Work Text:
The cantina is the sort of place that even drunks avoid. Alcohol is like water, hardly a vice when compared to the unspeakable things that take place inside the establishment's walls. The lights are dim and the walls dark— not for aesthetics, but because it hides the blasters and body stains more effectively. It doesn't matter that it's six, a time where normal folk might be sitting down for supper. It's already loud. Depravity is timeless and normal is relative.
It certainly isn't a place for the faint-hearted. It's not, however, where he's headed.
He walks until he reaches the end of the path. His boots sink into the dirt, the dusty plumes that bloom behind his heels fading once he stops. The paper in his hand is yellow-edged and faded, the address scrawled across its well-worn surface a ghost of a promise.
He stares and sighs, then folds it in half, then into a quarter, and places it in his pocket. It doesn't make a sound as it slides in, as if it's too used up to muster the energy to protest.
It's a feeling he's sadly used to.
***
The sun on Benja-Rihn is hot even as it sets. Everything radiates with its heat, every surface it touches white-washed. Nothing escapes the star's ever-present glare, and Ben laughs at the irony.
He lifts his cowl over his mouth to protect his already-parched throat. His family was born from the desert sands. Now, generations later and despite his earlier attempts to disavow it, he still can't escape the Skywalkers' legacy.
***
"What?"
The person who answers the door is immediately hostile. Ben lowers his hand. He's not sure what he expects, but he only got two knocks in before he could formulate his thoughts.
"I was sent here," Ben stammers. The old crone huffs, and a rush of anger and humiliation washes over him at her impatience. He fights the urge to silence her as he loosens his fist, his nails digging into his palm. "Jaa Beren sent me. I'm collecting someone as payment. A humanoid: AH3519." He hands over the ownership papers and the peggat Beren gave him as proof; he's sure it's not the coin's actual worth that has the woman's face sliding into shock. Few of the Huttian coins survived the First Order's raids on Tatooine, having been melted to create a universal currency. Now, they're a symbol of the fragility of life. Of blood money and ruthlessness. Of how easily things can be turned and corrupted.
To her credit, the woman recovers quickly. "Right this way," she says stiffly.
She closes the door and takes him around back. Ben is surprised to discover that there are at least fifteen huts of varying sizes lining a courtyard, but all are pitifully small. It smells rank: of piss and shit and sweat. He lets the tendrils of the Force sweep over the few people he sees— it's an exercise that keeps him sharp, a skill that keeps him alive, but the truth is there's no challenge. It's too easy, like shooting sand slugs in a barrel. He can see the misery and defeat in their faces without having to read it in their minds.
"Are you sure he's the one you want?" the trader asks. Her lips twitch as her eyes rake appreciatively over Ben's figure. "I have other humans. Non-humans too, if that's more to your liking."
"I'm here for AH3519," Ben reiterates, his lips thinning. He's not looking for a pleasure slave; nowadays, his hand suffices more often than not, and if he wanted companionship, he certainly wouldn't be seeking it on a dusty, mid-Rim planet that makes Tatooine look like Canto Bight.
Besides, AH3519 is the reason why Ben spent the last seven months working the fringe, tracking and incapacitating the spice kingpin foolish enough to double-cross Jaa Beren. Jaa Beren might be crazy, but he has enough knowledge and connections to tip that craziness into brilliance, and he called AH 3519 the answer. Ben's not sure what the question even is, but the events of the recent past has restored his faith in the ways of the universe, and if the universe's answer is AH3519, then so be it.
"Well, don't say I didn't offer," the woman cackles. "No take backs."
Ben stops short. "Why? What's wrong with him?"
The trader circles the air around her ear. She looks like someone's grandmother, plump with a low, gravelly voice, her forehead and the corners of her eyes wrinkled from the wind and sand. The only thing that ruins the illusion is the coldness of her gaze, bereft of any warmth or humanity.
He shudders to think how those eyes almost belonged to him.
"He's a loner. No friends, not that anyone wants to spend time in his company. Only leaves his hut at night if he's required to or to stare at the sky. The others call him Stargazer," she adds, her derision unmistakable.
"What's his given name?" Ben asks softly.
The crone shrugs. "Before he was AH3519? Does it really matter?"
"I guess not." Ben wrinkles his nose as the woman unlocks AH3519's door. The evening light casts everything in shadows, and there's a dryness in the air that will stay in his nostrils for days. He also catches whiff of a cloying sweetness— yucca, or some similar desert shrub, probably. It's an ineffective camouflage for the stench of desperation and cruelty.
As Ben's eyes adjust to the change in light, he smells something else. It's less sweet… smoky with a sharpness that mellows out in the back of his throat. He straightens, knowing he's smelled this exact scent before. It's the smell of tabac— a mixture of tobacco and Marcan leaves and mint, to be precise.
Ben's only known one person who smoked this exact blend. He feels the answer in his gut, in the way his heart races and his palms sweat despite the arid desert air. He knows who Jaa Beren's dumped back into his life, even before AH3519 turns, showing off his pale skin and full lips, ginger hair and blue-green eyes, and Ben can't decide if it's fate or a cruel joke or maybe both.
"Hux?" he rasps.
***
The brass collar that encircles Hux's neck clicks open after several tries.
"Are you sure you don't want it on? He's a runner," the woman asks. When Ben shakes his head, she tilts her head and squints. "Fine by me," she says finally, dropping the key into Ben's hand. He gives her a handsome tip; it's not as if she deserves it, or that he's particularly generous, but he knows it will go a long way to securing his safe exit. "I'm not expecting another shipment until tomorrow morning so you have the rest of the night to pack up and go. Not that he seems to have a lot; just that small bag of personal belongings he keeps hidden under his bed."
Hux jumps up, snarling.
"Remember, no take backs," the woman calls over her shoulder as she exits, the echo of her laughter lingering long after she disappears.
***
Ben can't stop staring.
The last he heard, everyone on the Steadfast was gone following the Star Destroyer's destruction in Exegol. Hux can't— shouldn't— be here, yet it's undeniably him.
He looks different, of course. Hux is still light-complexioned, but the strip of white where his collar once sat shows off the surrounding skin's wheat-colored hue. His hair looks surprisingly soft free of pomade, the strands streaked with gold and hanging nearly to his shoulders. Though he'll never have Ben's girth, Hux's lithe frame is layered with a physical strength that wasn't evident before.
And those aren't the only changes. Hux favors his left leg as he walks over to his bed. When he bends, he does it slowly, using his right side to guide his descent as his left leg splays out in front of him. Hux checks the series of knots cinching the top of his rucksack. It apparently meets with his satisfaction, for he gives a small grunt before pulling himself up to standing.
"I doubt you'll find what you're looking for, Ren," Hux says as he makes his way to the kitchen. It's bare bones: a rickety table with hardly enough room for two, several mismatched chairs, a small washbasin and a hearth. He removes a plate and cup and several utensils from the basin and frowns. "There's a reason why desert planets are the last to be developed. The people of Benja-Rihn are as barren as its resources. The First Order must be desperate if you came here."
He's a runner, the trader said. Ben hasn't moved yet from the door, and he wonders if it's because he feels the need to guard it.
"My grandfather and uncle were born on a desert planet," he says, his voice even."And it's Ben. Ben Solo."
The plate in Hux's hand drops down on the table with a clatter. "Supreme Leader Ben Solo." He positions the cup on the upper right of the plate. "Somehow, it doesn't have the same ring."
Ben watches as Hux sets a fork to the left. It seems mechanical, routine, but Ben doesn't doubt that Hux's mind is racing a mile a minute.
"There's no Supreme Leader, Hux. There's no more First Order."
Hux stands, deadly still. When he eventually speaks, he wears a tight smile, but his grip on the knife lessens. "So, you’re not here to kill me, then?”
Ben answers with a grim smile of his own. "I don't need the First Order to have a reason to kill you." It's juvenile and downright petty, but even though he's Ben, he was also Kylo Ren, and it's too much a part of his past to whitewash away.
To Ben's surprise, Hux barks out what sounds like a genuine laugh. "And I know you don't need to humor me with ownership papers and small talk to do so." He pulls out one of the chairs, its legs squeaking a rickety protest against the uneven floor. "Sit. We have a lot of catching up to do."
***
Dinner is a bare bones affair. The offerings are pathetic, but it's also the best meal Ben's had in ages. Hux heats up two breadroot patties and pours out a packet of dried calcot onto their plates. The embarrassment on his face is quickly replaced by one of yearning, however, when Ben pulls out a shrink-wrapped package from his rucksack.
"Roba meat," Hux says, his tone wistful. "I haven't had…" He quickly busies himself with slicing the seal open and placing the contents in the small cauldron over the hearth, but not before Ben catches the way his lower lip trembles.
"Part of my payment for my last job," Ben says. Life certainly hasn't been easy for him following his literal downfall in Exegol, but strangely enough, he's at peace with where he's at. Looking at Hux, Ben knows that whatever Hux has been through, it's been much worse. Hux reeks of sadness and something bitter, but there's still a prideful tilt to his shoulders, something Ben is glad to see.
He won't push Hux for information; Ben knows Hux isn't ready quite yet, and he isn't that much of an ass, at least not anymore, to probe for such delicate information uninvited.
Ben knows that Hux is too curious, however, not to jump at the dangled bait.
"I assume I was part of the job, too," Hux comments with an air of nonchalance as he adds liquid to the roba meat. It smells surprisingly good, reminding Ben of the times when he and his family cooked supper in their tins while camping in the woods of Endor, and his stomach growls.
"Nothing gets past you, does it?" Ben teases. To his horror, the words sound fond.
Hux watches him with a thin smile. "How I wish that were true." He brings the cauldron over, moving with a weightiness that Ben doesn't remember from their days in the First Order. He's torn with the urge to help, but Ben also knows the acknowledgement of weakness would only make things worse.
Hux ladles the stew onto their plates. The broth is thin but the patties quickly soak up the excess. He pours water into their cups and sits.
"Sorry," he says, gesturing at the flask. "It's all I have, unless you have something else in that bag of yours."
Ben shakes his head. "More of the same. And it's fine."
Hux picks up his fork and knife. "There was a time when having water was a prize worth more to me than anything else." He doesn't elaborate further, digging into his meal instead.
Ben does the same. "I spent a week last month with only a liter of water and synthefood. I almost dropped the job because of it." He knows it's not comparable, but he can sympathize.
Hux lifts a brow, waiting. It's so imperious, and so like the Hux Ben once knew, that he almost laughs with relief.
"I was holed up, trailing a mark," Ben says by way of explanation.
"Ah. Like father, like son?"
Ben can only hope. "I'm a 'fringer' by choice, and only on certain occasions."
Hux frowns, his eyes narrowing. Despite the fact that the light inside grows dim, his gaze is sharper than when Ben first stepped foot inside the hut.
"You've always had your distractions." His head tilts up, a myriad of expressions playing across his face. "Is that what I am? Your newest one?"
Ben huffs out a laugh. "Newest one? I don't remember a time where you weren't a thorn in my side." He cuts the breadroot into several neat pieces and places a chunk of roba on one. "I've been chasing one thing or another for as long as I can remember. The goals may have changed— " Something lodges in his throat despite the fact that he hasn't started on his next bite, and he coughs several times to clear it. He thinks about his dreams of being Luke's best pupil, of living up to Anakin's legacy, of besting Rey. "Even if I reached them, they still left me empty. I needed to step away from that. To find out who I am first."
"And reclaiming Ben Solo is the answer."
"It is. A part of it, anyway," Ben says, his words filled with challenge.
"Hmm." Hux doesn't say anything for a bit, just looks at Ben as he eats, his expression devoid of any judgment. Finally, he stands, and Ben realizes that in the several minutes since they sat down to dine, Hux's plate is already clean. It's the sign of someone who's been denied food for too long, or for whom food is so scarce they have to either hoard it or fight others for it to survive.
Hux brings his plate to the basin. There's not much left, but the residue is wiped down with a rag before he rinses the surface, probably in an effort to conserve water.
Ben turns back to his own dinner and chews. He finds that it's less tasteful without Hux beside him.
"I'm going out for a smoke," Hux announces, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Come join me when you're finished."
Ben's done with supper, his plate and cup cleaned and set down next to Hux's before he knows it.
***
Desert planets are strange places. The monotony of color and sand— so much sand — belies the fact that its world can turn in a second. The sun, ever present during the day, disappears in a blink, plunging everything into darkness while the temperature drops from burning to cold. There’s no in-between, no mystery, and it’s an absolute contrast to the man who sits with his back against the sandstone walls of the hut, looking up at the vast sky.
Ben takes a seat next to Hux on the ground. He welcomes the remnants of the earth's heat that seep through his clothes.
“No thanks,” he says with a shake of his head. Ben’s never smoked, one of the few vices he’s managed to avoid, but he appreciates the gesture. It’s the first time Hux has ever offered in all the years Ben's known him.
Hux takes a drag, the end of the cigarra glowing an orange-red. Ben stares at the way the stick sits gracefully between Hux’s fingers, how it’s pinched at one end between his pink lips.
"That's how I knew it was you," Ben says as Hux turns and looks at him inquisitively. "The second I entered your hut… the smell of your cigarra. You used to keep a small tin of your special blend in the inside of your greatcoat. I'm surprised you can find the ingredients on Benja-Rihn."
Hux sighs. "I can't. All I have is what's left over from my supply on the Steadfast. What they didn't confiscate from me, anyway."
Ben opens his mouth in shock; even if Hux's stash hadn't been picked away by others over the years, it couldn't have been that much to begin with. "But that's over two years ago."
"Eight hundred and thirty-seven days. But who's counting?" Hux shrugs. "I use it sparingly. And the truth is I don't smoke that much anymore." He sits quietly, his cigarra burning unused in his right hand, and Ben realizes that Hux has only lifted it to his mouth one time since they've been sitting out here.
"Oh? How come?"
The corners of Hux's lips twist. "Because while battle vests are helpful, they're not impervious to the energy damage brought on by blaster bolts. I ended up with a bruised sternum and a collapsed left lung."
Ben's brow furrows. "You shouldn't be smoking at all. Especially now."
"Don't worry, Solo; my instincts for self-preservation are greater than you know. Nowadays, when I do smoke, I do it just to show that I can. That there's a part of my past I can hold onto."
There are sounds from the neighboring huts, muted conversations in the dark just like theirs.
"Some things from the past should stay in the past." The words, a paraphrase of Snoke's mantra, stick in Ben's throat.
"I trained my entire life to be a leader within the Empire. To become the Allegiant General. If I let go of that, all I'm left with is what I am now." Hux stubs the end of his cigarra in the dirt and spits. "A fucking slave alone on a wasteland of a planet."
"All these years… there's no one here you're attached to?" Ben thinks furiously; despite their rocky relationship, their ascendance through the ranks of the First Order has always been inexorably linked. Neither could have done it without the other. Surely Hux must have found someone similar on Benja-Rihn.
Hux tsks. "You never could listen well. I heard Ysat Kara talking when you approached my hut. She told you I'm a loner."
Ben hears the subtle rebuke in Hux's voice. "That's right. I forgot about your sparkling personality," he says, unable to keep from needling Hux.
"I think it's the fact that I inflicted a near-lethal flesh wound on someone who didn't understand the concept of 'personal belongings'," Hux drawls. "After that, people tended to avoid me."
Ben takes a deep breath, choosing his next words carefully. Once, when they were arguing, he had skimmed Hux's memories with the Force. It was easier to do when Ben's ethics were compromised by anger and Hux's defenses compromised by emotion. He'd seen the images of a lonely boy whose path was set in place before he had a choice, reinforced by his father's humiliation and overbearing discipline.
"You're not as terrible as you want people to think," Ben says.
A choked sound escapes from Hux's throat. "I'm not sure you're the best gauge of what's terrible or not. Just because you've changed your name from 'Kylo Ren' to 'Ben Solo'— "
"That's not why!" Ben raises his voice, and the soft chatter from the surrounding huts dims before restarting. He exhales, loudly, then continues. "I can't erase the things I've done," he hisses. "There are things I'll regret forever. But that doesn't mean I have to continue on the same path. I'll never be able to completely atone for my mistakes, but I can find a better purpose. There's no reason you can't, either."
Hux turns to face Ben, his legs scooting along the dirt until their knees touch. Despite their proximity, Ben has to strain to hear Hux's next words.
"I didn't escape during the final battle on Exegol."
"But the entire ship was destroyed. Your injuries— "
"Courtesy of Pryde. He accused me of being a spy for the Resistance. Which happened to be the truth," Hux confesses, cutting off Ben's indignant protest. "I was so angry at you. The destruction of Starkiller, the loss of the Supremacy, the outcome of the Battle of Crait… I saw everything falling apart around me. And yet I was willing to rebuild, but despite your growing authority as Supreme Leader, you spent your energies chasing after that girl— "
"Rey." Ben's lips thin. "Her name is Rey."
"I felt utterly helpless. Useless as our mission was cast aside," Hux continues. "You were given all the responsibility in the world, but instead you wasted your time and resources on something personal. I thought you needed to be stripped of your powers, let someone else helm the fight."
Ben's mouth drops. He doesn't know what hurts more, Hux's lack of faith in him or his betrayal. "So your answer was to spy for the Resistance? How does that make any sense?"
Hux squares his shoulders. "It's not one of my prouder moments. My options were limited— because of you, and Pryde— so I worked with what I had. Believe me, I wouldn't do it again."
"And I did what was necessary. It wasn't a mistake to go after her; I didn't know it then, but the reason I felt such a pull was because we are a dyad in the Force. Spiritually, she is my other half. The strength of our Force connection was used by Darth Sidious to engineer his resurrection and establish the Final Order." Ben looks at Hux, willing him to understand. "It was Rey who eventually defeated him."
The muscle in Hux's cheek twitches. "So. Your other half. Is she waiting for you back at the ship?"
Ben shakes his head. "No. I'll always remain connected to Rey, but not it’s not what you think. Just because we're twin sides of the Force doesn't mean we need to be joined at the hip, or that I want to be." It's too much for Ben to lay on Hux now. One day, he'll be able to divulge the whole story, but for now, his explanation, truthful yet incomplete, suffices.
"Sooo…" Hux lets out a long breath. "You felt no need to maintain physical ties to someone who is your spiritual equal. You had no idea I was AH3519 when you came to collect me, that much was obvious. You hate me, and on top of that, you now know I worked against you."
"I don't hate you," Ben says quietly. "I know firsthand how precious forgiveness can be."
Hux squeezes his eyes shut. He remains quiet for so long that it leaves Ben at a loss, unsure how to proceed.
After several agonizing minutes, Hux finally opens his eyes. The light from the stars overhead draw patterns on his irises, reflecting off their sheen.
"I was recuperating from my injuries on Dermos when I was captured during a raid— wrong place, wrong time," Hux says. "From there, I was bought and sold several times over. The last slave peddlers brought me to Benja-Rihn to work on the farms after they deemed me ill-suited for other ventures. There were days where I questioned whether I could survive. Whether it was worth it to even try."
Hux holds up his hand. It's difficult to see with the limited light, but when Ben traces the numbers and letters branded on the inside of Hux's wrist, scarred over yet still so raw, he understands.
He remembers how proudly Hux once manned the command bridge of the Finalizer, the evidence of his strength of purpose and command. Now, Hux sits quietly, with a weariness etched in the hollows of his cheeks that makes him appear almost delicate. Ben wishes he can will away Hux's pain, but some wounds are too deep to be healed, even by the most skilled of Force-users.
"AH3519 isn't who you are. It doesn't define you," Ben says fervently.
Hux doesn't pull away from Ben's hold. He's always been guarded, even in the most difficult of times, and Ben knows what a gesture of trust it is.
"They call me Stargazer. Thought I was crazy... a pie-in-the-sky dreamer, but nothing could be further from the truth." Hux lifts his head and as the heavens cast his features in half-relief, Ben is filled with the sudden urge to trace the smattering of freckles on Hux's nose and the outline of Hux's lower lip. "I watched the skies so I wouldn't go crazy. I needed a reminder of everything I'd done, all I went through. I used to look up at the stars and imagine everything the First Order had built, wondering whether you succeeded, if you were with— " He stops, his eyes shuttering as if he's said too much. "I needed something to live for. Now you're telling me that it's all gone."
He's still holding Ben's hand. It gives Ben the courage to speak from the heart.
"Perhaps it's a gift, the ability to start with a clean slate. I cheated death in Exegol, Hux. There are so many things that needed to happen to make that possible, yet I was brought from the vergences of Exegol into the World Between Worlds. I have to believe that the universe granted me a second chance for a reason. And now, another impossible series of events has led me to you."
Hux rolls his eyes. "You believe you were fated to be my owner. In what world do you think I'd do well taking orders from you?"
"Kriff, I don't want to own you, Hux! I want you to come with me on your own volition!" Ben can't imagine the horrors Hux has endured, what his previous owners must have willed upon him given his beautiful body and brain until he was designated as inappropriate for anything else but physical labor.
He takes out the ownership papers from the pocket of his robes and snatches the still glowing nub of Hux's cigarra, setting it along the document's bottom corner. The dryness of the parchment causes the material to catch fire quickly, its blackened seam curling and racing upward until it disintegrates in a shower of sparks.
"Ben…"
Ben's not prepared for the raw gratitude in Hux's voice. He's even less prepared for when Hux fists the front of Ben's robes, pulling Ben forward so he nearly falls into Hux's lap.
"Are you sure you know what you're getting into?" Hux asks. He's so beautiful he takes Ben's breath away, and all he can do is nod.
Hux barks out a laugh. It's sharp and bright, and even better, genuine and unguarded. "The one time I want to hear your opinion— "
"Yes." Ben's heart thunders wildly inside his chest. A part of him has always known. They've always been connected, whether in direct competition or in a collaborative effort to excel. Their lives have always been about a push and pull and it works, because without any give and take, how could anyone stand tall?
He doesn't have time to process it further, however, as Hux bridges the distance, his lips parting in order to capture Ben's mouth.
Whenever Ben's dreamed of their first kiss— and he has— he's imagined one fueled by anger and frustration, a battle of tongues and wills. And even in this, Hux surprises him. It starts roughly, born from years of want, overlayed with desperation. But it softens; Ben smells the dirt that's scrubbed into Hux's skin, the harsh lye in his hair, so different from the luxurious toiletries Hux has used in the past. Even though Hux's lips are salty and chapped, they're the sweetest Ben's ever known. When they yield to allow for the gentle probing of Ben's tongue, he feels Hux's hand curl along the nape of his neck, and a slow, aching warmth blooms within him.
"As much as I want you— and believe me, I do," Hux whispers after they stop to catch their breaths, "I don't want our first time to be in a place filled with these memories."
Ben nods. He's disappointed, but he knows Hux is right. "We should rest, anyway. We need to be out by dawn." His bribe might have bought them a small grace period, but Ben has no doubt that the trader— Ysat Kara, Hux called her— will think nothing of throwing them over for the highest bidder.
Hux stands, his hands resting on his hips as he leans slightly to the right.
"Why the wait, Solo? There's no time like the present. How far away is this ship of yours, anyway?"
Ben rises, his body heating under Hux's teasing, half-lidded gaze. Hux is beautiful, always has been, but he comes alive with his displays of quick-wittedness and snark. Those sharp edges hide a soft underbelly few are lucky enough to see, and Ben vows to do what he can to protect it.
"Close enough. Less than an hour by foot, barring any unforeseen complications." Ben hesitates only for a moment before unstrapping the small blaster pistol holstered to his thigh and tosses it to Hux. "How long do you think it'll take you to pack up?" he asks, remembering the duffel under Hux's bed.
Hux holds the blaster lovingly, twirling it in his hand. Ben lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding once Hux tucks the weapon inside the cargo pocket of his trousers.
Hux leans forward on his toes, his stubble rasping against Ben's cheek. "I'm ready now." He takes Ben's hand in his and entwines their fingers as if to say You're all I need.
Ben is a Skywalker. His family has torn galaxies apart in order to reach the ones they care about, and in this instance, he doesn't want to escape his legacy, not any more.
"All right, Stargazer." Ben takes a deep breath, reveling in the weight of Hux's trust. The desert sky may be vast, the sands and clime inhospitable, but the heavens bathe him with their infinite promise. They ground him and make him soar. "Let's find our way home."
~*~