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Cal paced back and forth, rubbing his hands together in a vain attempt to warm them. When he was a kid, he’d lived on a starship like this one. The differences were superficial when he thought about it, but something about the Finalizer just made it hard to stay warm. Space itself felt colder, too, as if the galaxy had cooled in the fifty years he’d been frozen in carbonite. Maybe it was the lingering stasis poisoning, or maybe he was so far removed from the life he’d known it had literally torn a piece of him away.
BD-1 was perched on Hux’s couch, watching him with the usual tireless interest. At first, the droid had run the length of the couch back and forth to keep up with him, before settling in to track Cal’s movement just by swiveling his head. Every now and again he could hear BD’s optical lenses whirring in and out of focus, attention drifting to something else in the room before zeroing in on Cal. The BD unit’s devotion and loyalty was admirable, and inspiring. Cal felt bad that BD was trapped in here with him, while he pretended not to mope.
Being trapped was a lie, though. Cal had full access to the mess hall, the officer’s lounge, the officer’s gym, the reserved training rooms -- the list went on. He felt less like a prisoner every day, and sometimes that did worry him. There was, realistically, nothing to stop him from going down to the hangar and stealing a ship, though he was a poor pilot. It should have been his first priority, since he was surrounded by stormtroopers and the remnants of the Empire that had once tortured and killed his kind. Leaving just... never felt right.
Staying wasn’t exactly the picture of comfort, either. He’d escaped being apprenticed to the likes of Supreme Leader Snoke and Kylo Ren, but their presence was constant, and the scrutiny was intense. Whatever protection Hux offered was flimsy at best, and they both knew it even if they never voiced it. The illusion of it was enough for now, though, and one of the reasons he’d come to hide in Hux’s quarters rather than his own.
Cal wasn’t afraid of Kylo Ren. At least not in any way that Ren wanted him to be, but today was not a day he felt up to the task of facing him. In an effort to shake off the cold, Cal had run through his exercises more than once this morning, and would have gone a third time if Ren hadn’t shown up. Ren was bitter about sharing the training space, so Cal didn’t give him a reason to take it out on him. With the clearance Hux had given him, Cal could see Ren had been in there ever since, a petty act of claiming territory. In the meantime Cal had tried a hot shower to warm him again, though it had been short-lived. Denied the chance to keep his temperature up through exercise, Cal had walked back to his quarters… then turned around and let himself into Hux’s quarters instead.
General Hux was currently on duty on the bridge, and Cal wouldn’t dare to go see him, just because he was cold and lonely and unwilling to put up with Hux’s erstwhile co-commander. His years on Bracca had taught him how to be miserable and alone, tantamount to his survival. Thinking of that time brought him no joy, but worse was thinking about -- about the Mantis --
BD-1 gave an inquisitive beep, and Cal realized he’d stopped pacing, hands squeezing his biceps hard enough to hurt. Dropping his hands, Cal sniffed. His nose was cold, too.
“Fine,” he finally said, looking over his shoulder at the droid. “I’m fine, just --”
BD-1 finished the sentence with another beep, and Cal managed half a smile.
“Tired, yeah,” he nodded. “I mean, you know my sleep’s not been… great.”
A soft wooo was his answer, before BD perked up and offered a suggestion. Relentless enthusiasm, as always. Cal thought he’d had that, once.
“That does sound comfortable. It’s worth a shot, though I’m blaming you if this nap means I can’t sleep tonight,” Cal extended one arm, and BD-1 immediately launched off the couch and scurried onto his back. Cal was halfway to the door when he stopped, and BD-1 peered at him over his shoulder. The droid was an indispensable companion, more than he could have ever asked for, and probably the one thing that kept him actually sane since he’d woken up fifty years out of place.
BD-1 could not, unfortunately, provide the sort of comforts that another human or humanoid could. It was a weakness and a strength, and even Master Tapal had given young Cal an enormous bear hug when he knew his padawan needed it the most. So, instead of doing the rational thing and taking a nap in his own room, Cal turned around and headed into Hux’s bedroom. BD-1 leapt off of him and made himself comfortable on Hux’s pillow, clearly at ease with Cal’s abrupt decision.
“Just for a little while,” Cal said, sitting on the bed and bending to unlace his boots. “Set a timer, okay? Before the General gets off duty.”
Not that Hux would mind. This wasn’t, Cal was embarrassed to admit, the first time he’d crawled into Hux’s bed, with or without him in it. The more he felt he needed to stay here, with the First Order, the more he accepted that it was largely because of Hux. Dwelling on those thoughts left him confused and anxious, so he avoided them as best he could.
Since he was fully dressed, minus his boots, Cal lay on top of the covers, pulling the comforter over him instead. That way the sheets stayed clean, so Hux wouldn’t be too upset over how he’d messed up the neat corners of the bed.
Letting out a sigh, Cal closed his eyes, searching for the warmth and comfort of sleep. He focused on his breathing, shifting only a little when he felt BD-1 move across the top of the comforter, nestling against the back of his neck, giving off his own minute, mechanical heat. The gentle whir of the droid’s systems was enough to lull him into total relaxation, and finally into sleep.
***
“Again, Cal,” Cere said, swinging her saber down to a non combative position as she turned away from him. Cal shook out his hand, wrist smarting from where it had collided with Cere’s boot. At least he hadn’t dropped his saber. This time.
The mud sucked at his boots as he adjusted his footing, lifting his saber into a ready position as Cere faced him down from across their makeshift training circle. He’d gotten so accustomed to using the dual saber that fighting with only one left him feeling unbalanced, though Cere needed a weapon if they were to spar. The alternative was using wooden swords, and, well. Cal wasn’t a kid anymore. He’d faced down Inquisitors and survived, so fighting with a fake sword would have felt patronizing.
Then again, the look Cere gave him when he’d said that told him he’d missed a lesson, or perhaps the point entirely. She’d agreed to using her old saber, since it was only practical.
“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Hit me.”
“Don’t make it sound like such an invitation,” Cere said, a laugh in her tone. When she did come at him it was fast, and merciless, which he’d since learned was her particular style. He failed to parry, forced to give ground and nearly slipping in the mud-slick grasses of Bogano. She came at him again, and he deflected, dodged, and struck back.
Their sabers hissed when they connected, and Cal grit his teeth, pushing with the Force against her own power, locked together. Cal gave first, though not out of choice. The wound in his chest gave a sudden pulse of sheer agony, and Cal gasped, sprawling on his back as his power gave and Cere’s Force push knocked him to the ground. Grimacing, Cal clamped his hand over the wound, letting his saber extinguish as it fell to the ground.
“That,” Cere said, jabbing her finger at him. “Is a problem.”
“I’ve fought while injured before,” Cal grunted, pushing himself to a sitting position. Water and mud soaked his backside.
“I know that, but it’s been weeks, Cal. I’m concerned about how badly it distracts you. Did it hurt before we started?”
“No. It comes and goes. It just -- it needs time to heal. That’s all.”
“It’s not a normal injury, not with Vader. If we still had the Council, and the archives, I’m sure we could find something to help, but --”
“But we don’t,” Cal cut her off, hating how petulant he sounded. “We’re on our own. We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Just -- maybe we could take a break.”
Cere arched one brow, clearly hearing he didn’t mean a short break, but an extended one. “You think because I made you a knight that you’re done with training? A Jedi’s schooling is never done. That injury is going to hold you back if you let it, so get up, and we’ll go again.”
BD-1 let out a mournful woop from his perch on a nearby rock, antennae pointed to the ground. The droid always watched their sparring matches, and Cal could tell BD was always seconds away from dashing to his side to help him.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Cal said, giving the droid a lopsided smile. “Cere’s right. I can get through this.”
Cere’s expression was impassive as Cal retrieved his saber and stood up, the cramp in his side easing as he stretched his back.
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” said Cere. “I’m pushing you because it will protect you.”
“I understand.” He did, and he meant it. Master Tapal had been a tough mentor, too, but kind when Cal had needed it. Cal was lucky to have both of them as teachers.
Mindful of overextending his arm and aggravating his injury, Cal set his stance, mirroring Cere. She lunged first, and the fight went how it usually did: he parried, he blocked, he attacked, she deflected, they split apart, they came together and, eventually, Cere disarmed him.
This time his saber went flying off into the grasses, startling a trio of curious boglings and sending them running for their burrows.
Cal was frustrated, but not discouraged. He’d been lower than this, and came back stronger for it.
“Again.” Cere was already back at her starting point, saber at the ready. Calling his weapon to his hand with the Force, Cal attacked first this time, forcing her back with a series of relentless thrusts and slashes. Cere always seemed to anticipate his moves with ease, giving ground and then taking it back just as easily and breaking through Cal’s defenses.
Eventually they didn’t bother returning to their starting points, and just kept going, strike after strike after strike. His injury started to throb again, but he switched his saber to his other hand, and kept pace with Cere every step of the way.
“Again,” she’d say every time Cal faltered, and every time he’d come back to meet her, lifting his saber to block her attack --
***
Cal jolted awake, feeling the impact from that strike vibrate up his arm, as if Cere had just been here, and they’d just been fighting. He sucked in a deep breath, throwing the comforter off of him and accidentally burying BD-1 under it.
He’d had vivid dreams before, and his psychometry gave him memories that were as clear as if he’d experienced them himself. This was the first time he’d dreamt one of his own memories in such clarity since being sealed in carbonite, and it left him feeling rattled.
Probably just… lingering stasis poisoning, even if it had been months. It was the same excuse he’d used for the wound Vader had given him, with his own lightsaber. It hadn’t been a comforting excuse then, and it wasn’t comforting now, but it was all he had. Cal drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead against his arms, concentrating on his breathing while his heart pounded. He tried not to think how it had been fifty years since Cere had last seen him. Maybe less time if she’d -- if she hadn’t lived beyond -- It hurt too much to bear, after every other loss he’d suffered.
BD wiggled out from under the comforter and Cal felt him nudge his side, making an inquisitive beep. Cal lifted his head, eyes wet. “No… not a bad dream. Not even a bad memory. I think… I don’t know. Cere’s still trying to train me. Even now.”
“Boo…” BD’s antennae drooped, and Cal reached out to pat his head. The droid missed their little family, too. Cal gave the droid a weak smile, before feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He glanced towards the bedroom door, expecting to see that the general had returned without his noticing, but the threshold was empty. The rest of the chamber was quiet; it was just him and BD-1.
Sitting upright, Cal swung his legs over the side of the bed, opening his senses to detect what was trying to get his attention. BD followed him to the edge of the bed when he stood, walking towards the closet door. As it slid open he had the thought he shouldn’t be snooping through Hux’s things, but Hux himself insisted he had little, if anything, to hide from Cal. Besides, the contents were exactly what he’d expected - neat rows of jackets and trousers and shirts, a few sweaters he’d never seen before, and some storage crates.
A perfectly normal closet. And yet, as if possessed, Cal still crouched down and pulled out one of the crates, which was long and flat. The case was unlocked, but the clasps hadn’t been used in many years, and stuck before popping open. Inside was a blaster rifle, in good condition but clearly an older model. BD-1 could almost certainly tell him the specs with a quick scan, and Cal reached out to pull the rifle out of its foam. He hesitated before touching it, fingers curling, knowing that this was what had been calling to him in the Force, and his psychometry would almost certainly have more to say about the matter.
Hux had been more than open with him thus far, and Cal respected that. Hux had also been closely guarded about a lot of things, mostly concerning his past. Even without saying it, Cal knew there was a lot of pain in Hux’s life, starting early in his childhood and continuing even until now. To look into any glimpse of his past without permission felt dishonest and wrong, yet…
Perhaps the Force had something to tell him. A warning, maybe. A final vision that would tell him, unequivocally, that the First Order was not where he belonged, and he needed to leave.
Well, he’d taken worse risks than angering General Hux. In fact, this would be a first. His master had always taught him to trust only in the Force, and it had brought him this far.
Settling back on his heels, Cal closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He held his hands out, palms up, and opened his eyes, lifting the rifle from its case with the Force. He let it hover above his hands a moment before letting it drop down, the connection flashing immediately --
”Again, Armitage.”
“Yes sir,” he said, pushing down the disappointment and frustration stinging his eyes. The holo target flickered back at him mockingly, not because he’d hit it, but because the tech was old and failing. Even so, he’d failed to even graze it with the rifle, so what did that say about him?
That he was seven years old, underweight, anxious, and holding a weapon that was meant for an adult soldier. It was so heavy he struggled to keep the barrel of it level, and his arms were still burning from his training yesterday. He did not complain or refuse when Sloane called him for another session, though. Everyone here, maybe even including Sloane, thought him weak. He knew he could prove them otherwise.
First, he just had to make this shot.
Her silence was deafening when his next shot missed again, and Hux bit his lip to distract from the tears that threatened to fall. He just -- he just had to keep trying --
“Your scores in the target sims are higher than your peers,” Rae said. “But the sims are meaningless if that doesn’t translate to success in live fire exercises. Your aptitude in long range weaponry also shows promise. But, again, you know I cannot advance you if you cannot master these basics.”
“What if the training sims are inadequate?” Hux asked without thinking to consider the context of his audience. Sloane had protected him from his father and his father’s peers, but there were distinct ways he was meant to act around her. In training sessions, she was a Grand Admiral, and he was a cadet. There was no friendliness between them, scarce as it was when they were just Armitage and Rae.
He looked back at her, meaning to apologize at once, and faltered at the look on her face. It was an expression he’d seen on her face before, and he had yet to identify it. It was as if she was confused, or concerned, but he didn’t know if it was about him or what he’d said. He felt ashamed, though he didn’t know why.
It passed quickly, however, and she said: “Be that as it may, it does not excuse your form at present. We’ve been over it before. Put the rifle down, and begin again.”
Chastised, but relieved, Armitage returned the rifle to the bench. This was the part he’d mastered almost immediately, inspecting the rifle from end to end, checking the charge level, ensuring the barrel was clean. It gave his shaking arms a break, at least. He was done all too soon, of course, returning to his position and lifting the rifle to make his shot.
Armitage was surprised, then, when Rae stepped in next to him, using her boot to correct his footing. “Unclench your jaw, and drop your shoulders. Don’t hold your breath. Do you understand, Armitage, that there are training rifles that are lighter, and designed for younger recruits?”
He hadn’t known that. He’d thought this was all they had, exiled in the unknown as they were. When she didn’t continue, he hurried to answer: “Yes sir.”
“I didn’t give you one of those because you don’t need it. Don’t shuffle your feet, I just corrected them. And unlock your knees. You know how to shoot a blaster with your mind and the trigger, but you must use your whole body.” Armitage heard her walk away, back to position several feet behind him. “I know you understand all of these things. Now use them together. Armitage.”
Her tone changed when she said his name, but he didn’t dare look back, or take his eye off the flickering target.
“I’m only going to say this once,” she said, pausing as if reconsidering whether she should even say it or not. Finally: “It gets easier.”
Armitage exhaled, remembering not to hold his breath. Hefting the rifle in trembling arms, he lined up his shot, squeezed the trigger --
As the memory faded away, Cal was aware of BD-1 trying to get his attention, and he already knew what the droid was fussing about. Fingers tightening on the rifle, Cal looked over his shoulder, where General Hux stood in the doorway. His expression was unreadable, impassive as always, but Cal looked at him only for a moment before dropping his eyes. He turned back to set the rifle in the case, hearing the click of Hux’s boots as he entered the room. By the time Cal had the case closed up, Hux was sitting on the bed, eyeing the rumpled sheets, with BD nervously tap dancing next to him. He looked at Cal when he realized he had his attention, the crease between his brows smoothing away.
“What did you see?” Hux asked.
“You,” said Cal, pushing himself up onto his feet. After an awkward beat, he sat down next to Hux, who was poised primly on the edge of the mattress. BD-1 hopped up onto Cal’s thigh, looking between them. “A woman, dressed in white. A Grand Admiral?”
Hux nodded. “Rae Sloane. My mentor, for a time.”
When Hux didn’t say anything more, Cal continued: “You were pretty young, and... frustrated with that rifle. She wouldn’t let you take a break, though. She seemed stern, but…”
“She was,” Hux cut in. “Stern, I mean. But also fair, and kinder than what I’d known from anyone else before.”
Hux looked ready to continue, then swallowed his words, eyes darting back to the rifle case. He seemed somehow angry, but not at Cal. At himself, maybe.
“Hey,” Cal said, hesitantly reaching out to place his hand on the general’s shoulder. Hux felt tense, as he always did. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want. I shouldn’t have looked anyways -- “
“No, it’s alright,” Hux shook his head once, turning back to Cal. “I’d never blame you for your psychometry. I know what it does to you, and besides, it’s… only fair. I’ve known so much about you for so long, and certainly not by your choice.”
“You don’t know everything,” Cal grinned, and BD-1 gave an affirming beep. Hux managed a small smile, and Cal felt some of the tension leave his shoulder.
“I’d like to,” Hux said, with a sudden intensity that made something in Cal’s gut drop. Swallowing, he dropped his hand, folding them together in his lap.
“Tell me about her?” He hoped he sounded encouraging, and not like he was aware his pulse had just spiked. BD-1 was staring at him.
Hux looked a little off kilter himself, clearing his throat before speaking. “As I said, she was stern, but an excellent teacher. I did master that rifle, before upgrading to a superior model. Top marks in all my tests. She instilled many invaluable traits in me, the patience especially. Without her guidance I would have never made it as far as I have.”
“What happened to her?” Even before asking Cal knew the answer wasn’t good. Hux spoke highly of her, but there was an undercurrent of grief in his words. Besides that, a Grand Admiral in the Imperial Navy was a big deal, and this was the first he’d heard of her.
Hux’s expression tightened for a moment, eyes hardening. His hands twisted in his lap, before he smoothed them over his thighs. A nervous gesture likely beaten out of him by his father. “I never knew. At some point Snoke entered the picture, and High Command changed entirely. We had parted ways before then, but there’s no trace of her. And I’ve looked. It wasn’t -- I learned true patience, then, knowing how important it was to relearn our power structure, and serve accordingly.”
How to survive, Cal thought. How to adapt to a system that was even more likely to chew you up and spit you out than the old one. The First Order, as Hux had shown it to him, clearly filled the gaps where the New Republic failed. There was no hiding that it was an unforgiving creature, though, in ways that Cal found reminiscent of the Jedi Order. Structure, harmony, everything in its place… to a point. Even with his mentor missing in action, Hux still fervently believed in the First Order, what it stood for and what it could accomplish.
“When I lost Master Tapal I was… devastated. I blamed myself. But everything he’d taught me, even if I felt I never really grasped it, I hung onto it. It got me through…” Cal shrugged. “Well, it got me through. And when Cere found me, it gave me the chance to put those teachings to use. We’d lost what we thought was good and right, forever, but… we learned we could make something better.”
Not a new Jedi Order, after all, but a family of sorts. He’d lost that, too, and not a day went by where it didn’t cause him pain. Blindly, Cal reached out to cover one of Hux’s hands with his own, as if to comfort him, but really looking for comfort for himself. Hux still had his gloves on, but when he turned his palm over to squeeze Cal’s hand, he smiled.
“Something better,” Hux repeated, and there was a sudden, feverish gleam in his eyes, the kind that Cal knew came before he launched into a speech about the First Order, and all its glory and all the good it was doing for the galaxy. It was gone almost as soon as Cal had seen it, fading into something softer, and with it some sort of realization Cal wasn’t privy to just yet. Hux was difficult to get a read on even when he invited someone into his mind. Hux’s smile extended to the corners of his eyes, somehow transforming his entire face. “I like that.”
“Yeah,” said Cal, unsure of what else to say, suddenly aware of how much closer they were beyond just holding hands. He realized he was staring at Hux’s lips, which Hux had noticed, and they both looked away in apparent embarrassment. Cal couldn’t repress a thick swallow when he stole another glance at Hux, whose eyes had drifted to his throat. This resulted in another oldly bashful attempt to not look at one another, an awkward dance Cal didn’t know how to stop. Or advance.
This wasn’t the first time they’d been in this situation, after all. More than once they’d been close enough to kiss, but Cal was always the one to panic and bail. Hux never pressed him about it, nor did he treat Cal any differently. They never talked about it. He felt guilty, both for wanting it and rejecting it, never knowing how to untangle his feelings or even address them. It wasn’t fair to Hux, but maybe it wasn’t fair to him, either, for Hux to put him in this position and not address it. Or, maybe, he was just overthinking it.
Cal took a breath, closing his eyes, and exhaled through his mouth. He wasn’t aware of himself or Hux moving, but soon found his lips pressed against Hux’s. The kiss was oddly firm and unyielding until Hux shifted the angle, so their noses were no longer awkwardly smashed together. Cal parted his lips and Hux responded in kind, letting them go a little deeper, a little wetter. If they paused it was only to start again a moment later, and while Cal remained fairly passive, expecting Hux to take the lead, it remained chaste. Cal had never kissed anyone before, and he was starting to suspect Hux hadn’t either.
When they finally did part, there was color high on Hux’s cheeks, pupils dilated as he panted lightly. Their joined hands were squeezed tight. Hux took a breath, ready to speak, but Cal beat him to it.
“I should go,” he heard himself blurt out, pulling his hand from Hux’s and standing abruptly. BD-1 was somehow already on his shoulder, beeping rapidly, and sounding concerned. Hux himself looked surprised, then resigned, maybe regretful.
Cal didn’t offer an explanation or an apology, he just fled. Heart racing and pulse thundering in his temples, he barely kept from running into the corridor outright. Just two doors down and across the hall and then he was through the threshold into his own chambers, letting his back hit the door after it carded shut. Looking down, he noticed his own feet, clad only in socks, and cursed his panic-fueled flight. His boots were still in Hux’s quarters.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he groaned, sinking down to the floor and putting his face in his hands.
He couldn’t even put into words why kissing Hux has spooked him so badly. It had felt good, and he was allowed to feel good. So was Hux, who was probably left feeling confused and hurt by Cal’s actions.
BD-1 stood in front of him, trilling in worry.
“Yeah, that was pretty stupid,” Cal said, giving the droid a weak, lopsided smile when he lifted his head. BD beeped at him in question. “I mean, the part where I ran away. I don’t know about the other stuff. It’s…”
He sighed, not sure what he was even supposed to think, let alone say. BD didn’t press him, just shuffled in closer, and Cal put one hand on the droid’s flat head, the other drifting to rest over his old injury from Vader, even if it didn’t hurt.
Cal ought to go back and apologize. He knew enough about Hux to understand that having someone bail on him like that was gutting, and Hux deserved better. More than a failed padawan that had lost everything, twice, and would likely never find his footing or his place in the galaxy. He envied Hux’s ironclad resolve for the First Order, and longed for the sort of conviction he’d had as a Jedi in training. He didn’t know if it would ever come to him. Right now, it certainly didn’t feel like it.
Eventually Cal moved from moping in front of the door to loitering listlessly about his room, watching the hours tick by closer into the night cycle. He could try to sleep, but that cold was creeping in again, and his thoughts would likely rob the bed of its warmth. At the very least, he sent a simple ‘sorry’ message to Hux’s datapad, so he could ease his conscience by saying he’d done something about it. Hux, he assumed, would have retired to bed by now or would deal with the message in the morning.
Cal was surprised, then, when his door chimed, and Hux stood on the other side, holding Cal’s boots and a thermos. When Hux came in and set Cal’s boots down by the door, Cal noticed he’d walked over in his socks, and something in his chest both loosened and tightened at the same time.
The thermos contained Hux’s preferred type of bitter tea, and while they shared it by filling the lid and handing it back and forth, they talked. Hux told him more about Rae Sloane, and Cal told him about the dream he’d had of Cere, before touching the rifle. Hux told him about his days as a cadet, and Cal surprised him with some padawan stories no Imperial intel would have ever uncovered. The unsteady awkwardness that inevitably appeared the longer they talked never came, as if they’d both discovered some new ability to talk freely. When their hands touched while passing the tea, or their knees bumped together, neither of them recoiled. Instead, they leaned into.
And later, much later, when Hux leaned in to kiss Cal again, it was still clumsy and inexperienced, but this time, no one ran away.