((Written with blood pressure related wooziness! Enjoy!))
The greatest upset for Commandant Brendol Hux was not the news that his daughter was missing.
Well… Maybe that's not entirely true. That did upset him greatly. Or perhaps upset is the wrong word. Blinding, unadulterated rage is probably more appropriate. And the reason was not all that wholesome.
He was not concerned with her welfare or her safety as should have been his parental priority. Rather, he was far more incensed that her disappearance had cost him something; plenty, as it happens. A dowry. Influence. Greater pull within the ranks. Networking that would allow him to claw deeper into the political machine.
And all because that little bitch decided to abscond.
Favours of mammoth proportions were called in: probe droids, extra Stormtrooper squadrons with "missing person" debriefings, public service announcements on the holonews and a substantial reward. Even a stop-and-search system of doubtful vessels at the planet's main docking stations. Coruscant would be torn apart to find the blonde haired, blue eyed teenager; the one in the holos on every news bulletin and street corner. All for the safe return of the daughter of a high-ranking Imperial official.
She had been seen neither arriving or leaving Coruscant. The pilot had never been named, let alone investigated; who can investigate a phantom? The house staff knew nothing; they had been so cautious in their planning that could (accurately) claim ignorance in the girl's disappearance. Technically, they had answered all queries to satisfaction. Was it their fault the Imperials didn't ask the right questions?
There was no way that all this commotion had gone unnoticed by a certain redhead; the same redhead who had eyed and ears everywhere in a manner that would have made his father proud.
"I heard about your daughter's disappearance, Commandant." Armitage's monotonous drawl was typical of an Imperial officer; the added disinterest and nonchalance tweaked the senior officer's ear. "I do hope she is recovered safe and sound soon."
Eyes of matching blue slid ever so briefly to the young man who kept in step with the Commandant. The fiery hair, corresponding eyes, mirroring features and even inflated sense of self-importance made the Cadet undeniable. And before, it would have been the Commandant's first instinct to deny him. The embarrassing proof and result of an affair with a kitchen worker? To preserve his decency, why wouldn't he deny him? A futile venture perhaps, but expected nonetheless, for a man of his stature in a situation that was all too privately common.
Now though…. They marched side by side: matching left foot to left foot, right foot to right foot, chins held high and hands clasped behind backs; two (almost) identical pillars of Imperial propriety.
With that steely ambition, ruthless undercutting, extreme cunning, iron-clad devotion and ingrained obedience (while still setting himself apart), he was a dream candidate. Enveloped in the immaculate charcoal-grey of a Cadet's uniform, Armitage filled it well; right down to the close-fitting black boots that curved against his calves. And by rooting out traitors in Brendol's own household, Armitage had proved himself to be a very valuable asset; more valuable, perhaps, than his legitimate half-sister.
It was unspoken, their blood connection. Never discussed, acknowledged or questioned. By Armitage or anyone else. But they knew, they all knew. And maybe Brendol wasn't so averse to the idea; not when he had the boy serving directly by his side with only positive results so far. He would go far, as Brendol had already boasted to Sloane.
"Thank you, Cadet." He replied with similar stiffness as they stalked the pristine corridors of the Star Destroyer. "Every effort is being made to ensure she is delivered home safely."
Neither male could be accused of being overly fraught or anxious about the female in question; the daughter and sister who had vanished without a trace. But the diplomacy remained, another trademark trait of the stellar officer Armitage would make.
"And when she is…." Brendol continued coldly while he and Armitage skulked on without any indication of interest, but the Cadet listened intently. "Her engagement will resume immediately."
They called it The Resistance. The new rebellion, in its infant stages and still, a very low-key organization where a patchwork of individuals could find some belonging. All very much under the radar of the Senate. They took their crew where they could get them; some of them new, some of them old (from Endor, Yavin 4 and beyond) and some of them had been born into it; a second generation, to be precise.
Like the three young pilots who scrambled from behind a trio of X-Wings to descend into something that made the princess-turned-General roll her eyes.
Youngsters. Leia thought with pursed lips as she watched two gang up and elbow and shove the third. Then she turned and saw the reason.
"You're distracting my pilots." She told the approaching brunette with a twisted smile, the one who turned with her usual innocent curiosity; only for the pilots to thrust their olive-skinned comrade forward. Flung under the joint female gaze, he gave an awkward half-wave/salute, lips folded into each other awkwardly and refused to make eye contact before diving back behind the ship; like a cat upon snickering Tantor pigeons. "You have something for me?"
"I do…." The curiosity hadn't dissipated, and eyes of sapphire had followed the vanishing pilot. Endearingly baffled still, the female handed over the holodisk, the compilation of reconnaissance findings. "It's more or less what we expected." She surmised, as Leia trawled through the information projected on her own holopad. Having withdrawn herself from her puzzlement, she refocused on the task at hand. "All coordinates have checked out, no surprise there. Troop numbers, vessel counts…. It's all there."
"You should talk to him." Leia mused, off-topic and not bothering to bite back the amusement while scrolling through the information unravelling in front of her. "Watch his head explode."
It was Ronnie's turn to roll her eyes (if impishly) and hummed her non-committal hum. This teasing was commonplace, and not just with Leia. And always about the same pilot who seemed to get tetchy whenever she (unwittingly) got too close.
"You will notice here that the Tie numbers are-"
"I mean, sure, it'd be Hell to clean off the permacrete but…."
"Growing rapidly. We haven't pinned down a location of the factory yet but we're confident-"
"Poor guy. That swagger just crumbles when you're around."
"That we have it narrowed down."
Eyebrow playfully arched, Ronnie stared down her commander (and rescuer, saviour); one lip pulled coyly upwards into her cheekbone. That half-smirk marked a comfort zone, one that she never really knew up until a few months ago; a role to fill that was more than just being bred. Leia pretended not to notice but the joviality seemed to be mutual; evidenced by the same pull of a one-sided smile in her older counterpart. Until a more serious topic began to ebb at her consciousness and Leia felt it too.
"Are they still looking for me?" The General's tongue clicked, the data on the holopad was held no substance to it anymore but she pretended otherwise; Ronnie was right, the information was as expected. However, mindful of balancing a darker subject with the upbeat atmosphere (that was essential for morale) she strived to keep around the base, Leia opted to keep details to a minimum.
"They are." She replied casually, swiping back up the hologram and re-reading data to occupy herself. "But you know that better than anyone."
That was true. "Ronnie" had found her niche almost immediately. Leia discovered she was resourceful, that sniffing out details and slotting them together did not match with the life that had been mapped out for her; the life that would have wasted her. And in more ways than one when she sat down with a lost, devastated teenager in high-born dress who had all but pleaded for her help. "I'll earn my keep!" She remembered her pleading, on the verge of desperate tears. "I'll do anything you ask! I'll be useful! But please…. Just don't send me back!"
That was when Rosaline Hux ceased to exist and a more bubbly, confident young woman took over. The resident head-turner of the base. The finder of impossibly hidden material. The expert compiler and enthusiastic obligor. The only thing those Vratixan eagle eyes seemed to be oblivious to was obvious attraction and affection; from one infatuated pilot in particular.