Tales From the Finalizer
By: Lena (Airelle Vilka)
TALE THREE: Parallels
In which a typical day on the Finalizer becomes anything but.
Part II of II
1500 hours. Detention Center, Cell Block 15.
Poe had been trying, in between what they called "sessions," to loosen his restraints. So far, he'd made some headway with the right foot, and his captors didn't seem to have noticed.
Progress.
They were gone again, leaving him in semi-darkness. His head throbbed terribly from where he'd been struck, the blood drying on his temple. The room was cold and bare of any furniture save for the interrogation chair. Nothing he could use in a fight. He shivered, his own sweat chilling his body.
How long have I been here? Hours? Days?
The drugs they had injected made his mind fuzzy, but Poe was pretty certain he was captive for no longer than a day. Which meant that BB-8 was still out there, and perhaps had some time to find shelter.
He hung his head, his eyes burning with unshed tears. They'd been so close. I'm so sorry, General Organa. I swear, I will make this right.
The black door at the other end of the room slid open. Poe raised his head, forcing a defiant glare into his eyes, intending to greet his torturers with the worst curses he knew. But the words died in his throat, and he stared as a woman not much older than himself entered the room. She was dressed head to toe in black, with a long synth-wool coat marked with the symbol of the First Order. Poe's eyes followed her as she walked to a wall panel and pressed a button. Above them, the red light of the security camera winked out.
Spitting out blood, he chuckled.
The woman turned to face him. She had a severe sort of beauty, her red hair pulled back to accentuate the sharp angles of her pale face. Her blue eyes regarded him with mild amusement. "Something funny?"
"I get it," Poe said, nodding toward the deactivated camera. "You're the last in line, the last they send in when everyone's failed. The pretty girl who's more brutal than all of them combined. That's why you turned the camera off, isn't it? Because they can't stomach what's about to happen."
The woman's lips rose slightly. She removed her coat, hanging it on a wall hook that Poe hadn't previously noticed. "You seem to have everything figured out, Commander Dameron."
He said nothing; he'd expected them to figure out his identity eventually. He knew it would only prolong his torture, as they'd assume he had other information on the Resistance. And they'd be correct.
"So tell me," she asked, taking a few steps forward, her long strides bringing her to the center of the room. "What does the pretty girl do next?"
"You kill me," Poe spat. "Because I'm not giving you anything."
She shook her head. A blood-red ringlet fell from her styled hair and curled over her temple. "Oh no. That won't do at all," she said, circling his chair at a measured pace, her gaze never leaving him. "You see, I could do many things before I kill you. I could break your legs, for example. I could rip out your teeth, one by one." She paused, her voice now behind him, savoring each word. Poe gritted his teeth, not allowing fear to take him.
She came to stand in front of him again. Her eyes took in his bloody face, and fell to his partially open shirt in contemplation. Her lips pursed, and Poe thought he saw a look of disgust cross her face. "Fortunately for you, I'm not an animal," she finally said. "I don't delight in pain."
Poe barked a bitter laugh, his head gesturing to the contraption that rendered him immobile. "Could have fooled me."
She shrugged. "Some things are necessary to achieve a noble goal."
Poe couldn't help himself in the face of such callousness. He was dead, anyway.
"Is that what you tell yourself?" he snapped angrily, straining against his bonds. "When the First Order slaughters thousands of innocents? Is that how you sleep at night?"
For the first time, the woman looked at him with interest. "In war, casualties are inevitable. Regrettable, yes. But inevitable."
"You're nothing but murderers," he retorted, "wrapped in pretty words."
Her eyes narrowed. "Is that so?"
Poe did not reply as she came closer. The night on Jakku, he had witnessed Kylo Ren's power, saw the barely restrained rage boiling through the warrior as he cut down Lor San Tekka. This woman was no different, and Poe saw the shadows darken around her, saw the blaze in her eyes, burning behind a core of icy control. This was no mere soldier, or a blood-crazed torturer. This was...
She stopped within a foot of him, easily as tall as him even from the elevated position of the chair. Their eyes were level, and in the blue sea behind her lashes, Poe saw flecks of gold.
"Have you ever seen a forest fire, Commander Dameron?" she asked in a whisper, her face dangerously close to his. "I think you have, raised as you were on Yavin IV. The ground must be razed completely for new shoots to grow from the ashes."
Poe swallowed thickly, his words stuck in his throat as the force of her gaze impaled him. Her voice was vicious, black like ember as she continued. "You should know. Your precious Republic did the same thing, thirty years ago."
He found his voice. "We don't hurt the innocent."
The woman laughed, throwing her head back. He could see that her gloved fists were clenched. "You are either grossly naïve or blindingly stupid. In the year before the Galactic Concordance, the Republic torched anything that was remotely connected to the Empire, even those places that it had no business touching."
Poe's eyes widened as she leaned close again, her words leaving her tongue in sharp, deadly bursts. Behind her mouth, the white teeth were bared in anger. "The Academies, with all their students. Didn't read about that in your books, did you?"
He could not reply, not in the face of such fury.
"The Republic," she sneered, "is a regime of disorder, a pack of bloated, corrupt ruffians."
It could only be personal. The Academies, she had said. He'd heard of one person in the First Order who had strong family ties to the Imperial Academy on Arkanis. A ruthless young officer, daughter of an Imperial Commandant.
"Impotent and unworthy of rule," she continued, anger blazing unchecked in her eyes. "I intend to rectify that."
And suddenly, Poe knew.
"General Hux," he breathed, their lips only fingerbreadths apart.
Her name seemed to bring her back from whatever madness gripped her. The fire receded from her eyes like a tide, and she glanced down between them. Before he knew what was happening, she reached down and tightened the loose restraint around his foot.
Damn.
"We wouldn't want this to break," she said from below him. "I hope you don't mind."
Poe's chances of escape were rapidly dwindling. He decided to go for broke, maybe even goad her into killing him quickly. And in his experience, there was only one way to make a woman like Hux very angry, very fast.
He put as much mockery into his tone as possible. "You look a lot better on your knees."
Her head slowly rose from her position to look up at him. But instead of rage, Poe was surprised to see amusement in her eyes. Slowly, she rose, deliberately using his body to help herself. When she was fully upright, her hand did not leave his belt. Suddenly, Poe reconsidered the course of action he'd taken.
"If you're trying to get a rise out of me," she smiled, "be aware that I may reciprocate."
Her hand slipped down, and gripped him hard. Poe almost yelped, his breath catching in his lungs, his body confused as it tried to respond with both flight and arousal.
With her other hand, she brushed his sweaty curls from his forehead, the touch almost gentle.
"I don't like wasting life," she said thoughtfully, her fingers continuing their ministration and, to Poe's horror, achieving their intended goal. "Your talents would go a long way with us, Dameron. We will win, eventually. You might as well fly for the winning side."
He gritted his teeth, willing his brain to banish the awful thoughts he was having right now about this woman, and what he wanted her to do to him. The very idea made him both aroused and sick.
"Being the winning side," he finally managed, "doesn't make you right."
Abruptly, she released him, the warmth of her hand lingering on his body. "And if you want us to lose," she murmured, "well... that will be difficult. You've seen what Lord Ren is capable of."
He remembered how he'd shot at the dark figure, only to have the bolt stop in mid-air. Poe remembered stories about Vader, but he'd never heard of anything like what he saw that night.
Hux seemed to read his mind, and nodded. "Only one person in the galaxy could potentially defeat Kylo Ren," she said. "But he must be forced out of hiding to do it."
Luke Skywalker.
"So in fact," the General continued, her tone now entirely casual, "it is in your best interest to give us the map. It's the only chance the Resistance has, really. Help us, and I will spare your life."
Poe ignored the temptation of her offer, and thought of his parents, Shara Bey and Kes Dameron, who had given up everything in their fight against the Empire. The woman before him was strong; but she knew nothing of suffering, or of sacrifice. She would not sway him.
"I think I'll pass," he replied, looking her in the eyes, meeting the ice-blue gaze with equal ferocity.
After a moment, she sighed. "I thought you might." She retrieved her coat from the wall and faced him, hands clasped behind her back, the picture of the perfect, aloof officer once again. "You Resistance idiots are all the same. Brash and utterly without vision."
He didn't respond as she pressed a button on the door. Her head turned slightly so he could see her profile, the red hair bright in the industrial lights.
"A word of advice," she said. "The one who comes after me won't be as pleasant. I suggest you give him what he wants, and in return, I'll grant you a painless death. It seems to be all you're good for."
Then, Poe was once again alone.
1530 hours. Quarters of General Emmeline Hux.
Hux leaned over the sink, fighting the nausea that was threatening to consume her. Over and over, she splashed water viciously on her face, letting the cool streams dribble down her neck and seep into her uniform. The action seemed to absorb some of her anger, but did little to mitigate the disgust she felt.
She straightened up, ripping her towel from its hook. Why did she touch that prisoner? Especially in such an intimate way?
She grimaced, wiping her face furiously as if she were erasing the memory. The move had not been planned; nor had she planned to lose her cool and talk about the Order so much. Dameron's self-righteousness, in all its stupidity, would not normally rattle her; but today, she'd been angry, and had lost control, like a novice trainee. And to manifest it in that way...
What in blazes came over me?
Hux hated chaos in all its forms, and inner turmoil was no different. It had persisted even after she had left the detention center and the prisoner behind. Despite the iron mask of indifference she'd put on for Poe, she knew from the faces of her officers that she didn't look right. Thus, she had retreated to her quarters, tearing a path through the Finalizer that was more reminiscent of Kylo Ren than Emmeline Hux.
It didn't help that Dameron had been handsome, and cocky even in his predicament, and his tone was so much like-
Emmeline, you damn idiot, she growled mentally as she exited the fresher into her bedroom. Just stop already.
Two steps into the room, she halted dead in her tracks, and felt her face grow hot at the sight of her uninvited guest. "Oh, not you."
Kylo Ren sat on her bed, arms draped casually across his knees. His helmet lay by his hip, sinking into her sheets. His head was tilted to the side, expectantly, black curls falling into his eyes. He looked boyishly handsome, disarming, and thoroughly infuriating.
"Welcome back," he said, "to the land of the living."
Hux didn't allow her surprise at the rare glimpse of his face to slow her down. She knew he was here because of her distress. With his preternatural sensitivity to her emotions, it may as well have been broadcasted through the ship. "If you've come to gloat," she snapped, "do it and get out."
His black eyes narrowed under thick eyebrows. The dangerous flash was accompanied by a tremble in her bedside chronometer. "Watch your tone, General. My patience has limits."
Hux snorted, not the least bit afraid (a tack that, she would later admit, was probably foolish). "Thanks for the revelation."
Ren's eyes followed her as she stomped to her storage alcove, poured herself a double shot of Corellian liqueur, and downed it in a single gulp.
"The prisoner's mind was easy to enter," he volunteered from the bed as Hux poured again, her hand trembling. "He was suitably rattled, I could feel it. What did you say to him?"
She whipped around, eyes flashing, the tumbler dangling from her hand. "You're the mind reader," she challenged. "Go ahead, I'm giving you permission."
Ren's eyebrow rose, clearly surprised at her suggestion. Undeterred, Hux barreled onward.
"Do it," she said again, willing him to dive in, and drown in her self-loathing. "Don't you enjoy this sort of thing, Kylo Ren?"
After a pause, he looked her in the eyes, and Hux felt a gentle brush against her mind, as if someone were tickling the inside of her skull. She stood her ground, staring at him, not willing to relent or turn away. Inviting him into her head was probably stupid, but she was sick of hiding her emotions, and poured them out at him from behind their usual dam.
After a moment, she felt him pull away, like a receding dream. His lips were twisted in concentration. His eyes, dark and thoughtful, settled on her.
"You gave too much of yourself to the interrogation," he finally spoke, sounding much too calm for her liking. Almost like a teacher. "An unwise thing to do, in your state."
"And what state is that?" she hissed, setting down her glass and ripping off her overcoat; the alcohol and her fury had made her feel unbearably hot. "A few bruises and a concussion don't render me incapable of doing my job."
He eyed the coat, which was now on the floor, a visible affront to Hux's usual tidiness. "Then why do you look more distraught than your prisoner?"
She approached the bed and leaned down, her face close to his. She hoped he smelled the alcohol on her breath; knew he hated the taste of it. "Get. Out."
He should have flinched at her tone. But he did not. In fact, he looked as expressionless as his mask. "I don't think so, General," he said. "I know why you are so unsettled. I saw your vision, of the garden, and your father."
She straightened up, moving away from him toward the other end of the room, unable to stop herself from yelling. "How dare you? Sithspit, is nothing sacred to you? My father was a great man, a warrior and a true paragon of Imperial values!"
She turned around to see him stand up. He walked closer to her, every word shoving her backwards as effectively as if it had been his hand. "A great man," he repeated, a dark look on his face. "Who hit little girls to make himself feel better. Who ignored his child's brilliance for his own selfish reasons. Who wished you were never born."
Hux narrowed her eyes, trying to ignore his words. He knew nothing about her. And yet, it was as if he had been inside her memories, and perhaps he had. Maybe, he had seen the lonely nights at the Academy, when she was thirteen and cried alone in the moonlight that filtered into her room. Maybe, he had seen how the other officers were proud of their sons, how they gave them words of praise and encouragement, and how the only time her father acknowledged her was when she failed his expectations of greatness. How he had not been present at her victory at the cadet combat tournament. How he always loved her sister Kevyn for her resemblance to Mother, and had barely looked her way.
Had Ren seen it all, just now? Had he ventured to places in her mind where he was not welcome? Had he glimpsed the small, sad girl that she had silenced long ago?
He was in front of her now, his large frame almost pinning her to the wall. "I know all about bad fathers, Emmeline," he said, a merciless chill in his voice. "He was weak."
Before she knew it, Hux swung a punch, aiming for his face. Anticipating the attack, he seized her wrist; snarling, she struggled, but his grip was an iron vice. He raised her shaking hand to his face, and examined it thoughtfully before turning his eyes back to her.
"He was weak," he repeated. "But you're not."
She glared at him, feeling the alcohol and the heat from his ungloved palm seep into her wrist. "Snoke was right," he said. "Your core is truly something to admire. You are buried in ice, yet you burn."
"Let me go." Her effort, however, was not strong and she knew it. Her anger seemed to fizzle into ash at his touch, and even the curious mention of Snoke fled her mind. Ren was looking at her as if she were the only thing in the universe, and it both frightened and enthralled her.
"Such darkness," he whispered, his eyes boring into hers, as if he were reading the wall behind her head. "Like the black hole of a dying star. All-consuming. It is fascinating, General."
"You know nothing about me," she said, giving up on trying to escape his hold, and instead looking up at him, her face defiant in the assault of his impaling gaze.
He nodded in agreement. "I don't know details, but I don't need to. By the will of the Force, I see much more than you realize. So much more."
His hand released hers, and he stepped closer, forcing her back into the wall. His fingers trailed down her arms, wrinkling the fabric of her shirtsleeves, leaving strange (and not entirely unpleasant) sensations in their wake. Before they reached her waist, Hux found her voice.
"Watch your hands, Ren," she whispered. "Or I'll have the Supreme Leader remind you where they belong."
His head tilted forward, his forehead touching hers, dark curls brushing her cheeks. He smelled like smoke, and pine, and something else that made the whole room spin. Hux tried to sink into the wall, but it did not yield and neither did he, his tall body now flush with hers, his full lips parted, his breath hot and ragged. He looked like a man possessed.
"Why don't you show me where they belong... General?"
Hux was suddenly very aware of how solid he was. Down here, they belong down here, her body sang, and she flushed with anger, and something else entirely.
"Touching that Resistance fighter disgusted you," Ren continued, his voice sending a shudder through her. "He is beneath you, unworthy. What if I were in that chair?"
Her mouth went dry at the image, however improbable it might be. The idea of him, usually so arrogant, stripped of power and at her mercy... Thoughts she didn't even know existed in her head suddenly bubbled to the surface, burning her skin and threatening combustion.
This was wrong, he was not meant to unnerve her, and she was totally ignoring any sense of self-preservation. He must have sensed it, for his smile was feral.
"What if you were?" he mused, and now she could clearly feel the evidence of his arousal, warm and strong against her leg. "Would you like me to show you?"
And without warning, a flood of images broke through her eyes and invaded her mind. Instead of Poe Dameron, it was she who was held prisoner, and Ren stood before her, dark and fierce, all the fury of their rivalry now focused on one thing. She saw him hitch her leg over his shoulder, his hands digging into her hips as he drove into her, first deep and slow, then working up speed with the reckless abandon that was his trademark.
He was her competitor, a constant vexation in her daily life. Was this the truth she'd been denying? Was their rivalry a mere preamble to this?
She opened her eyes, just then realizing they'd been closed. Immediately, she met his gaze, and he held it as an odd sensation crawled up her thigh. Her eyes widened, understanding his intentions just before he found what he sought. Hux threw back her head, opening her mouth wordlessly as he filled her without touching her.
Too many clothes, her mind screamed at her, too many. Fix this.
"Do you want me to break the ice?" he asked, his eyes never leaving hers. Still on her hips, his fingers twitched, and the invisible but very tangible power inside her curled. Hux gasped, her eyes almost rolling to the back of her skull from the sensation. "Do you want me to bring your darkness to the surface? I can."
She could not respond, and he lowered his head and took her mouth, his tongue slipping past the surprised 'o' of her lips. He drank deeply from her, and she did not fight against the onslaught. His lips were as soft as she'd imagined (had she imagined it, that often?); he felt warm and heady like liquor, sick and deranged and dangerous, and she welcomed him inside despite her better judgment. It was glorious; she melted into him, clinging to his chest, allowing his heat to permeate her very being.
They broke apart, needing air, and she shook in his arms as he came close again, his lips hovering above hers. "Say it, Emmeline."
She stared at him, not able to talk, feeling their mutual rage and power meld together in a cauldron of flame.
He persisted, his voice on the verge of breaking, thick and needy, his eyes black pools. "Tell me to fuck you. Say it."
Oh yes, gods yes, Ren, please.
But instead, she tried to speak, once, twice; and then succeeded. "I need..."
He looked at her, waiting, hungry. It took everything she had to continue speaking.
"I need... the ice," she finished.
The waves of Ren's desire trembled, his gaze questioning, head cocked. Hux swallowed, and pressed on, dousing the flames in her mind with cold reason.
"You want to break it," she said, her breath mingling with his. "Like you broke all your chains. But to lead the Order... I can't be like you, Ren. I can't let go."
The wall of fire between them shuddered, and she felt him retreat from her body. Cringing at the sudden emptiness, Hux wrenched her emotions to the surface, willing him to understand how much she wanted this, and how much she needed something else entirely. "We are two sides of the same coin," she explained. "We both serve Snoke, but in different ways. And he needs both of us to remain as we are. Do you understand? This cannot happen again."
Ren opened his mouth to speak, but he never got the chance as the comlink on Hux's wrist flared to life in a volley of urgent beeps.
"General Hux." The lieutenant on the other end sounded breathless. "You're needed on the bridge at once. There is an unsanctioned TIE fighter departure from the main hangar."
The remainder of the moment crumbled as reality set in. Hux shoved Ren aside, her eyes wide. "What?"
"We believe the Resistance prisoner has commandeered-"
"Get the cannons powered!" she yelled into the receiver, grabbing her coat from the floor and donning it hastily. "Do not let them escape!"
She headed to the door, turning around briefly to glance at Ren. He was still leaning on the wall where he'd held her, looking unsettled and slightly angry. She threw him an exasperated look, and silenced her comlink briefly.
"Let's go," she insisted, and after a moment of torturous silence, he followed.
2145 hours. Control room, Hangar 7.
Ren stood in front of the destroyed control panel, watching the fiery gashes from his lightsaber fade to black scars. The underling he'd briefly choked had scrambled away a while ago, and no one else was stupid enough to bother him.
Of course the fools were incompetent, and lost the droid. And now, he would have to explain the failure to Snoke.
He leaned on the charred console, fingers tightening on the durasteel. It would not be prudent to be so angry when facing his master. And, despite his outward calm, Ren was still furious, both from the loss of the droid and from his earlier encounter with Hux.
He remembered the way she'd trembled under his hands, the hitch in her breath. He understood Snoke's point now, about her passion. Certainly, having Hux as a willing ally rather than a grudging rival would be good. Having her in his bed and under his influence would be even better. He had set out with a plan to conquer her, but the sight of her undone had robbed him of control, and Ren knew he would have taken her right there against the wall, protests be damned.
Yet she was the one who had regained reason and stopped them. And then, she had retreated back into her castle of ice, once again untouchable and incomprehensible and infuriating.
"I can't be like you," she'd said.
She wasn't supposed to have done that. He had the Dark Side as his ally. She was supposed to have given in.
I have to hurt something.
Before he knew what he was doing, he was in front of the elevator, his feet taking him to the lower levels, beyond the training areas and toward the arena used for target practice. He was reasonably sure no one would be around at this hour, most of the officers having retired to their quarters for the evening. All the better.
2200 hours. Target practice arena.
The arena was always lit and ready for use, and Hux took a deep breath as she entered the huge, silent space. By the far wall, a conveyor system spit out targets of various sizes to the faux-green field in the center. She paused by the console and turned on the mechanism, watching as a dozen human-shaped targets were placed about a hundred yards from the shooting line.
Checking the charge in her blaster, she willed her hands to stop shaking. The day had been eventful, to say the least, and she would have to face Ren eventually over the failure of retrieving the droid. But she dreaded that conversation less than the one that would inevitably follow.
Heartless as the late Brendol Hux was, he had a point about leadership. It would be easy to let a man like Ren distract her. Today only proved how dangerously distracting he could be. Her insides coiled at the memory of his body and his devouring gaze, his kiss, how close she'd been to throwing her carefully cultivated caution to the wind. If their response to each other today was anything to go by, then he would become her undoing. No; her focus needed to stay absolute. Especially now, when the First Order was so close to victory.
She lined up her shot, aiming for the first target. Her mind was still floundering, calling the memories of Ren to the surface. Hux paused again, scowling, pushing the thoughts away.
Oh, but how deliciously hard he had been.
"Fuck," she growled, shaking her head as if she could dislodge the image. This was becoming ridiculous. She was no teenage girl to be so affected; but then again, she had not slept with a man in a long time, and Ren was no ordinary man. Hux wondered if he'd left a parasitic presence inside her with the Force, seducing her from within, and she shuddered.
Only two options remained available. Hide in her quarters and take care of her own needs, or shoot targets into tiny shreds until she was spent. Hux had dismissed the first option as too dangerous; Ren seemed to be tuned into her thoughts, and the last thing she needed was to call out his name during... that. He didn't need more ammunition.
She was going to require more than a dozen targets, clearly.
She aimed the blaster again, and squeezed the trigger. A rush of satisfaction poured into her body, some of her pent-up energy releasing with the bolt.
The target exploded, sham limbs flying in all directions. Hux almost jumped in surprise, watching the pieces land across the field in sad little tatters. She stared at her blaster curiously. "What the hell?"
Another bang really did make her jump, and she stepped back as the next target burst. Her eyes quickly scanned the firing line, but she seemed to be alone.
But I'm not alone, am I?
She looked across the large room, to the other end of the field. And sure enough, a dark figure, hood pulled up over his helmet, stood directly across from her, within range of her blaster shots.
Hux stared at him for a few seconds, wondering if he had followed her on purpose. He raised a hand, and another of her targets became a dark stain on the field.
Then, she understood, and fired again.
This time, as his power broke the target into pieces, Hux continued to fire at each of them, hitting the severed arms and legs in turn before they landed. As one, they moved down the range, repeating the process with each target. Every blaster shot released a bit of Hux's energy, and she wondered if, across the field, Ren felt the same.
When they reached the end of the firing line, Hux activated the console and brought a dozen more targets into view. Again they moved together, blasting the plastisteel into ribbons from opposite ends of the field. Gradually, Hux's shots became less nervous and more sure. By the time they reached the end again, she did not miss a single one.
She lost track of time, pausing only to reload her blaster, allowing her body to release all her frustration until nothing but the target remained, and her mindless need to destroy it. Smoke hovered over the arena, and if she didn't know better, Hux would have said a battle had ravaged the ground. Finally, sweating from exertion, she stopped at the end of the range, leaning on her thighs as life came back into her fingers from their death grip on the trigger. She laughed, feeling the much-needed freedom from her emotions, from her father and Ren and the First Order. In this moment, she was just Emmeline Hux, markswoman.
She glanced up, intending to make a snarky comment on Ren's technique, something to break the silence that had heretofore reigned between them. But when she looked across the field, he was gone.
Furrowing her eyebrows, Hux holstered her blaster, turned, and came face to face with his helmet. She almost screamed, for he had made no noise, and the speed with which he'd crossed the arena was not human. He towered over her, the weight of his presence dark and menacing, and it was during moments like this that she remembered who, and what, he really was.
He made no move to touch her, however. He just stood there, inches away, not speaking, his breaths soft through the modulator. Hux stared back, her body shrieking at her to either step away or ask him to take her to bed. She ignored both impulses, for she neither feared nor loved him, and would not act accordingly.
As they stood there, she knew he was testing her resolve, like a predator facing off for territory. Hux remembered the taste of his kiss, the deep, languid strokes of his tongue inside her mouth, and could not believe that the sinister figure before her was the same man. She continued to stand her ground, looking up at him. He would have to accept the arrangement on her terms, or kill her. No other options existed for the two of them.
Silence dragged on, and Hux was sure she did not blink the entire time. The dark slit of his mask gave away nothing, and she could see her reflection in it, pale but determined. Any moment, she was expecting the flash of his lightsaber, and an end to her short but accomplished life.
Finally, Ren seemed to get what he sought, and the taut string between them broke as he turned away. The edge of his cloak brushed the front of her uniform, and Hux followed him with her eyes until he disappeared through the side door. More than once, she almost called out his name, to ask what was in his head. But she thought better of it, and he did not turn back.
Taking some deep breaths, Hux released her grip on her blaster. The blood rushed back into her fingertips, reminding her starkly of her mortality.
Sighing and taking one last glance at the destruction on the firing range, she started the slow trek back to her quarters. Tonight only proved that she needed to be careful around him, now more than ever.
Author's Note: My song for this chapter was "Control" by Halsey. It pretty much is Emmeline and Ren in a nutshell. Like the story? Review and let me know! :)