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Hux’s expression is as blank as he can make it (or it is, after the barest second of his utter outrage, disgust, and disappointment shows through). “I see, Sir.”
“Come back to me when you have a viable plan.”
“Of course, Sir.”
It is viable. It is more than viable. He’s done the projections. He’s run them through three times, with ever-stricter variables, and the chances of success are worth the risk. No plan is ever fool-proof, but now the Starkiller is gone, they’re reviewing every proposal he puts forth through the eyes of defeat.
And it isn’t. Fair.
The Empire built two Death Stars. The first went down easier than the Starkiller had (which, according to Hux’s post-incident debrief, required one shield-subverting move he still doesn’t fully understand how it happened; one shield-lowering incident which he does understand how it happened - and also can’t believe it did -; one… collection of on-the-ground detonations which again came from the shield-circumventing monstrosity; and finally one well-placed snub-fighter firing on a pivotal section of the weapon). But even though the Death Star went down with a single shot, they made two.
Admittedly the Starkiller is bigger, but it has more of a - had more of a payload. But this plan doesn’t need anywhere near the resources of a new one, and still it’s a no.
The holo cuts out, and Kylo glares from across the room. He’d been quiet throughout the meeting, an unknown observer. The Grand Admiral may well not even know they’re an item, but it wouldn’t do Hux any good for his superior to know the Knight was in the room.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Yes,” Hux agrees, breathing s l o w l y to calm himself down.
“You should just do it anyway.”
“Kylo, I can’t.”
“Why not? You have the manpower, the facilities, the–”
“…orders,” Hux reminds him. What is the First Order if you remove the second word? Nothing. That’s the point.
“Fuck orders.”
“Kylo.”
“I’m serious. Do you want to win the war, or–”
Hux walks around, pushing the Knight back into the couch. His long legs drape elegantly as he sits side-saddle over the younger man’s thighs. It’s perhaps a little indelicate of him to use his physicality like this, but he isn’t in the mood for a real argument. “I want them to trust me, and to believe in me. And if I go against orders, how can I expect my troops to follow mine? That’s how the chain of command works.”
Arms loop around him, and Kylo’s nose runs a line against his throat. It’s almost tickly, and Hux fights a little smile in response. He knows Kylo is just voicing his frustration and support, and… oddly he likes that he’s telling him, instead of bottling it up or acting on his anger. It feels… good.
Or it does, until Kylo goes oddly still.
“…Kylo…”
“What?”
“You’re thinking something bad. I can tell.”
“I am not.”
Hux knows he is, because he has these little tells, and Hux has catalogued all of them. He frowns, trying to think through what Kylo might be about to–
“I’m not in their rank structure.”
Ah. Hux supposes this is true. “You are not,” he agrees.
“So I–”
“I would be forced to report anything I knew, Kylo.”
“Good job you don’t know anything, then, isn’t it?” Kylo concludes, and goes back to nuzzling his neck.
That had not been Hux’s plan, and he almost wishes it had been, because it’s suitably devious, and also well within the ‘rules’. Not that he could ever knowingly, openly affect such a change, but…
“A very good job indeed.”
He’ll take whatever victories he can get, and seeing the Grand Admiral eat humble rations won’t be at all a hardship. The worst part will be keeping his face straight as the news breaks.
Oh, well.