The House Under The Magnetic Clouds

by Joeybelle

There is this tiny house in a valley on a small moon covered in tall grasses and surrounded by electromagnetic clouds, where I come to unwind every time life becomes a bit too much to handle. Whenever I'm there, I don't expect company. And definitely not someone with this attitude, walking around like they own the place. I save his life from a burning escape pod, and what do I get?

The escape pod pierced through the multicolored clouds, leaving a trail of dust and smoke in its path. It darted through the sky, directionless and out of control, spinning wildly before falling to the ground. I counted the seconds since I saw it hit the ground until the sound reached me, trying to calculate how far away it had crashed. Not that far, by the looks of it.

"Poor fella." The pit droid shook his head, looking in the distance. "I don't think they survived."

"I guess we're gonna have to see for ourselves," I said.

"You don't plan on going there, do you? It could be dangerous."

"Well maybe someone survived," I shrugged, and headed towards the tiny house in the valley. "And if they didn't, there may still be something to salvage. I wanna get there before the fire ruins everything," I said, and started running. "Hurry up, Dum-E!"

I packed a small bag of first aid supplies, just in case there was someone to rescue, while Dum-E reluctantly prepped the speeder. No matter how much I'd tried in the past to calibrate his personality, he always ended up being either a daredevil or having a higher than normal sense of self preservation. Eventually, I chose the latter, the former always cost me too much in repairs. Also, I was reckless enough for both of us, and having someone to temper me wasn't such a bad idea.

I could see the smoke from the crash site in the distance so there was no way to get lost as I piloted the speeder. The small moon I was living on was mostly covered in grass so it wouldn't have been a problem to find it anyway.

There was a sizeable crater where the pod had made contact with the ground, but to my surprise it seemed less damaged than I'd expected. It must've had an emergency landing system, but I was pretty sure after passing through the electromagnetic clouds above us, it wouldn't have worked properly. Nonetheless, it looked far better than I had anticipated.

"Come on, Dum-E!" I yelled at my droid, landing close enough to the crash site that we could easily load any potential survivors into the speeder. "We might have someone to save."

I didn't wait for him, but grabbed my protective suit and some tools and stepped outside. The escape pod was a model I hadn't seen before, all new, shiny materials. The person inside must have been some sort of big shot, maybe royalty even. Hopefully not royalty, I really didn't need an army at my doorstep, but if they decided to repay me for saving their royal ass, I could really use the credits. Eh, I could dream. No one would find them until the electromagnetic clouds would pass anyway. Besides, I'd still have to save their life before waiting for any sort of reward.

I put on the protection suit, grabbed the multitool and approached the pod. It took me a while to pierce through the many protective layers, but since it was made of such quality materials, I was really happy: there was more of a profit to make when I'd cut it into pieces and sell it. Eventually, I managed to get through. The inside of the pod was filled with smoke and that gave me a new sense of urgency. I was protected by my mask, but whoever was inside wasn't, so I squeezed through the hole I had made.

I found him pretty quickly, still strapped in the chair but unconscious. I figured he'd inhaled enough smoke so I pulled off my mask and fitted it over his face. Hopefully, he could still be saved. The smoke in the room was thick and it stung my eyes, but I knew I could take it for a few minutes for someone's sake.

"Dum-E!" I yelled, almost choking, prompting the droid to poke his head though the opening. "Help me drag him out." I unstrapped him and he nearly fell over me, but with Dum-E's help I managed to get him outside. I collapsed on the grass next to him and took a few deep breaths, trying to clear my lungs of smoke.

When I finally got my eyes to stop stinging, I took off the mask and looked at him. He really did look like some sort of aristocrat, the type that doesn't see the light of day much, with his pale skin and flaming red hair. His uniform seemed really high quality and was really nice to the touch. He looked like he was military, something that looked like the First Order insignia etched into his coat sleeve. I'd heard about them, but we'd never crossed paths before. They were bastards as far as I knew, but didn't really care about the far end of the galaxy, where I spent most of my time, so I didn't really care about them either. But bastard or not I couldn't just let him die, now that I had dragged him out of the crashed pod. His life was in my hands and I felt responsible.

As a smuggler living in the Outer Rim I knew a few things about first aid, so it wasn't that hard to stabilize him. He wasn't that badly injured anyway. With Dum-E's help I took him home and settled him in my bed. Something about his fancy clothes made me think I couldn't just throw him on my tattered, old couch. I had a feeling he'd thank me.

I kept the oxygen mask on, his lungs would be thankful for the help, and placed a wet rag on his forehead. His breathing was laboured and his skin was burning, droplets of sweat forming on his brow. The red hair contrasted beautifully against the paleness of his skin, and I couldn't help running my fingers through it every time I'd change the rag. He was beautiful, I had to admit, even in his unconscious state.

I spent most of the night tending to him. He started talking in his sleep at some point, just gibberish really, but didn't wake up. He eventually fell into a deep sleep so I dragged a chair next to the bed and wrapped myself into a blanket, just watching over him. After I was certain he wouldn't die on me I slowly buried my feet under his blanket, leeching off of his warmth, and dozed off.

I woke up to the stranger pushing my feet off the bed.

"That's rude," I told him, trying not to lose my balance and fall. "That's my bed, you know."

"Who are you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at me, his pretty face twisted in a sneer. I didn't like it.

"The one who saved your life. So, who are you?"

"Where is my blaster?" He completely ignored my question, frantically patting his pockets.

"What blaster? There was no blaster?" I lied. Of course there was a blaster, and of course I'd stashed it somewhere he couldn't get to. I had saved his life but that didn't mean he wouldn't wanna repay it with an expertly placed shot between my eyes. On the Outer Rim a lot of people seemed pretty allergic to kindness and by the increasingly annoyed expression on his face, I had a hunch the same was true about the First Order.

"You're lying," he said, pointing an accusatory finger at my nose.

"What would you need a blaster for anyway?" I tried diverting his attention. "No one's attacking you here. It's just me and my droid on this god-forsaken moon. And if I've gone through literal fire and smoke to save your life, I nursed you the whole night, why do you think I'd start attacking you now that you're awake? Try to relax a bit, you're wounded, you need to rest."

The scowl on his face became even more pronounced, but I did my best to keep a smile on. I wasn't going to let him ruin my mood. But something told me he was going to be a very difficult patient. Especially since he was already trying to get out of bed.

"No, don't," I said, catching him as he lost his balance and nearly fell from the bed, the little colour he still had in his cheeks draining completely, his eyes losing focus for a second. His hand went to his ribs and he started breathing heavily. "I think you should lay down for now," I said, pushing him onto the pillows and meeting almost no resistance from him. "You've had a pretty rough landing there so don't think you can recover overnight."

"I have to get back…" He swallowed his words at the end and grimaced. I held his head and helped him take a sip of water, hoping it would make him feel a little better. I didn't want to imagine what he was feeling right now.

"Unfortunately you're stuck on this planet for a while," I said, once the wave of nausea I assumed had washed over him had lost some intensity, and he was once again glaring menacingly at me. "You fell through a cloud of electromagnetic dust that scrambled your controls. It happens quite often here, it's one of the particularities of this moon. While it's out there above us, nothing goes in or out. No ships, no distress messages, no nothing."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Hey! It's not my fault," I snapped, crossing my arms. His attitude was starting to get to me. "You could have crashed when I was away and you would have died alone and miserable. I'm the only inhabitant, so you know. You should thank me." He didn't say anything, and turned his back to me. "Fine, don't thank me," I mumbled, getting up. "I'm going to make something to eat, please don't try to get up without my help. I really don't wanna have to hoist you back in bed. You may not be that heavy but my back hurts." I heard him huff in reply and I snickered. He was a brat.

I made something quick for me to eat and a nutritious soup for him. I used some of my emergency rations on it, to give it a little kick, but I knew he needed something filling and easy to eat, so this was my best bet. I poured it into a large cup, took my plate and joined him in the bedroom. However, he seemed less than thrilled with the food I presented him. He took the cup and stared at it like he expected something terrible to emerge out of it. He had managed to lift himself up while I was away and now he was propped onto the pillows, looking a little less dead than before.

"What's this?" he asked, throwing me another glare. If I hadn't seen him when he was unconscious, I would have thought that was just the way his face was, perpetually stuck in a frown.

"Soup," I said, shoving food into my own mouth and not paying too much attention to him.

"Soup isn't supposed to look like something died in it."

"Hate to break it to you, but most soups have something that's already dead in them. Unless you like the ones that are made with live animals, but I don't have the necessary ingredients to make one of those, so this is all you get for now." I smiled and he didn't. Safe to say he didn't really appreciate my humour.

He held the cup between his slender fingers and extended his arm away from himself, dangling the cup above the floor.

"If you drop it," I let him know between bites, "it's gonna stay there until you can get up and clean it. It's gonna start stinking in about a day. So you better think it through."

He seemed to consider his actions, and for a brief moment I was sure he'd still drop it just to spite me. "Take it away," he eventually said, and I breathed, relieved.

"You should eat," I said in a much milder tone, taking the cup from his hand. "I can promise you it tastes better than it looks and you really need some nutrients. I mean, it's not like you have any stored extra fat you can break down in times of need." His head turned slowly, and his eyes were shooting daggers at me. I should have taken the hint to stop, but I lacked basic self preservation instincts. "Seriously," I continued, looking him in the eye, "your coat is heavier than you."

"I'll kill you," he said, and by the look in his eyes I knew he meant it.

"Sure," I shrugged. "Too bad you can't get out of bed without fainting. I'll leave this here for you," I said, placing the cup on the small table next to the bed, within his reach. "In case you change your mind."

He glared and promptly turned his back to me, so I knew I should leave him alone. I'd seen his injuries and even though he seemed fine, I knew he was quite battered. I had a feeling that if he hadn't been this injured he wouldn't have stayed one second in my home, and once he would feel better he'd bolt out the door. I wasn't gonna stop him, he didn't have anywhere to go anyway. But for now, he needed time to rest.

I made myself busy for a couple of hours, still keeping an eye on him from the distance. When I came back he was sound asleep, the cup of soup was empty and there were signs that he had gotten up and tried to rummage through my home before getting back into bed and falling asleep. He had recovered his coat from where I hanged it and I could see a small transmitter clutched in his hand. He was trying to call home. Hopefully he realized that I wasn't lying to him when I said no signal would go through the curtain of clouds.

I took the coat off the bed and hanged it somewhere where he could see it. It was a really nice coat, black, sleek, high quality material, so I didn't want him to think I was trying to steal it, even though I really didn't mind owning one. It looked really warm, I thought as I passed my fingers over the material.

I took the transmitter out of his hand and placed it on the table next to the now empty cup so it would still be within his reach if he woke up. No one would be receiving his messages anytime soon, but I figured it would help him understand that I didn't mean him any harm. After all, I had disarmed him. Which, in hindsight, had been a really good idea, since he seemed at least a little apprehensive. He was military, and everyone knows they're educated to shoot first, ask questions later. So it was better that I didn't give him the chance to shoot.

But he didn't really look like the soldiers I'd sometimes meet. He was much too slender and, as far as I'd seen when I checked for wounds it wasn't the wiry type of slender that fighters sometimes were. He looked more like someone who had a desk job. His skin was much too light and his blaster too new and unused for him to have any other type of job. But he looked pretentious, so I assumed it was quite a good desk job.

He was really cute right now that he wasn't sneering anymore. His hair was gorgeous and I really couldn't stop myself from passing my fingers through it, brushing a few strands from his forehead.

"Stop touching my hair," he mumbled without opening his eyes.

"Oh," I gasped, taking my hand back. "Sorry about that, I didn't know you were awake." When I didn't get any reply, I decided to leave him alone and go about with my day. I had a feeling he'd like to sulk in peace for a while.

He was peaceful for the rest of the day, mostly sleeping and sulking like I had anticipated. He didn't try to run away or ransack my house anymore, probably knowing that he wouldn't be able to find his blaster. Or maybe waiting for the right moment to start searching again. I didn't care, as long as he was non-violent that was enough for me.

I spent most of the day doing chores and all the other things I kept putting off, since there was no signal and none of my electronics worked properly so I had to do something to occupy my time. I tended to stay away from my guest, as he seemed a little snappy every time I tried striking up a conversation. We did have to interact from time to time, though, because he wasn't able to walk to the refresher on his own.

"So what's your name?" I asked at some point, waiting patiently for him outside the bathroom.

"It's none of your business," I heard his muffled voice on the other side of the door. He said it in such an affected tone and I made a conscious effort not to roll my eyes.

"It is my business, you're in my care, so I'd like to know your name." I crossed my arms and leaned on the wall waiting for him. I could hear the faucet running, and I fought the urge to tell him not to waste all my water because he's not paying any bills. But he was a guest, so I had to accept it. He eventually got out, and instantly frowned when he saw me. I guess he somehow expected me to vanish in his absence. "That, if you don't want me to call you Red for the rest of your stay here." I continued, offering my shoulder for support and grabbing his waist. "That's what they'd call you if you ever hung out with me basically anywhere around this area of the Outer Rim."

"I'd never hang out with you," he said, in disgusted manner.

"Yeah I bed you wouldn't," I said, helping him back in the bed. "You don't look like someone who'd ever step foot in the bars I usually go to. Or that has ever tried Jet Juice in their life. Not that you'd be able to handle it anyway." He scoffed and I laughed. "So, Red it is then?"

"Just call me General," he spat.

"General?!" I really couldn't hold my laughter, making him turn to look at me. "You've got to be shitting me, you don't look like a General. Sergeant, Lieutenant at most! And that only if you have some family pushing you forward," I laughed.

I could see his face redden with what I assumed was anger or embarrassment, or both, and wondered if I had struck a chord. "Check the insignia on my uniform if you don't believe me," he said, with a frown and a really stuck up expression on his face, which only made me want to continue. It wasn't like I didn't believe him—although his claim was pretty far-fetched—but his smug face really pissed me off.

"Yeah, sure," I continued. "I can buy five of those for 10 credits on the black market, whatever army I chose. Some of them are even authentic."

He looked at me wide eyed for a moment. I had no idea what he was thinking, but then he crossed his arms and turned his back to me. "You wouldn't be able to recognize an authentic insignia anyway."

"You may be right about that," I laughed, and I could hear him snort. "But I know the people wearing them. And you really don't look like a general."

I left him alone for the rest of the day, coming into the room only to bring him something to eat and drink and administer medication. He ignored me most of the time and I didn't try to rile him up anymore. He was recovering after all.

I watched him while he was sleeping once again, just to make sure he wouldn't die on me. This time I dragged in an armchair, with the help of Dum-E, and was able to sit more comfortably. I fell asleep pretty early, seeing that my patient wasn't as restless anymore, but he did cough pretty often in his sleep so I woke up every time he did to check on him. It wasn't so odd after how much smoke he had inhaled, even I could still feel my throat irritated.

When I woke up in the morning, he was already scowling at me.

"Morning Sarge!" I got up the chair and stretched my aching muscles, letting out a satisfied yelp. I would fall asleep pretty often in the pilot's chair, but that was somehow more comfortable than any chair I had at home. "Ready to face a new day?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Sorry, but you really have to impress me to promote you to anything higher than that." I shrugged and I could see him start to get annoyed with my presence.

"I want to take a shower," he said in a commanding voice, and for the first time since I'd met him he gave me the impression that he might actually be someone in charge, not just a spoiled brat.

"Are you always that bossy? Can't you say 'please'?" I asked, not letting myself get intimidated. After all I was pretty sure I could win against him in a fistfight. "You don't have many friends, do you?" I asked, seeing that he wasn't going to reply. "Just asking because if you give me your address I could send you a card on your birthday, they sell these funny holo-cards that you can keep on your desk and they scream insults at anyone that passes them…"

"I would like a shower… Please!" It wasn't a plea, more like barking an order, but he still used the word 'please' so I decided not to subject him to my ramblings anymore.

"Okay," I said, passing a hand over my face. "Alright, we'll be facing some logistic difficulties."

I wasn't sure he'd be able to stand for long without fainting and I really didn't know how he'd react to hot water being poured on his head, seeing that he was still pretty dizzy every time he got up. I was afraid that if I left him alone he'd fall and hit his head. Of course, I could stay with him and make sure he was alright, but something told me he wouldn't appreciate my concern.

"Are you sure you don't want breakfast first?" I asked, trying to win myself some time to think.

"No," he replied, abruptly.

"Then you'll have to wait."

I left him and went to the refresher. The only thing I could come up with in this amount of time was placing a stool in the shower so that he could sit on it, and hope for the best. I took out some towels and a change of unisex clothes that looked like they might fit him.

He was pretty compliant as I helped him to the refresher. Sat him on the stool and wanted to help him take off some of his clothes, but he refused, sending me away with a wave of hand.

"Leave everything in a pile on the floor," I told him before closing the door. "I'll put them in the washer later."

I waited for him nearby, just in case he needed me. I tried doing something productive, but in the end I just paced in front of the door. I knew I should have been starting breakfast in the meantime, but what if he'd need my help and I wouldn't hear it? What if I wasn't fast enough? So I ended up cleaning his coat while I waited.

It was a really nice coat, something I didn't get to see that often in this part of the Galaxy, but it was something I assumed a high ranking officer would be wearing. I wasn't familiar with the insignia. I had heard about the First Order, but they were so far away that they didn't pose a threat to us yet. And I didn't care that much either. In the end it didn't matter who ruled the Galaxy, we'd still be the same misfits we'd always been.

But the coat was nice. It was something I would have bought if I weren't currently—perpetually—broke. It looked really sleek and polished, even with the tiny holes and traces of ash and dust from dragging him through the crash site. I wondered how he'd look in it. Probably a lot more impressive than he did swaddled in my blankets.

The loud crash made my heart almost project into another dimension. I dropped the coat and bolted through the refresher door. I found him lying on the bathroom floor, covered in foam, clutching his sides.

"Are you alright?" I asked automatically, although I could see perfectly well that he wasn't. He was still conscious and there was no trace of blood, but his body looked really bruised under all that foam.

"No, I'm not!" he barked and I couldn't blame him.

"Sorry about that. Let me help you up." I grabbed him and helped him on the stool I was pretty sure he hadn't used. "Want some help rinsing off? I promise I won't peak."

"No! Get out!"

"Alright, have it your way…" I said, roughly half a second before watching him lose balance and almost slip off the stool. Fortunately, my reflexes still worked and I managed to catch him in time. "Or not." Water and foam seeped through my t-shirt as I was trying to stabilize him, my face pressed to the back of his neck. His head was hung and his breathing laboured. "Right," I said, stretching for the shower controls, "let's rinse you and get you out of here."

A wave of warm water hit us both and I stepped into the shower not very concerned that I was getting all my clothes wet. All I cared was to get him cleaned up and back in bad as fast as possible, before any other accidents could happen. It was my fault that I'd let him fall in the first place. I should have watched him more closely, despite his protests.

And speaking of watching, I did my best trying not to look, I really did. But somehow, looking at something else, my eyes fell onto his nether regions. That was also exactly the moment he chose to lift his head, open his eyes and look at me.

"Well, I'll be damned," I said, looking from his groin to his face, "the carpet does matches the drapes."

I'd said a lot of stupid things in my life, and this wasn't even in the top ten, but it was still pretty stupid. I blushed furiously as I hurried washing the soap off of him. He didn't say anything, but I could see he was actively trying to avoid looking in my direction. I turned off the water, grabbed a large towel and covered him in it. He immediately grabbed it and pulled it closer, covering himself.

"I'm sorry," I said, taking a smaller towel and beginning to dry his hair. "I really didn't mean to. It was a stupid accident and I promise it won't happen again." He just looked at me, but said nothing. The judgemental look in his eyes was enough anyway.

By the time he was mostly dry he seemed to be feeling a lot better because he was able to dress himself without any help from me. He was still shooting daggers as I turned around to give him a little privacy. And I really didn't look in the mirror, although I knew I could get a good look. I didn't wanna seem like a creep.

When I turned around he was already dressed. The clothes fit him somewhat, but he looked more like a lanky tenager than a soldier. The t-shirt was loose and the pants a little short, revealing his ankles. He still seemed a little insecure on his own two feet. His hair stuck in all directions and his face was flushed. I smiled.

"What?" he asked, frantically running his hands through his hair, trying to tame it somehow.

"You're cute," I laughed, offering him my shoulder for support.

His eyes widened. "You're insane!"

"Wow! That's a weird way to accept a compliment. You don't get that many compliments, do you?"

"Stop talking."

"Your wish is my command, Sarge," I said, mocking his pompous tone. "Let's get you back to bed before I have to pick you up off my bathroom floor again."

He seemed a bit reluctant to hold onto my shoulder, but I convinced him to do so anyway. I couldn't afford to see him topple to the ground once again. He stumbled a couple of times before I noticed he kept looking up.

"Will you please watch your steps?" I said, frustrated.

"Your t-shirt is wet," he said, pressing his lips together in a tight line.

"Yeah, I'll change it in a moment, just let me get you back in bed."

"And see-through."

"Oh!" I looked down and understood that he had a pretty good view of my boobs every time he looked down. I could feel my cheeks starting to burn, but there was nothing I could do right now so I tried hiding my embarrassment behind a nervous laughter. "What, don't you have boobs in the military, Sarge?" He snorted and kept looking away from my boobs. "Yeah, I figured that would be the case. But you should be a lady killer with that impressive coat of yours…"

"Please stop," he pleaded.

I laughed and helped him back in bed, fluffing up the pillows a little so he could sit upright. "There you go, Sarge. I'll go make some breakfast and I'll be back in a minute."

He exhaled loudly and I was sure I'd reached the limit of his patience with my ramblings, so I decided to shut up and leave him alone for a while.

"It's Hux," he said before I left the room.

"Pardon?"

"Armitage Hux. My name is Armitage Hux." He seemed to force himself to say the words and I smiled.

"Nice to meet you," I said, offering him my own name in exchange. "Can I call you Armie?"

"No! You can call me Hux," he barked.

"Ok, Hux. I'll go make breakfast now."

The next couple of days passed without incident. Well, almost. He was very resilient and seemed to heal faster than I had anticipated. I had to fight him to get some bacta on his bruises—almost literally, since he only yielded after I'd grabbed the fly swatter and threatened to give him a couple more if he didn't take his shirt off—but other than that he wasn't being that difficult.

He always ate all of the food I brought him without complaining. After the first day I thought he'd do the same every time, but he slowly and meticulously ate everything. Of course, he never complimented my food—or thanked me for it—but the fact that he was eating without putting up a fight was enough.

However, I had to send Dum-E away after the first couple of days. He didn't like Hux and made it very clear, so I loaded him with a handful of supplies and sent him to my ship to help the astromech repair the blocked exhaust port and to wait for me there until I'd come for him. His help wasn't really needed—astromechs usually did a much better job without someone pissing them off—but I needed a reason to get Dum-E off my back without hurting his feelings. He did what he was told, but wasn't very happy about it.

Hux insisted to try and get out of bed a little every day, and although I knew he was in a lot of pain he never complained. I helped him walk around the house a little bit at a time and he seemed to get stronger every day. He still got a little dizzy everytime he got up too quickly, but I was there to support him until it passed. He also started breathing and sleeping better, so I could sleep on the couch instead of by his side.

His new favourite spot seemed to be outside on the porch, sitting in my rocking chair. He never rocked in it, just sat there, arms crossed, frowning at the scenery, occasionally watching me work in the garden. I didn't mind his presence, actually I'd grown to quite enjoy it. I'd make him tea as he said he didn't like coffee. He'd never touch the cookies I'd leave on the table, so I'd end up eating them during my breaks.

"So this is what you do for a living?" he asked once I'd taken a break from gardening and joined him in on the porch.

"What? Gardening?" He nodded. "No, it's just a hobby. Occasionally I feel like I need a break from people so I come here to be alone."

"Then what do you do?"

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," I said, biting into a cookie. A glimpse of something—fear maybe—flashed through his eyes. "Odd jobs," I said, still chewing on the sweet treat. "I used to work in a mining company, I hated them. Then I worked as a cargo pilot, they hated me. Now I just… freelance."

"Do you have your own ship?"

"No, I walked to this moon." I snorted. "Of course I do. I saved a lot for it. Had a lot of repairs done too, but now it's in pretty good shape," I said with a smile on my face. I was really proud of the trash compactor, as I sometimes lovingly called her.

"I don't see it. Where is it?" he said, curiously looking around.

"Docked. Somewhere." I laughed. "I know that look. But I'm not gonna let you steal my ship and crash it. Just look at the sky, no one's able to pass though that."

He looked up. I still wasn't sure he believed me, but I wasn't gonna sacrifice my ship so that his curiosity would be satisfied. The sky was a combination of pastels and greys, mixing together in wide swirls, almost glimmering where the clouds were thin enough to let some more light come through. Occasionally, a flash of lightning lit the sky. It was insanely beautiful, in my opinion, and that certainly made up for the inconvenience of being grounded for extended periods of time.

But I wasn't looking at the sky right now, I was looking at him. Ever since he seemed to have gotten used to my presence, he was frowning a lot less. And he was really cute when he relaxed a little. He had such beautiful features, mesmerizing green eyes brought out by the colour of his hair. He looked pretty imposing now that he wasn't hunched over anymore, dressed again in his freshly cleaned and mended uniform (I actually did a great job with it). With the coat hanging effortlessly on his shoulders, he actually looked like a higher ranking officer. Not that I would have ever told him that, he had an ego problem anyway.

"What?" he asked, turning around to look at me.

"I like your coat," I only half lied, because I really liked his coat.

"I'd tell you to join the First Order," he said, looking away. "But I'm sure you'd never be able to climb to my rank anyway," he said in such an honest voice that it only sounded moderately condescending.

"Well, if you did it I can do it too. I can even take your job if I really want to." He snorted, and it almost sounded like a laughter. Almost. "But you're lucky that I don't like the military, so you'll be able to keep your job a little longer." I got up and headed back to my garden.

"But you like gardening," he said, watching me grab my tools.

"Yeah! I'd rather get my hands dirty with mud than with blood."

"Sometimes, blood is necessary," he said, leaning back in the chair. "Change requires sacrifice, sometimes literally."

"You sound like an idealist," I said, shaking my head. "Maybe you should try gardening," I offered, changing the subject. "Helps a lot with meditation and inner turmoil. Might help with that crease between your eyebrows."

"Not in a million years." He got up, and walked briskly inside.

"Well you could wash the dishes if you're going inside. Or set the table," I yelled after him, knowing full well that he wouldn't dirty his hands doing any of that.

As days passed and he was getting better, he started spending more and more time with me. He never did anything around the house—something told me that he'd never done any housework by himself—but he followed me around like a shadow. He'd spend hours walking around the garden, listening to me ramble about the plants or listen to funny stories that happened to me or my friends. On rare occasions he'd even smile or snicker at one of my jokes. He seemed to appreciate my flower garden, since he liked to spend time there the most.

He didn't talk much about himself and seemed quite emotionally constipated. He only fired up when he talked about the First Order, but when he noticed how little I cared, he stopped and never mentioned it again. Instead he started asking me questions: about my childhood, about my family, my friends. He seemed restless whenever the house was too silent so I kept talking and he listened.

"The weather's changing," I said one evening, while sitting on the porch. The air was warm and a bit humid, but it wasn't unpleasant. The static in the air was probably higher than usual. "I think the sky will be clearing soon."

"How do you know?" he asked, joining me, looking at the dwindling light near the horizon. "It looks the same to me."

"It's hard to explain. You start noticing some changes after spending some time here."

We were both silent for a while, watching the setting sun colour the clouds a fiery orange, just before turning dark. I was a bit sad that he'd have to go, but I knew I couldn't just ask him to stay a little longer. Besides, I'd have to go to work too. My little house and garden were a great place to unwind, but I wouldn't be able to survive without working. I sighed and headed inside.

He followed me a couple of minutes later, watching me pull out bottles out of a cupboard.

"I was thinking," I said, placing a bottle on the kitchen table and fishing for two mismatched shot glasses in another cupboard, "since we'll both be off this planet soon and something tells me we'll never see each other again, I was thinking of treating you to a glass of jet juice. You can't leave without tasting it at least once now, can you?"

"No, thank you," he said, taking a step back as I was pouring the drink, as if it could bite him though the air.

"Oh, come on, General. You need to learn to unwind a little," I said with a cheeky smile, pushing the glass towards him. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," I said, taking my own glass and downing it. "Kriff, it's bad!"

"Why do you drink it then?" He took the glass between his slender fingers and sniffed it, the look of disgust on his face becoming more evident.

"Oh you don't drink to enjoy it," I shrugged, refilling my glass. "You drink to get drunk."

"That's because you don't drink the right thing," he said with a very visible air of superiority. I snorted.

"Sorry, rich boy, but here we can't afford the fine drinks you're used to."

"I'm not rich."

"Yes, you are. Maybe not now, but I'm pretty sure you grew up rich. You have this air of entitlement that only rich kids have. You walk around like you own the place, you act like you deserve everything. I think you've been used to having everything handed to you because you never clean after yourself, you never say thank you for anything, unless it's sarcastic." He frowned, but didn't deny it. "You know, I didn't have to save your life," I continued, and he was already avoiding my gaze. "I didn't have to look after you or give up my bed or share my food with you. But I did it anyway, because I wanted to."

He still didn't deny it of try to argue with me, instead looking down at the glass in his hand. "Thanks," he mumbled and brought the glass to his lips. I could tell the exact moment the drink hit his throat, because I saw his eyes widen in shock, his face take on a crimson shade and eventually he started coughing. At least his heart didn't stop.

I walked around the table, unable to hold my laughter as he doubled down coughing. "Are you okay?" I asked, wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes, once he seemed to compose himself a little bit.

"That is absolutely appalling! How can you drink it?"

"You didn't have to try and down it. I'm used to it, but you will need some practice."

"Fuck," he took a deep breath, wiping the sweat on his forehead. "I didn't expect it to be that strong. And why does it taste that bad?"

"Yeah, this is the good shit," I said, pouring another round. Hux looked at the bottle with barely concealed fear in his eyes. "Rock brews it on his ship when he's away. Comes back with a fresh batch every six months or so. It's always the strong kind, cause that's how he likes it."

"It's horrendous," he said, but still took his glass. This time he proceeded with a lot more caution, only sipping from the glass. It was entertaining to watch him force himself to drink the liqueur. That level of self-discipline was to be admired. He even made an effort to keep a straight face, but failed miserably. I laughed and downed my glass. "You're insane," he whispered, looking at my empty glass.

It only took a couple more glasses for him to actually take the bottle and become the one in charge of refills. He stated loud and clear that it tasted like the depths of hell, but he kept drinking anyway. I was already dancing on my own in the middle of the living room, the sound system blaring some stupid galactic pop music.

"I thought you said electronics don't work," he said, looking at me with a slightly unfocused gaze. He was actually taking the alcohol far better than I had expected. Most people who drank Rock's jet juice for the first time ended up under the table. Or worse. But he seemed to handle it surprisingly well.

"They do, they just don't get any signal from the outside," I said, swaying to the music, probably a lot less graciously than I thought I was. "This is just some pre-recorded shit. Come dance with me."

His usual scoff was back, and in my drunken state I realized I'd missed it. He shook his head and I extended my arm out, inviting him again. "I don't dance," he said, pouring himself another drink, this time being a lot more generous with it than I had been.

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"You're lying," I giggled, fumbling with the sound system. "You're high society, you guys have balls or some shit. You must have at least slow danced once in your entire life."

"I did not." He crossed his arms and looked away.

"Well then, there's always a first time for everything." I finally managed to find a slow song I was pretty sure we could dance on without stepping on each other's toes. "Come dance with me," I said once again, taking a few steps towards him, holding my hand out.

He still had his hands crossed over his chest but his posture wasn't that rigid anymore. A few hair strands had escaped from his usually slicked back hairstyle and were falling into his eyes, but he didn't do anything to brush them away. He was looking. Just that, looking, as if he couldn't really make up his mind what to do. I still kept my hand out and an inviting smile on my face, although I had little hope that he would accept my invitation. So I was really surprised when I felt his hand in mine, my smile widening considerably.

"Only one," he said, placing a hand on the small of my back and pulling me close.

My heart jumped at the contact. I wasn't expecting this much intimacy, if anything I had expected him to be a lot more awkward and stiff. But he was swaying next to me like he knew what he was doing, his hand warm in mine, his face so close that I could feel his breath. I allowed my head to rest on his shoulder, melting into his frame. After all, a little vulnerability was allowed from time to time.

The song ended and then another one started, and the promise of only one dance was temporarily forgotten. My head was spinning a little—no doubt the effect of the alcohol in my blood—but I knew dancing could do that to you too. He had rested his cheek on the top of my head and I had my eyes closed, languidly moving in sync with him. And then another song started, and another.

I don't really remember how my lips found his. It felt like waking up from a dream, or waking inside of a dream because I felt oddly detached from reality. The kiss was slow, needy and selfish, lips mashed together almost painfully. My hands had traveled up, entangling my fingers into the hair on the back of his head. He was pressing me closer to his chest, in an almost desperate gesture. I wasn't thinking anymore. The only thing I was feeling was him, and his soft lips on mine.

The music changed, pulling us back to reality. He broke the kiss and we pulled apart. It took us a couple of moments to regain composure, me a bit more reluctantly than him. He passed a hand through his hair and looked around nervously. He seemed a little flustered, and I was sure it wasn't just the alcohol.

"I'd better go to sleep," he said and I pouted.

I really didn't want him to leave, my head was still spinning and my lips were tingling, wanting to be kissed again, but even in my drunken state I knew it wouldn't be wise to insist. He was rebuilding his shell just as fast as he was getting his hair in order, and the only thing indicating that he had been kissing mere moments before was the redness of his lips.

I straightened my posture and smiled. "Goodnight, General," I forced myself to say.

He mumbled 'goodnight' and left. I turned off the music and poured myself another glass, before cleaning up. I was still drunk when I eventually went to bed. I stopped for a moment to look at the sleeping figure in my bed. I'd miss him after he'd leave. I really would. I made a mental note to tell him that before he left and crashed on the couch, falling asleep almost instantly.

For the past week, as Hux had healed enough so he could get out of bed on his own, he had been the one to wake me up every morning, at the break of dawn. I had no idea how he could live on such little sleep, but I blamed it on his military upbringing. So I found it a little strange when I woke up unprompted, and the house was filled with the light of day. I figured the hangover was making him oversleep, so I got up to close the blinds.

The sun was shining brightly, and I groaned as my head felt like it wanted to explode into a million pieces. The sun was shining… that meant the cloud blockade was gone. It took me a minute to realize, my brain foggy and slow.

I ran to my bedroom, my head protesting against any sudden movements, nearly tripping onto something on the way. The bed was empty. I looked around the house, but he was nowhere to be seen, my heart sinking with every step I took. I stopped and listened, but everything was silent.

I ran outside, my last hope was to find him in my garden, or at least to catch him before he reached his rescuers. Just to say goodbye. What I didn't expect was to see was the silhouette of a battlecruiser blocking half the sky, terrifyingly close and menacing.

I stopped dead in my tracks, unable to move. So he hadn't lied, he was someone really important if they'd sent a star destroyer to pick him up. A ship that would wipe the tiny moon I lived on in mere seconds, erasing any proof that he'd ever been here. And from what I'd heard about them, they were capable of doing just that. I knew enough that I could be considered a liability.

I just stood there in front of my house, where we used to walk together less than a day ago. I was scared. For the first time in a long time, I was scared. I watched with widened eyes as the ship started its engines and entered hyperspace.

It took me a couple of minutes to realize that it was actually gone and I was still alive. He didn't kill me, although he could have done it with just as little effort as squishing a bug with his shoe. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself and went back inside. I needed a strong drink, so I poured myself one. My hangover wouldn't thank me. I plopped down the couch and covered my eyes.

He left without saying goodbye. I knew he hadn't tried to wake me up, because even drunk I wasn't a heavy sleeper. So he actually made an effort to not wake me up as he left. I didn't get to tell him that I would miss him, and that he could visit anytime he needed a break from whatever life he was leading. That he'd be welcome again in my tiny house.

I got up before I made myself cry and looking around the house my eyes fell on the coat, thrown on the back of the armchair. It was his coat, the same black coat I spent half a day trying to clean and mend. All the military insignia had been carefully removed. I laughed, wondering how long he'd actually spent carefully cutting each one of them off, leaving nothing but the beautiful black fabric. I put it on. Yeah, I loved it. It didn't fit me quite right, but I could wear it on my shoulders and look badass.

Looking through its pockets I found an emergency transmitter, the same one I'd found him clutch in his hand the first time he woke up, and the same one that had called the First Order to pick him up the moment the clouds had stopped jamming the signal. It was currently turned off, but I was sure that the moment I'd turn it on, it would start transmitting. 'In case of emergency', I knew it meant. I smiled and put it back in the coat pocket. This was his way of saying thank you.

A couple of days later, I had picked up a very disgruntled Dum-E along with my ship and I was making the final preparations to leave for another season of working my ass off for little to no pay. I opened my safe box to grab some stuff and I noticed that Hux's blaster was gone. So he'd found my safe box and he broke into it, recovering his weapon. It was useless for me, since it was fingerprint locked and those wouldn't sell for much on the black market, but it was nice thinking that he could have killed me anytime he wanted, but didn't. It was almost romantic.

I laughed and closed the safe, making a mental note to get a better one before I came back again, turned on the security system and left the house, hands in my pockets and a black, First Order general's coat hanging on my shoulders.