on her? Had he already? Was that why she couldn't use the Force against him? Could only use it to help him?
Stars, was that even possible?
She searches through what else he might have on his datapad, looking for anything to confirm or deny her fears. But she finds only several financial documents he must've been editing. A tedious amount of reports. Purchase orders for some kind of lizard eggs, they must be a delicacy, he's ordered at least twenty. And they're very expensive. Leave it to the First Order to be concerned with fine dining rather than the galaxy.
Of course, there are other purchase orders too, for TIE Fighters and other ships and war machines she only knows by model number. She's certain some of this information would be useful to Leia. Weapons manufacturing and supplier information would definitely come in handy to the Resistance.
After all of the First Order paperwork, and there is a lot of paperwork she finds something else.
There are holographs, but they're mostly all of stormtroopers, labeled with ID numbers. And images of things that need to be repaired around the Finalizer. Destroyed computer consoles, with long burnt gashes cut into them. Nothing very thrilling.
Then there is a saved holograph of her from her bounty and one of Finn as well. In fact, he seems to have the majority of the wanted Resistance members holographs saved to his datapad. She's about to close out of the icon when she sees one image that stands out.
It's of a cat. Or rather it's a flat-holo of a cat curled up around the face of a man.
Oh, it's him.
It must be his cat laying half on his chest and half on his face. The tail would be wicking back and forth over his face if the holograph could move. It's a rather large orange blob of fur. The cat glares up at her with large piercing green eyes. She studies it for a moment. It's almost endearing.
Almost.
But she's still so shaken by the thought that he'd cut it off, her use of the Force. As if it was a limb he could just lop off and create a plastetic attachment for.
He's trying to separate her from the only thing that makes her special. The only thing that makes her better than her parents.
Anger rises in her blood and with it comes the strong desire to close her hands around his white throat and squeeze.
But then she clicks onto an icon, purely by accident. And all of a sudden, loud music starts to blare. Some woman crooning about her longing, a ballad of unrequited love it seems.
Rey looks around wildly, he's still sleeping, snoring somewhat loudly now. She scrambles to click out of the icon as fast as she can. What was that? Music? Whatever the noise was it's gone now.
She feels ill. She needs to go to the fresher.
On weak legs, she rises, headed to the hygiene room. She enters the fresher as soon as the water starts to pour, not waiting for it to heat.
The cold water is a welcome sensation, cleansing her of the past few hours. Of Ben, of Hux. Of everything. She wants to feel clean. To not have to think about them.
She scrubs the scent of Hux off her body, still present from his clothes that morning. She washes her hair of any possible trace of Ben. She just wants to be free of these men.
These men who always have designs. Who always have plans for her.
She sighs. The water feels so good, cascading over her body. She closes her eyes and drifts.
When she steps out of the fresher, she curses. She's realized she left her semi-clean clothing in her bag. Which is located on the other side of the dreadful bedroom.
As long as Hux is still asleep she ought to be able to grab it without any worries.
She tiptoes out of the hygiene room, wrapped in the damp white towel she found under the sink unit. The majority of towels had been tossed out by Hux, most likely because they smelled or were moldy. There's only a few left, and none of them are normal sized.
Her bag is only on the other side of the bed, and she makes her way there as quietly as she can. When she reaches it, she bends down and pulls open her satchel.
Sifting through it, she finds the clothes she had the first day. They've dried from the pool, but they're stiff from air-drying. She pulls them out anyway. Then she rises and heads back to the hygiene room.
"Everything alright?" Hux mumbles groggily. His eyes are only half-lidded, but he's looking at her.
In her towel.
Heat floods her cheeks.
The towel is far too small, and it doesn't cover much. She tries to pull it around herself tightly.
Then she straightens. "Everything's fine. I just took a shower. When you're ready, you can take one."
Heading back to the hygiene room, she tries to walk confidently, though it's hard when she's only wearing the too small excuse for a covering. She wills her spine to be longer, and she struts back to the fresher.
Hux's eyes follow her the whole way.
Inside she leans against the closed door. Why should it be so hard for her to have a man see her half naked?
She doesn't believe that Hux would try anything. He doesn't seem like that kind of person. The kind that scared her on Jakku.
Pulling her undergarments on and then her leggings she ponders, if she had been raised somewhere other than Jakku would she still have had to put up with the leers of such disreputable men like those of Niima outpost?
Was it better elsewhere in the galaxy?
He thinks he sees her, he even tries to ask her if she's alright. But she says something dismissive and then goes back to the fresher.
She looks ethereal, her body wrapped in something small, and white, and frightfully revealing.
Is this a dream?
No, it couldn't be. His dreams are always much worse.
He never dreams about pleasant things. He never dreams about naked women. Not that he wouldn't like to. Not that he wouldn't like to dream about this woman in particular.
But he never dreams about smooth skin and soft breasts. But for some reason, he's thinking about them now.
Besides, it had to be a dream. She would never appear in front of him in such a state of undress of her own volition.
He feels suddenly blessed with this knowledge, and he sinks back into the pillows.
It's all just a dream.
"It's about time you became a man," his father says roughly. "I was about your age when I had my first. After that, well, I developed quite an appetite."
He shakes his head, "I really don't want to. I mean, I want to, I'm just, I'm-"
"Are you afraid Armitage?" The words hold a sort of menace, a threat to them. Something in them leads to violence. He ought to be careful how he responds.
"No," he stammers, "I just don't think this is the way I want it to happen."
"And how do you want it to happen?" His father asks with near disgust.
"I just thought, it would be special. You know, with someone I love," He says, almost whispering.
"Love?" His father barks out a laugh. "Love has no place in this act. It's base, it's primal. You don't need to love someone for this. In fact, it's better if you didn't."
Hux stares up at the bright neon signs of the brothel. This is one thing he won't allow his father to bully him into.
"They have boys too," his father says sneering. "If that's what you're worried about."
He presses his lips together, shaking his head.
"The longer you delay this," his father says, lilting his head. "The more foolish you'll look when it does come time."
He supposes he'll just look foolish then.
When she comes out of the fresher after changing into her cleanest set of clothing, he's asleep again, on his back this time.
His mouth hangs open, and he snores lightly. His red hair hangs over his eyes and his shirt is still slightly rolled up above his stomach. She leans over to tuck it back down, but he stirs, and she pulls away.
Then a warm hand encircles her wrist and pulls her back down, half on top of him.
"Hi," he whispers, giving her a lazy smile. She's sure he's still half-asleep. Still dreaming perhaps.
"Hello," she swallows. His breath mingling with hers. It smells hot but clean.
"You shouldn't be here," he says quietly. "In my dreams."
She gives him a confused look.
"Ren doesn't like me touching his things," he says softly. "You'd better get out of my head then. No matter how much I'd like you to stay."
"But—" she starts.
"Shhhhhh. . ." He brings a pale finger to her lips. His grip tightens on her wrist as he pulls her forward.
"I won't tell him," he whispers into her ear. "If you won't."
She freezes. He's most certainly asleep, but he seems to be expecting things. What, she's not sure. His nose grazes the side of her cheek as he leans his head back from her ear.
His mouth is very close to hers, she can feel the heat of it, his half-closed eyes dip to her lips. And just when she thinks he might kiss her, he lets her go, releasing his grip on her wrist.
The look he gives her is sorrowful, filled with so much repressed longing she almost goes to him. She almost plants a kiss on those pink lips, but instead, she stumbles back, away from him, and heads to the kitchenette. Not stopping to look over her shoulder once.
She's breathless, she hadn't realized it until she'd escaped to another room. But she could barely breathe, and something deep in the pit of her aches and she isn't exactly sure why.
Inside the kitchenette, she finds the conservator and opens it with shaking hands. Strangely it's empty and sparkling clean.
Did Hux clean it? He's proven surprisingly efficient, and he's made it very apparent that he likes things tidy. Stars, he's perplexing her, each new thing she learns about him confuses her more. She'd thought he was going to kiss her, thought he was going to pull her down and do whatever it was he seemed so hungry to do.
And she wouldn't have been able to do anything to stop him. She couldn't summon the Force to hurt him. Had he been able to successfully block her ability somehow? She would have to test this new theory. But she had things to do first.
She goes through the cupboards and is surprised to find them full of food. All of it is pre-packaged food, the ideal kind for space travel. Some of it expired, but quite a lot of it is still edible.
Though they don't have any fresh fruit or vegetables, this is far better than the ration cubes.
She takes out the packages and sorts through them. She needs to clear her head of all the confusing thoughts she's having.
Had Ben told Hux something about her? Had he said she belonged to him? Hux seemed to think she did, even in his delirious state. The thought is infuriating. She doesn't belong to anyone. Not anymore.
Gritting her teeth, she closes her eyes and lets the Force flow through her. The loose tendrils of power gliding over her. She needs to control her rage, needs to devise a plan to deal with Ben.
And she needs to find something for Hux to eat. He's sure to be starving when he awakes, and she wants to have a meal ready for them. She opens her eyes and studies the pile of food. She has to be careful rationing it out. If she can't comm the Resistance for a few weeks, she will have to make the food last.
But when she does comm the Resistance what will she tell them about the General? Couldn't she, perhaps let him go and keep the datapad? There's surely enough information on there that would be useful to the Resistance without the need to bring him along. Financial information especially. But there's probably more. If she knew exactly what to look for she might be able to learn some valuable information for the Resistance.
Though, what exactly would happen to Hux once he was returned to the First Order? Would he be deemed a liability? She knew how Ben felt about the General. She'd seen it in his mind. He would undoubtedly punish Hux severely for losing any confidential information to the Resistance.
Either way things went, Hux might suffer. And from the look of his scars, he'd already suffered enough.
She sighed. Look at her. Making excuses for someone who approved the destruction of an entire star system.
But thankfully, cooking food is a welcome distraction, she fills a pot with water and sets the burner on high. She plans to make a rice and broth soup. It ought to be filling enough. Then she needs to finish burying the body and run the systems diagnostic for the ship. Though she feels that might be futile, she doubts that the ship will work after the extensive damage to the engines and the wingblades. But she's never been one to give up hope easily.
And when Hux wakes she'll need his help to reattach the cockpit viewport as well. They can't leave it open at night. It might not be safe.
One idea still haunts her however, if she can't use the Force against him, it's only a matter of time before he finds out. Which means she needs to protect herself. The blasters are one thing, but he's stronger than her and he could easily get them. She's not that great of a shot anyway.
So, she sets about making preparations.
Hux awakes from his long nap feeling refreshed and quite content. He'd had such a lovely dream.
About her.
And of course, his head would conjure her in something small and revealing. Only his mind could devise such a distraction, though he did have a very good imagination. And he had concocted quite the picture of her, half-naked. He'd done it simply to tempt himself of course, to test his limits.
But still, he'd maintained his control. Even though he'd been so sorely tempted. He hadn't given in. He'd even told her to get out of his head.
His head wasn't the place for someone like her anyway. It was so full of dark, awful things. She'd seemed so terribly out of place there too. But he had held fast to his convictions.
He's actually quite pleased with himself. He had been strong, for once. Now that he's dealt with her in his dreams he'll be much more prepared to deal with her in real life. He assures himself.
But before he deals with her, he needs to use the fresher. Trying to pull himself up from the bed he groans, his side still smarts, and he doesn't want to make it hurt more.
That's when she pops her head around the corner, and he's suddenly very self-conscious.
"Here let me help," she insists, coming to his side and propping him up on the bed. "How are you feeling?"
He wants to say he's feeling better than he ever has. But he feels very ashamed for some reason, possibly because of how he had imagined her. It was only a dream after all. A very vivid one however. He can almost still see her lips so close to his. It doesn't help that she's still resting her hand on his back even though he's upright now.
She fusses about him like he's a child and it makes him feel . . . Irritated? No, not irritated. Perhaps it makes him feel embarrassed? Either way, he knows he doesn't deserve this kind of attention. It's only a broken rib after all.
When she pulls her hand from his back, he finally looks her in the eye.
"I'm fine, really," he insists. "Though I would like to use the fresher."
She gives him a forced smile, "That's a good idea. Can you stand?"
He nods, slowly bringing his legs over the side of the bed and gingerly pulling himself up. He's still weak, and he pitches forward but catches himself. Hesitantly she reaches for him again, but he flinches away, shaking his head.
"I can manage on my own," he says.
Her mouth snaps shut quickly, and her hands fall to her sides, but she nods all the same.
He shuffles stiffly to hygiene room and starts the fresher without bothering to close the door behind him. He bends awkwardly to pull his boots and socks off, and he manages to undo his belt and slide out of his trousers with little pain. But his shirt. He tries clumsily to pull it up and over his head, but it pinches his side, and he leans forward and presses his forehead to the transparisteel of the fresher in frustration.
"I know you want to do this on your own," she says timidly from behind him. "But there's no shame in letting someone help you."
He knows she's right. He knows she speaks the truth, but deep down he can't help but think it would be weak of him to accept her aid.
She takes several steps forward and pauses directly behind him.
"I'm going to help you," she says firmly. "Alright?"
He lifts his head from the transparisteel and turns to look at her. Would it really be so bad if he let her? No one has to know.
With a face resigned to humiliation he nods, "if you must."
As if not to prolong his suffering, she reaches out and grasps the hem of his shirt and pulls it up quickly, over his torso, his shoulders, and then his head and arms. She bites her lip, studying the small scars on his chest then her eyes lock with his.
"Who gave them to you?" She asks quietly.
"My father," he says without any hesitation.
"Oh," she replies. "Do they cause you pain?"
He shakes his head, "scar tissue tends to be more numb than anything."
"I didn't mean physically," she whispers.
He swallows, "I really need to use the fresher."
"Of course," she says hastily. "I'll just be on the other side of the door. Let me know if you need anything."
He gives a tired grunt and then turns back to the fresher before realizing something, "Could you grab me a change of clothes?"
"Sure," she says closing the door behind her.
Removing his boxer-briefs is just as painful as the rest of it, but he's thankful he didn't need her help for that. He steps into the fresher finally, relishing the feel of the water. He washes slowly, finding solace in the steam.
If he could live in this shower, he would. It's warm, it's wet, stars, and it makes him feel so clean. He washes away all of the oil and dirt and grime that's been sticking to him for the last two days and his skin looks almost white again, though he's certain his face and neck are bright red and sunburned.
When he finally emerges from the fresher, he feels far more like himself. Far more like the General than whatever he was just before. He stands straighter and tries to lock his arms behind his back like he does aboard the bridge of the Finalizer but finds that it hurts too much.
Wrapping the small towel about his waist he cautiously peers out of the hygiene room looking for clean clothing.
She's left a set of his clothes neatly folded on the bed. It's the pair of black sleep pants and soft long sleeve shirt that she wore that morning.
Unfortunately, it also still smells like her. The strong scent of cinnamon and something sweet fills his nose. He almost closes his eyes as he breathes it in.
Damn her.
He pulls his boxer-briefs on a little too fast, a small bit fearful that she'll round the corner while he's still undressed. His trousers prove more difficult, but he finally secured them, and he's thankful these ones don't require a belt. He makes sure to transfer his blade dagger into his pocket just in case. He doesn't bother with socks or boots, he doesn't plan to go outside for the rest of the night. Since he's sure it's already dark.
But the shirt. He can't manage the shirt. Miserably, he picks it up and heads out of the bedroom to find her.
She's in the kitchenette with her back to him, and it seems she's busy with three or four pots of things cooking. It smells strong, not bad necessarily but not exactly good. Or perhaps his stomach just needs to settle a bit?
He clears his throat, and she turns to look at him over her shoulder.
"Could you—?" He asks, holding the shirt out to her. Her eyes are on the scars dusting his chest again, she looks up sharply.
She takes the shirt from him and lifts it up, she has to stand on her toes to put it over his head and arms. She pulls it down and then she releases her hold on it immediately.
"Are you hungry?" She asks, turning back to the steaming pots.
"Famished," he replies honestly.
"Have a seat then," she gestures to the bistro table.
He sets himself in the chair facing her while she works, propping his legs up on the chair across from him.
"You did an excellent job cleaning by the way," she says, smiling back at him.
He gives her a slight smirk, he's always prided himself on being tidy. It was probably the one thing his father approved of about him.
She sets a small cup in front of him, filled with a pale purple liquid.
"For the pain," she says as she turns back around and attends to the cooking.
He hesitates, looking at it for a moment.
"It's not poisoned," she says, giving him another look.
He picks up the cup and sniffs it then gulps it down in one swallow.
"I don't know why I didn't think to give it to you earlier," she pauses. "I should've. I'm sorry."
"It's alright," he assures. "It's just a broken rib."
She turns to face him, "From the look of your back and chest you've dealt with a lot worse?"
He grimaces, this was not the conversation he wanted to have.
"I know how to take a beating," he replies sharply.
"Your father?"
His refusal to speak is answer enough.
"I just," she takes a deep breath. "I can't believe someone could do that to their child."
"It happens all the time," he shrugs.
"It doesn't," she says softly.
He swallows, "Well, it happens."
She shakes her head and turns back to the cooking. "Well, I'm sorry it happened to you."
He stills. He doesn't want her pity. He doesn't want to hear it either.
"It's fine," he says harshly.
He hears her sigh, hears her start to say something, something admonishing him, and he can't take it any longer.
"Stop this charade!" he shouts angrily, slamming his fist onto the bistro table so hard it makes her jump.
"I don't know why you didn't give our location to the Resistance, I don't know why you're tending to my wounds, and I don't know why you're acting like you care. But I do know that you're up to something. If I'm your prisoner than you better damn well start acting like I am."
Her eyes are wild at the tangled emotions twisting through her. She knows he's angry because she asked about his scars, she knows he's upset because he feels weak for allowing her to help him. And she knows these things simply from his reaction. From the way his eyes light up with wet fury.
She presses her lips together, trying to decide how best to reply. Now would be the perfect time to test her theory.
"And if you say you're just trying to help me, then help me and get me a drink," he says furiously.
"You're definitely not getting a drink with that attitude," is the only thing she can think to say in response.
"Just try and stop me," he barks. Standing up on shaking legs he heads to the smuggler's den. He can hear her behind him as he clicks open the wall panel and pulls a crate out.
Looking over his shoulder and giving her his best glare, he pries open the lid to the crate and pulls out a bottle of brandy.
Involuntarily, Rey reaches out with the Force, intending to pull the bottle away, meaning to immobilize him. But nothing happens. The air is still.
Hux only stares at her, mouth open in disbelief.
"You can't do it, can you?" He says astonished. "You can't use the Force to hurt me."
How could she be so foolish? It had been an instinctive response to his behavior, she had barely even realized she'd reached out her hand.
He stalks toward her, dropping the bottle back into the crate with a clink. She starts to draw her blaster just as he knocks it aside, so she goes for the other blaster, but she's not left-handed, and she fumbles with the clasp. His hand firmly covers her own over the blaster release, stopping her from pulling it out.
He's backed her up against the hard durasteel wall of the ship and releases the spring in his mono-molecular blade dagger pulling it from his trousers. Lifting it with one hand, he uses the flat of the blade to tip her chin up.
Smiling down at her in smug satisfaction he says, "I think it's time you give me that comm."
Finally, things were taking a turn in his favor.
