5/7/1

It's not, by a long shot, the first time Kylo's trained with other people around. He'll often multitask by fighting and talking to his generals, two of them have even asked if they could train with him, and though he won't fight against them, he's fine with them also going up against the training droids. When he was with Luke, he had at least six other Padawan with him, and they'd fight with each other. And after he took his Knights from the ashes of Luke's temple, they trained, exclusively, together, until Snoke killed them.

And after that, until he killed Snoke, he trained alone, or with Phasma.

All of that said, Kylo's never had anyone watch him fight the way Jon is watching him now.

The first moment, when he shucked off his tunic and shirt, Jon's eyes flicked to his chest, looking for the necklace. But it's on Rey's neck today. He'd put it on her right before flashing back to the Supremacy.

After the second moment, he's dissecting Kylo again. Taking apart each joint and tendon, seeing all the angles, and he just keeps doing it as Kylo fights. He doesn't think anyone's ever watched him that closely. Rey doesn't watch him like this, and she's the only person he knows who thinks he's pretty and likes to watch him.

It's almost distracting how thoroughly Jon's seeing him.

Almost.

He's not about to do a bad job fighting in front of an audience, though. When three of the droids have been scattered to smoking chunks of wreckage, Kylo stops, and says, "Enough?"

Jon nods, eyes tracing over Kylo from black boots to sweaty hair, and nods again. "Yes."

Kylo nods, pulling a towel to him, and blots his face and hair. He feels a little jolt when he realizes that Rey's not the only one who thinks he's pretty. He'd blink at that, unsure of what to do, but his eyes are closed and he's got a towel to his face.

Jon's not flustered at all. He's completely unaware that Kylo caught the way he was being looked at, because, of course, Kylo's eyes are not only closed but located on the far side of a towel and currently incapable of making contact with Jon's gaze.

By the time Kylo's put the towel down, Jon's started sketching, and his mind is completely on how to design armor for him, totally professional.

"Are we still on for lunch?" Jon asks, not looking up from the body, Kylo assumes it's got to be his, that he's laying out on his pad.

"Yes, I'd like that."

Jon looks up at him, smiles a little, and nods. "Good. I'll have these ready for you."

Good as his word, he does. They're in Kylo's room, at his table, sketches laid out, along with drinks and sandwiches.

Kylo checks the first sketch. It looks almost identical to his command blacks. The only main difference is that the boots are thicker, the cloak is gone, and the belt has been narrowed and set lower on the hips, giving him easier access to his saber.

"No cloak… or cowl?" Kylo asks.

"Do you want one?" Jon asks between bites of his sandwich.

"It looks imposing."

Jon nods. "It does. How's it work with your fight? From what I was watching, it looked like it'd get in the way."

Kylo rolls his eyes a little. "It's too hot, screws with my visibility, the only reason I don't trip over it is my control of the Force, and if anyone got too close, it'd be an easy handhold."

Jon nods, and taps the sketch. "No cloak, no cowl. You're already larger than real life, you don't need to look like a nightmare on top of it."

"Palaces and castles again?"

Jon inclines his head. "Yes." He drums his fingers on the sketch, and takes a sip of his tea. "Why do you expect to be fighting?"

"Because I will."

Jon inclines his head, not understanding.

"I can feel it." He touches his saber. "There may be a time when I won't need this, but it isn't here, yet."

"Okay." Jon takes a bite of his sandwich. "When you see yourself out there, blade glowing red, head to toe black, are you fighting to conquer something, or protect something?"

It's not something he's thought much about, but when it comes down to it, he's not terribly interested in conquering much of anything. He wants people, planets, and systems to join him because they want to be with him, not because he held a blade to their throats. "Ideally, protecting what's mine."

"And that's why you don't have to look like the ghoul in someone's terrors. Honestly, if the mask wasn't so iconically yours, I'd redesign that, too. It puts people too much in mind of Darth Vader, and that's not who you want them thinking of."

Kylo raises an eyebrow.

"The Emperor was justice. Vader was his executioner. Do you want to be the hand that wields power, or the blade that enforces it?"

That's something else that Kylo's never thought of. "Both?"

Jon looks like he's tasting that idea. He doesn't seem to think it's a bad flavor. "Supposedly there was a time when the man who made the laws executed them…"

"Where are you from, Jon?"

"Imperial City."

Kylo nods. One of the Empire's core supports.

"And you're… how old?"

"I was born in 24 AE." Jon's use of the Imperial dating system tells Kylo all he needs to know about that. He thinks quickly and decides that 24 AE is 5 BBY, or the same age Kylo is.

"Born and raised for the Empire?"

"My future as an officer planned out from the day my oldest sister was born, and then the next one, and the next, and the next, and finally me. My father was a major. He worked logistics on the second Death Star."

Kylo winces.

Jon nods. "Yeah. The Empire fell, and on Coruscant…" It's clear from his voice he resents it not being Imperial City any longer, "things got rough if you were branded 'Imperials.' Which we were, but… my mom's famous. She's the best dressmaker in the galaxy. The economy fell to shit, the Rebellion with their 'Republic' was disrupting everything, but rich people still got married, so my mom never had to worry about work."

Kylo takes a bite of his own sandwich, and nods to the sketch. "She taught you this?"

"Unwillingly. Men don't… do this sort of thing, in Imperial City. They especially don't design pretty dresses for rich ladies, but the Empire was gone, being the son of a Major wasn't a bragging point anymore, and I didn't exactly have the sort of job prospects they thought I'd have. Making up sketches, sewing, and pretending it was my sisters' work was better than starving."

Kylo knows something about not exactly living up to the future others designed for you. "Did you like it?"

Jon offers him a sharp smile. "Yes, actually. I'm good at it, too. Not as good as my mother, but no one is. Once Snoke showed up, and I had options beyond her dress shop, she more or less booted me out."

"Oh."

Jon can read Kylo's look and he shakes his head a little. "It's not… bad… just…" he lets that trail off.

"Do you still speak to her?"

"Not every day, but enough. She's still my mom." Jon shakes his head. "I'm sorry, sir… blathering away. Let me guess, you and your mom get on fine?"

Kylo doesn't actually choke on his drink, but only because he knew Jon was going to say it a millisecond before it got out of his mouth. Apparently, his shock is clear on his face though, because Jon says, "Or maybe not."

It's an impulsive blurting, a need to let the secret out, just to say it, at least once. "My mom was Leia Organa."

The only reason Jon doesn't choke on his drink is that he wasn't drinking. His eyes all but bug out of his head and he just stares at Kylo. Finally, he says, "The Leia Organa."

Kylo nods.

Jon keeps staring for a long moment, and then crumples into hysterical laughter.

Now it's Kylo's turn to stare because whatever the joke may be, Jon's not bringing it to him.

After a few moments of breathless laughing, Jon finally calms himself down enough to say, "Everyone says kids rebel against their parents. Your mom is the Rebel. She overturned and entire government, threw the galaxy into chaos, broke the entire system, and you didn't just join the other side, you run it." He's chuckling. "That's the stone-cold balliest fucking move I've ever heard of." Approval is beaming off of Jon. "I thought not becoming a combat officer was giving my mom a big fuck you," he sniggers for another moment, "but I've got nothing on you."

Kylo rubs his lips together, and then smiles, a little. "I suppose that's one way to look at it."

"Why are you asking me about government stuff? Didn't you learn this sort of thing as a sprog?"

"Like you said, she was off rebelling. I was home learning half a dozen languages or how to," he levitates his cup. "How to do… this…" he gestures at the ship, but his meaning, everything around them, is clear, "wasn't part of it."

"No. Let me guess, in her ideal world, there are no people like us? We're all, what, equals, and power isn't a thing, and we all get along happy and kind."

Kylo doesn't exactly roll his eyes, because he's fairly sure that's what Leia wanted. He's also sure she knew she'd never have that. "I never got the sense she was that naïve."

Jon's eyes widen. "Past tense… Oh… I… shit… I'm sorry."

Kylo shrugs. "Like you said, I joined the other side."

Jon sighs. "She was still your mom, right?"

"Yes."

"It hurts, no matter how far apart we drift."

Kylo feels that, the sympathy aimed at him, and nods, allowing himself a moment to feel it, too. "Thank you."

Jon looks at him curiously.

"The only other person who knows about this empathizes as much as she can, but she lacks the frame of reference to really understand it."

Jon nods, and gives Kylo's hand a little squeeze, which Kylo stares at in amazement, before saying, "So, no cloak, no cowl, you're not up there to terrorize people, you're up there to protect them. The black and red works wonders for putting the idea of righteous rage into people's minds, but you don't need to go any further than that. It's enough for them to know that they don't want to bring about your wrath."

Kylo figures that's about as much of an opening as he's ever going to get, so… "If I wanted to work some colors into my Emperor-wear… How would you suggest doing that?"

Jon doesn't have a stroke, though he does blink.

"Not red," Kylo adds.

Jon nods, slowly, and then pointedly looks around them. They're in a black room, at a black table, with black chairs. The plates are gray. The cups are black. Kylo's desk is black. His bed is black. His walls are black. The ship they're flying around in is black.

"I'd keep your clothing black, silver, and gray. We can maybe toss some midnight blue and forest green in there, just a bit, on the vests or detailing, probably. But, unless you want to rebrand the whole thing again, those are your colors. You wear them on your body, because you arethe Order." He looks around, sighing… "That said, not everything around you has to be black." He shrugs a bit. "The Supremacy is a castle. It's designed to be imposing. Every inch is about instilling fear and subservience. Humans are designed to fear the dark, so Snoke built the biggest, blackest ship to ever traverse the galaxy. If you wanted to add color, this is where I'd do it. Make your home look more like… anywhere else."

"Make it look like anywhere else, or make it anywhere else?"

Jon shrugs. "That one is up to you. Uh… My friend… She's one of your tactical officers. She… thinks you're onto something with scaling down the weapons systems." Jon's face hardens. "Do you know how I got to this rank… well, the rank before this one?"

Kylo shakes his head.

"That…" Jon pauses, and when the word comes it's the vilest curse Kylo's ever heard, even though the word itself isn't anything special, "bitchflew her fucking ship through the design center among other things. I was off-duty. Worked a double the day before and took sixteen instead of twelve off. Decided to have a lay in, sound asleep, having a fairly nice dream, and next thing I knew two thirds of my coworkers and all of my commanding officers were dead." He grits his teeth. "Everyone used to be too damn scared of Snoke to ever say anything like this, but… Hell, even I… a design officer, knows enough tactics to know you don't put everyone in one ship. That's just asking to get killed.

"One fucking hit. She took out a quarter of this ship and a good half of the destroyers behind us, and… And now that she's done it, anyone else with good-sized ship, no fear of death, and a hyperdrive can do it, too."

Kylo doesn't shiver at that, but he suddenly feels it. Ships like the Supremacy are too big to maneuver well. They go in a straight line well enough, and gentle curves are fine, but anything else, like getting out of the way of a destroyer aimed at them, is a hassle. And if someone really wanted to take him out of the skies, about two Star Destroyers would do it. One cut him almost in half, and if they'd had anything to hit him with after that, that would have been the end of him.

Jon nods at him. "It's a race, sir, isn't it? You've got time, right now, to make yourself so valuable they don't go and try and blow you out of the sky, but if you're too slow, someone will build up enough, and they'll have had the last fifty years of fighting to learn from."

Kylo nods at that, too.

"So… be useful. Stick floating palaces all over the galaxy. This baby," he taps the floor beneath their feet with the toe of his boot, "will always have a place. There's something to be said for dropping out of hyperspeed in this right next to someone who dares to challenge you and blowing them out of the sky yourself, but it's likely a good idea that not all that many people or things are in here. Plus, it looks way more imposing if this pops up and all of your other ships are next to it, instead of in it."

That's giving Kylo an idea of how to disperse his power. "Use the Supremacy as a floating battle station. As a floating target. Keep ships around to go after whatever attacks it, but strip it down to build new things, and keep the important stuff off of it."

Jon nods. "I like that." Then he shrugs. Kylo notices that he's rubbing his fourth finger on his left hand. Like the rest of the officer class, Jon wears gloves, but if Kylo were to guess, there's a ring under there, or at least used to be. "But I would. My husband kissed me goodbye. I was half asleep when he did it. I woke up a widower because Snoke kept his designers on his flagship, which was also his base of operations, which was also his primary battleship, which a maniac flew through at lightspeed."

Kylo feels that like a punch. This time it's his sympathy that comes into play, because just the idea of it makes him want to be sick. "I'm…" his lips open and close and he can't even begin to put into words how deeply he feels the horror of that.

Jon watches him with interest. "I wasn't expecting that you'd understand that. You're not just imagining it, you feel it, don't you?"

"In my nightmares."

Jon doesn't nod, he's looking out, at the stars beyond them. "Sometimes you wake up, and realize the nightmare is real. It gets better, and easier, but… You still beg the universe when you go to sleep, to not wake up again, to go back to your dreams." Jon looks back to Kylo, "Your love…"

Kylo can feel what word Jon's looking for, so he supplies it, "She."

"She's not here, is she?"

"No."

Jon nods. "You know it then. Feel it in your bones even if it hasn't worked its way into your brain. You don't put everything in the world that matters to you in one place. Not when people like to shoot at you."

Kylo also looks out at the stars beyond them.

There's a sensation, a memory, clawing its way to the front of his mind. The feeling of a hard, rock hard, harder than flesh and blood could ever be, because, of course, it's not flesh and blood, hand on his shoulder, the feeling of trying to get free, of begging the Force, the Universe, everything, to make a moment in time stop. But time didn't stop, it kept marching forward, and suddenly everything in the universe that mattered all died at once.

"That's how my mother felt."

"Not even rebels are always wrong."

It's hours later, after lunch, after his afternoon meetings, when he's got a few moments to look out over his galaxy.

He sees her reflection in the glass behind him, glowing blue in his black room.

He doesn't turn to her as he says, "I understand."

She swallows, and nods, a little smile on her face.

He's looking at the reflection of her. "Did you need to hear that?" he asks.

"Yes."

He nods, still looking at her reflection, not turning to face her. "I still disagree, though."

He sees her reach to rest her hand on his right shoulder, step up beside him, and lay her temple against his left shoulder. "I don't need you to agree, just understand."

His eyes close, and he exhales a shaking breath. "Obi Wan hid you and Luke. You had Luke hide me." He shakes his head, and rubs his thumb against his middle finger, feeling the ring under his glove. "That ends here."

She doesn't reply to that, though she doesn't let go, either.

When Master of the Order Ren scaled down his weapons purchases, that got a lot of discussion in certain quarters. When he began talking with his engineers about designing a ships with the maneuverability of a star destroyer and the carrying capacity of a dreadnought, those discussions began to bloom, again.

No one knows what to make of this, but some people, a few very astute ones, realize that by going smaller, he's making himself harder to hit.

And that makes them nervous.