Chapter Text
Hux
“Is this really supposed to be the introductory paragraph?” Hux looked disdainfully down at the printed page on the desk in front of him. “You spelled ‘medieval’ wrong twice, and we cannot start a paper with the line ‘Long ago in a land far, far away.’ I asked you to do this one thing, Solo, and you can’t even manage that.”
Next to him, Ben was resting his chin in the palm of his hand, watching Hux. They had been working together on their final European history report for the past three weeks, enough time for Hux to know that Ben Solo was the most intolerable partner he could have had the misfortune to be assigned. If the drivel he had written up was the best he could do, Hux had to wonder how he wasn’t failing out of tenth grade.
“Solo,” he snapped, “are you even listening?”
“You’re going to marry me,” Ben said.
The angry reprimand for substandard work Hux had been about to deliver died on his tongue. “What?”
Ben sat up straighter, a small smile playing at his lips. “I don’t mean now, but someday.”
Hux stared at him. “Are you insane? I don’t even like you.”
“You do,” said Ben. “You’d never admit it to your friends, but you do.”
“You’re wrong.”
“No, I’m not.” He leaned just slightly closer. “You like me.” Closer. “And you’re going to marry me.”
Hux wanted to laugh at him, to tell him he would rather hang than have Ben Solo for a husband, but the earnest brightness of Ben’s brown eyes had caught him and wouldn’t let go. He barely registered it when Ben’s warm fingers touched his cheek. All he could see were those eyes moving toward him, the lids slowly lowering.
The kiss was brief, barely more than a brush of Ben’s lips against his, yet the moment stretched on and on. Hux was sixteen years old; he had been kissed before—and far more deeply than he was kissing Ben—but this was different. His heart was thundering in his chest, his body heating up.
When Ben pulled back, he looked wonderstruck. “Wow.”
Hux blinked mutely at him, his throat too tight to even attempt to speak.
“You felt that, right?” Ben asked. “Don’t you see now?”
“See what?”
“That you’re going to marry me.”
Hux took a breath. “I’ll consider it.”
Ben was still grinning when Hux kissed him again.
Hux sat up with a start, looking around him with bleary eyes. He was in the loft space he rented in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, half a world away from the classroom in which he and Ben Solo had been sitting in the dream. He rubbed a hand over his face. It had been years since he had dreamt of high school.
“Oh, you’re awake,” said the young man a few paces away. Mitaka—Dopheld, though he refused to let anyone call him that—was kneeling at the foot of a mannequin, adjusting the hem of the suit pants that hung from it.
“You weren’t suppose to let me sleep,” Hux said, getting up. “We have too much work to do.”
“Don’t get on his case about it,” said Phasma as she appeared from around the corner. “I told him not to wake you. You needed the rest. You looked like hell.”
He made a face at her, though he took the paper cup of coffee she held out to him. “How kind of you to say so.”
“You need to go home,” she said. “You’ve been here for almost two straight days, Hux. I know the show is tomorrow, but you need to shower.”
“I’ll have time for that later. I need to finish the alterations on the gala dresses before the models come in for the final fittings in the morning.”
“Already done. I put Thanisson on it. The semi-formal men’s collection, too.”
Hux let his shoulders relax, heavy with gratitude. “Phasma, have I told you that you’re indispensable?”
“Damn right I am,” she said.
Hux had met her in his first year at Parsons School of Design, when he was still a doe-eyed kid from nowhere. She had come to the States from England as a teenager, like him, and as the only two people with accents in their small—elite—fashion design program, they had been constantly pushed together. Fortunately, neither of them had minded. Since one particular party where they had both indulged in too many gin martinis, they had been inseparable.
Whereas Hux’s focus in school had been the design aspect of the fashion industry, Phasma had concentrated on marketing. Through her tireless efforts selling Hux’s work, they had managed to land their own show during New York’s Fashion Week. It was the event that would truly launch Hux’s career, putting him on the map and his clothing line in stores. Eventually he would have his own boutiques, but for now he would settle for having his work on the hangers anywhere.
“Everything’s under control, Hux,” Phasma said, giving him a hard look. “Go home and get some rest.”
“All right,” he said. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
As he walked past her, Phasma put her hand on his shoulder. “This is it. We’re really going to do it.”
“I know.”
Hux caught the train to his apartment in Brooklyn, a tiny studio that he paid far too much for. He trudged up the four flights of stairs to his door, unlocking the three deadbolts with three different keys. As he stepped inside, he nearly stepped on the red and pink rose petals scattered across the throw rug he had bought on sale at Pier One when he moved in two years before. The trail led through the entryway and into the central space, where at least ten vases of flowers were scattered around.
A full bouquet was lying on his bed, a handwritten note tied on with silk ribbon. Hux went over and lifted it, smelling the fragrant roses. On the embossed card he read:
Darling - I thought you should have something as beautiful as you and your designs to remind you how perfect your show is going to be. I know you’re nervous, but you’re going to do wonderfully. I love you and I’ll see you tomorrow. - P
Hux smiled. He hated when Poe called him pet names, but he knew it made Poe happy, so he tolerated it. After all, what other boyfriend of his had ever filled his apartment with roses?
Taking his phone out of his pocket, he pulled up his text messages and wrote: I just got home. You are unbelievable. Thank you.
Setting his phone and the bouquet down on the bedside table, he looked at the bed. It wasn’t covered in petals, so Hux could fall into it without spending ten minutes collecting them. He stripped down to his shorts and slid under the covers. Just before he closed his eyes, his phone buzzed.
The message read: You deserve all that and more. I love you.
Hux fell back against the pillows. Poe was, just as Hux had told him, unbelievable. They had met ten months before at a showcase. Poe, the son of Mayor Dameron, had been surrounded by admirers for most of the night, and Hux had resigned himself to appreciating the elegant cut of his tuxedo and his white-toothed smile from a distance. However, as Hux was standing at a table sipping his third glass of champagne, he had heard a deep-voiced, “Excuse me.” He had looked up to see Poe to his right, holding two glasses.
“It seems my plan wasn’t that well thought out,” Poe said. “I thought I could bring you a drink as an excuse to talk to you, but you already have one.” He raised one of the glasses. “Is it possible I could convince you that this one is better than the one you have?”
Hux, surprised, took a moment to reply. When he finally managed it, he said, “I believe you can.” He set down the half-empty glass he held and took the proffered one.
Poe grinned. “Cheers.” Their glasses chimed pleasantly as they met. “May I ask your name?”
“Hux.”
“Just Hux?”
“Brennan,” he said, “but I prefer my surname.”
“Hux it is, then,” said Poe. “What brings you here tonight?”
“I studied under Mr. Snoke. He invited me.”
Poe’s smile returned. “You’re a designer. Is that suit one of yours?”
“It is,” said Hux, glancing down at the three-piece, pinstriped suit.
“It’s lovely. It looks great on you.” Poe hurriedly added, “If I can get away with saying that after just introducing myself.”
Hux found the corners of his mouth turning up. A friendly conversation was transitioning very smoothly to a flirtation. “You haven’t introduced yourself.”
“Oh god. I’m sorry.” He held out his hand. “I’m Poe Dameron.”
“I know,” said Hux. “I think everyone here does. But it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dameron.”
“Poe, please. Hux.”
They talked for nearly half an hour more, but soon enough Poe was being pulled away to meet someone else. He gestured to the woman who had approached him that he would be right there.
“I’d like to have dinner with you,” he said to Hux. “Are you free tomorrow night?”
Hux had his usual weekly powwow with Phasma on Sunday nights. They got take out and went through Hux’s newest designs. They hadn’t missed one in nearly four years, but they were about to. “Yes, I am,” he said.
“Good. Great,” Poe said. “Seven o’clock at...La Pomme?”
Hux had read about that restaurant in the reviews; it was supposed to be utterly delectable. “That would be lovely.”
Poe’s radiant smile lit his face again. “Perfect. I’ll see you then, Hux. Goodnight for now.”
“Goodnight,” Hux said just before Poe was swallowed up by the crowd.
“Well, well, well,” said Phasma, shining in a backless silver dress as she appeared at Hux’s side. “What did aspiring senator Poe Dameron have to say to you?”
Hux drained the rest of his champagne. Somehow he did think it tasted better than the glasses he had had before. “I’m having dinner with him tomorrow.”
“Good God. Are you sure you’re ready to date the mayor’s only son?”
“I have no idea, but there was no way in hell I was turning him down.”
That first date had gone perfectly. Poe was charming, intelligent, and beautiful. Hux was enraptured almost immediately. The conversation flowed unrestrained between them, and by the time they finished the bottle of wine they had shared, Hux was determined to see him again. Fortunately, Poe was amenable. He asked Hux to join him for a walk in Central Park in two days. Hux had.
After that they had taken to seeing each other two or three times a week. Though Hux was self-conscious about his less than posh apartment, he had eventually worked up the courage to ask Poe to come home with him. It had been good, very good. Phasma had demanded details, but Hux had just smiled.
As far as he was concerned, he had gotten incredibly lucky. Poe was doting and sweet, sometimes too much so. He was different than any other man Hux had ever dated seriously. Hux’s friends had even begun to ask questions about just how serious they were. No one had dropped the M word yet, but it was implied.
Unbidden, the thought of dark brown eyes came into Hux’s mind.
“You’re going to marry me,” Ben Solo had said.
Hux stared up at the ceiling of his apartment. Poe was everything Ben Solo hadn’t been: cultured, social, ideal . Yet, Hux couldn’t help but think of that kiss he had shared with Ben, and all those that had followed. Sighing, he banished those memories and concentrated on the the scent of Poe’s roses.
Music was pounding from the runway just outside of the staging area where Hux was frantically working to prepare his models for their walks. There were ten people, each of them wearing the semi-formal attire that was the centerpiece of the show. There were formal gowns at the finish, but they were not Hux's true forte.
“Okay, people,” Phasma was saying. “Let’s do this.” Taking the first model by the shoulders, she guided him toward the runway. Hux watched him go with anxiety roiling in his gut.
“Relax,” said Phasma. “This is going to be flawless.”
“What if one of them stumbles?” Hux asked, clenching his clammy hands at his sides. He rubbed the thumb of his left hand against the underside of the third finger. “They’re young, inexperienced.”
“They’ll be fine. Have a little faith.”
“I don’t have faith,” he grumbled. “You know that.”
Phasma just rolled her eyes and went to see to the next model.
The full show took thirty minutes and, despite Hux’s fears, went off without a hitch. Hux finally felt like he could breathe as the master of ceremonies stepped out to once again to announce that this was B. Hux’s new line and it was going to be one of the highlights of the season. After they had changed back into their street clothes, the models hugged Hux and gave their congratulations. Thanisson and Mitaka each shook Hux’s hand. He thanked them both.
“We’re going to the afterparty to get drinks,” said Phasma. “You need one.”
“I can’t,” Hux said. “I have the charity gala with Poe.”
The Damerons, as politicians and bastions of the New York charitable establishment, were expected to appear at numerous benefits and galas. Hux had been nervous when he had first attended at Poe’s side, but he had since grown accustomed to making small talk with socialites and picking politely at his thousand-dollar dinners.
Phasma gave him an unsympathetic look. “I don’t know how you tolerate those things, but have ‘fun.’”
“Thanks,” Hux said, wry.
He had brought his tuxedo with him, so he stepped into the models’ dressing room to shed his button down shirt and slacks. He paused in front of the mirrors to straighten his hair before venturing out into the vestibule, where the show’s attendees were now milling about with various cocktails in their hands. Poe was easy enough to spot. Though he was almost a head shorter than Hux, he stood out in a crowd seemingly by charm alone.
“Honey,” he said when Hux got to him, taking Hux’s hand and kissing the knuckles. “That was incredible. I’m so proud of you.”
Hux smiled, warmth blossoming in his chest. “It went well.”
Poe shook his head. “You’re too modest. There’s so much talent in you sometimes I can’t even believe it. And all of these people see it now.”
Hux cast a brief glance around the room. Soon enough the critics in attendance would be writing up reviews of his collection. He should have stayed a little longer to speak to some of them, but he was relieved to escape. He wasn’t timid per se, but Phasma was the one who could talk up a storm. Hux usually just stood by and waited to answer questions about his inspiration or the particulars of his creative process.
“I’m sorry to steal you away from all this,” said Poe, squeezing the hand that he still held.
“It’s fine,” Hux said. “Really. We should go.”
Poe beamed. “Okay. Let’s go.”
A car was waiting for them at the curb outside. Poe held the door for Hux, letting him slide into the backseat first. He threaded their fingers together again as soon as he was seated beside Hux. They drove for maybe thirteen blocks, the traffic not yet heavy enough to really detain them, but not light either. Poe talked about the designs he had liked best, though he had seen them all before. Hux was content just to listen to him, the reality of his first real show still setting in.
When the car came to a stop and Hux looked out the tinted window, his brows drew together. “This isn’t the art gallery.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Poe. “I thought we could get a bite to eat first.”
“At La Pomme?”
“It’s your favorite.”
It was, and had been ever since their first time there. However, on a Saturday night it was bound to be completely full, which Hux despised. He had never been particularly fond of large crowds. But he said, “Okay.”
Poe leaned over and kissed him. “Okay.”
They got out and made their way to the door. Once again Poe stepped ahead to open it so Hux could pass through. It was darker inside than Hux was used to, and remarkably quiet. He could actually hear the soft, ambient music.
“Dinner for two?” said a hostess, appearing from the dining room. The empty dining room.
“There’s no one here,” Hux said.
“Nope,” said Poe from beside him. “It’s just us.”
“You reserved the entire restaurant?”
“It was a special occasion.”
Hux looked around, blinking with disbelief.
“Come on,” Poe said. “Let’s sit.”
The hostess led them to a table at the center of the room. Most of the others around it had been cleared so that it stood alone.
“Starting with the champagne, Mr. Dameron?” the hostess asked.
“Yes, please. We’re celebrating.”
The cork popped and the wine fizzed as it was poured into their glasses. Hux held his up as Poe did.
“To you, Brennan Hux, and the start of an incredible career. I’m constantly amazed by your talent and your passion, and I know everyone else in the world will be, too.”
“Thank you,” said Hux. “For everything.”
Poe dragged his teeth across his lower lip, an endearing tick that Hux had learned meant he was nervous. “Oh, hell. I was going to wait to do this until dessert, but I can’t.” Getting up from his chair, he came around to the side of the table. He sank down onto one knee. All the breath rushed out of Hux’s lungs.
“Hux,” Poe said, “you know I love you, and I think you know I want to spend my life with you. So, this shouldn’t really come as a surprise.” He laid his fingers over Hux’s. “Will you marry me?”
Hux looked down at him, seeing the light in his face, the hope in his brown eyes.
Brown eyes. A deeper voice than Poe’s: “You’re going to marry me.”
Get out of my head, Ben Solo.
“Hux? Honey, now would be the time to answer.”
Hux snapped back to himself. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”
Poe pulled Hux to his feet. He took his face between his hands and pressed a long kiss to his lips. “You had me scared for a minute there.”
“I didn’t mean to,” said Hux as they sat back down. “Really.”
“I know.” Poe took a sip of his wine. “So, tell me, what do you think about a May wedding?”
Hux balked, freezing with his glass a few inches from his lips. “That’s two months away.”
“I don’t see a reason to wait. Do you?”
“Well, I...no, but it hardly leaves any time to plan.”
Poe waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll hire someone to take care of that. All you’ll need to do is put on one of your suits and walk down the aisle.”
The drink Hux took of the champagne was a bit deeper than was appropriate. “We couldn’t wait just a little longer?”
“June, then?”
“Ah, no. May is perfect.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Poe. “Now, let’s eat something before we have to face the fawning masses at this gala.” He motioned the waiter over and efficiently place their orders.
Hux watched him fondly, but couldn’t help the rising dismay. He wanted to marry Poe, he really did, and he would happily do so in two months. Except for the one thing that loomed over him, a specter from his past.
“You’re going to marry me,” Ben Solo had said, and Hux had. It had been twelve years ago when they were barely more than kids, but according to the great State of Alaska, they were still lawfully wed. And now he had only two months to change that.
“You’re doing what?” Phasma asked, her voice tinny over the phone.
“I’m at the Fairbanks airport waiting for a local plane,” Hux replied, half a sigh. He had just arrived after a ten hour flight from LaGuardia, which had put him in Fairbanks at one o’clock in the afternoon, just in time to make the daily run from the regional tarmac to the single airfield in the town of Arkanis, population eight hundred and twelve. Even in March the snows were still heavy enough to block the roads, making the airfield the only way to get both cargo and people into and out of town.
“What the hell are you doing in Alaska?” said Phasma. “We were supposed to get lunch.”
Hux switched the phone to his other ear. “It was an unexpected trip.”
“It certainly was. You decided to fly across the continent and didn’t say anything. Are you having some kind of breakdown about Poe?”
The day after Poe had asked Hux to marry him, Hux had chosen a select few of his friends to tell. Phasma, of course, had been the first. She had grilled him on how he felt about it, as if she knew that something was off about Hux’s attitude. But no one in New York knew anything about Ben Solo, and they weren’t going to. Hux would get Ben to sign the divorce papers he was carrying in the overnight bag over his shoulder and get out of Arkanis as quickly as possible.
“I’m not having a breakdown,” he said. “I’m fine. I just have something to take care of.”
“You’re being cagey. You’re never cagey. Is something wrong?”
“No, no. I promise I’m all right. I’ll be back in the city in a couple of days.”
“Fine,” said Phasma. “But tell me one thing. Does Poe know where you are?”
Hux hesitated, feeling a touch of guilt. “He knows I’m away, but...no. He doesn’t know I’m in Alaska.”
“You haven’t been home in ten years. Why now?”
“It’s personal.”
He could almost hear Phasma’s brows go up. “Okay, you don’t want to tell me. I understand. But keeping things from your fiancé is a completely different thing.”
“I know,” said Hux, “but this is something I have to see to myself. Call it my last piece of business as a single man.” It wasn’t really a lie. He and Ben had been separated for the last decade and since then Hux had behaved as if he were unattached. For all intents and purposes, he was. For two more months at least.
“All right,” said Phasma. “Don’t get eaten by bears.”
“I’ll try my utmost. Goodbye, Phasma.”
“Bye, Hux.”
As he hung up, he glanced out at the landing strip, its surface cleared of snow. Fortunately, the skies were clear, which would make for a smooth flight into Arkanis. Unfortunately, there was only one pilot who flew the route. Hux cringed. He would be spending the next hour trapped in a dual-engine prop plane with Han Solo, Ben’s father.
“Excuse me,” said a middle-aged woman in an airport uniform. “Are you the one going to Arkanis?”
“Yes,” said Hux.
“Oh, good. I was sent to get you. The Falcon is here.”
Hux almost shook his head. Han’s plane had to be the only aircraft in a five hundred mile radius that had a name that even airport staff used.
“Thank you,” he said, adjusting the bag he carried.
The woman eyed him. “Do you have any other luggage?”
“No. This is it.” He had packed light, rolling up his warmest sweaters, a couple of dress shirts, and two spare pairs of pants. He wasn’t planning on staying any longer than was absolutely necessary.
“Okay, then. If you’ll follow me…” She made her way across the quietest part of the airport and over to a side door.
The bitter air hit Hux hard, cutting through the midweight jacket he had brought with him from New York. It was his heaviest one, but even then it wasn’t quite enough. He would have to deal with it, though. He had had no intention of buying a new coat for one day, two at most.
The Falcon was waiting on the small runway outside. Its fuselage was more battered than Hux remembered, but the bird of prey painted on its side was still as recognizable as ever. As they approached, the side door opened and a tall man in a leather bomber jacket stepped out. Hux knew him just as well as he knew the plane.
“Hey, Han,” said the woman, smiling (a little flirtatiously in Hux’s opinion). “I’ve got your passenger here.”
“Thanks, Elaine,” Solo said. He turned, holding out his gloved hand, but as he looked into Hux’s face, his eyes went wide. “I’ll be damned.”
“Hello, Han.”
“Hux. You’re the last person I was expecting to see.” He looked him over. “It’s been what, eight years?”
“Ten,” said Hux.
Han rubbed the back of his neck. “Jesus. Time really flies. What are you doing back here, kid?”
Hux felt heat creeping up into his face. “I need to see Ben.”
“Does he know you’re coming?”
“No. I...don’t have his phone number anymore.”
“Well,” said Han, “he’s gonna be surprised then. Nothing wrong with surprises if you ask me.” He clapped Hux on the shoulder. “You ready, kid?”
Hux gave a curt nod.
“Let me stow your bag,” Han said as he jumped up into the plane. Hux handed it to him before pulling himself inside. He had to duck as he made his way to one of the four seats behind the cockpit.
Han gave him a look as he returned to the forward part of the cabin. “What are you doing there, kid? Come sit next to me. Be my copilot.”
Hux swallowed, but couldn’t find a way to refuse. He dropped down into the seat next to Han’s, taking a moment to examine the array of knobs, switches, and gauges on the instrument panel. As Han sat, he handed Hux a large pair of headphones that would both muffle the noise of the flight and allow to them to converse without yelling. Hux put them on.
“You all set, kid?” Han asked.
“Yes.”
“All right. Here we go.”
The engines sputtered to life before settling into a more consistent roar. Hux was thankful he had never been afraid of flying. The Falcon was reliable, but the ride was nowhere near as gentle as one in a commercial airliner five times the size. They taxied into position at the end of the runway, and then Han throttled up and they were off.
“So, where’ve you been putting up these past few years, Hux?” Han said when they had reached cruising altitude.
“New York.”
“The big city, huh? I’d say I’d like to see it, but I don’t want to lie to you. It’s just too much for me, I think.”
“It can be overwhelming at times, yes,” said Hux. He had never thought so, of course. As soon as he had arrived, he had fallen in love with the chaos and hubbub of the city. It was alive in a way that neither his small village in England nor Arkanis had been. He was absolutely sure that he could never be content to live anywhere else again.
Han glanced over at him. “What kind of work are you doing there? Wait, don’t tell me; let me guess. You’re a lawyer. You were always smart.”
Hux had hardly been the valedictorian of his high school class, but his grades had been good enough. “I’m actually a designer.”
“Like an architect?”
“Ah, no. I design clothing.”
“Huh. Well, you were always good at drawing.”
Hux had been a favorite of Mrs. Ackerson, the art teacher at the school, who had been one of the only people to encourage him to continue to draw and design. Almost everyone else was shepherded into technical fields like petroleum engineering—one of the most lucrative professions in oil-rich Alaska—or into the more physical side of the oil and gas industry: technicians who worked on the massive Trans-Alaska Pipeline System or those who worked in the pumping station in Arkanis. Hux had been determined to avoid that fate.
“How is Leia doing?” he asked, directing the conversation away from himself.
“She’s fine. Just fine. They keep her pretty busy over at town hall.”
Hux raised a brow. “She’s working for the town?”
“Oh, of course you wouldn’t know,” said Han. “You left before she started her campaign. She’s in her second term as mayor now.”
When Hux had last seen Leia Solo, née Organa, she had been the forewoman at the pumping station. She had run it with ruthless efficiency, earning it more than a few awards from the pipeline company. The plaques had hung in Leia’s office there. Hux wondered who sat in that office now.
“That seems like it would suit her,” he said.
Han laughed. “You’ve got that right. She’s got Arkanis running like a well-oiled machine.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Have you heard much from your folks?”
Hux frowned. He hadn’t spoken to his parents since the day he had signed his marriage license. They had been willing to let him stay under their roof after he came out, but when he had announced that he was going to marry the boyfriend they pretended he didn’t have, they had told him to get out and not come back.
He and Ben had stayed with Han and Leia until after the wedding, when they moved into the cabin that had belonged to Ben’s grandfather. It had been in terrible shape, but Ben had promised he would fix it up, and Hux had believed him. Ben had always been good with his hands.
“I’m afraid I haven’t heard from them, no,” Hux said.
“Wish I could tell you I knew how they were doing,” said Han, “but they don’t spend much time visiting when they’re in town.”
That was a polite way of putting it. The Huxes had come to Arkanis from England because of Brendol Hux’s work, but never seemed to take to the country. They had few friends in Arkanis, and had always spent quite a bit of their time in Fairbanks. By the time Hux was in high school, he was used to living alone in the house for several weeks at the time. That was, of course, when he wasn’t with Ben and his family.
He looked at Han out of the corner of his eye. Rural Alaska was not necessarily the most forward-looking place, but when Ben had stood in front of his parents with Hux’s hand clasped in his and called Hux his boyfriend, Han had said, “Well, all right, then,” and offered them something to drink as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Leia had hugged Hux and welcomed him to the family. Hux had been so overwhelmed by affection given so freely—his own father was stoic in the extreme and his mother reserved—that he had been struck nearly dumb.
“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” Han had said as he passed the bowl of mashed potatoes at dinner that night.
Ben, who sat beside Hux, had laughed. “Oh, he can talk. He read MacBeth’s whole speech in English class yesterday.”
“It’s a soliloquy, not a speech,” Hux had said before he could stop himself.
“You know what I meant,” said Ben. He had turned to his parents. “You should have heard it, though. He was really good.”
Hux had flushed at the compliment. Their teacher had said the same thing, but it didn’t have the same effect as when Ben said it. Very few things had the same effect on Hux as when Ben said them.
“Well, you’ll have to read it for us, Brennan,” Leia had said. Despite the fact that everyone in Arkanis called Hux by his surname, she had always used his first.
“All right, Mrs. Solo.”
He had done the reading in their living room after dessert, sitting in a slightly sagging recliner by the fireplace. The copy of MacBeth he had held that night had been new then, its pages crisp and spine uncreased. He still had it. It was on the bookshelf in his apartment in New York. It was far more battered now; when he had nothing to new to read, he would go back to it. He thought he might be able to recite that soliloquy from memory now; he had gone over it so many times.
“You’re going to need a ride out to the cabin, huh?” said Han, bringing Hux’s attention back to him.
“Oh. Yes.” It actually hadn’t crossed his mind. He had been in the city for so long that he almost automatically assumed there was a cab to be caught somewhere. But that was definitely not the case in Arkanis.
“I bet Chewie can take you in the truck. He’s coming to pick up the produce we’re hauling in.”
Charles “Chewie” Lewis was Han’s childhood best friend and Ben’s godfather. He drove one of the town’s snow plows, but he delivered the fresh food and other necessities that Han flew in every day.
“I would appreciate that,” said Hux.
“Sure thing, kid.” Han shot him a brief glance. “I still can’t really believe you’re back.”
“It’s only for a day or so. I just need to speak to Ben, and then I need to be back in New York.”
“He’s gonna be real glad to see you, Hux. We all are.”
Hux forced a smile, though he doubted it looked convincing. “It’s good to see you, too.”
They landed forty-five minutes later, coming down smoothly onto the runway that Chewie had likely cleared of snow that morning. Han cut the engines as Hux pulled off his headphones. He was just getting down from the plane when a truck with the fading logo of Kanata’s Grocery on the side pulled up. A hulking man stepped out, his hair long and shaggy under his ballcap.
“Ho-ly shit,” Chewie said. “Hux. Been a while.”
“Yes, it has,” said Hux. “How are you?”
“Can’t complain. You?”
“Fine.”
“Hey, Chewie,” Han called from a few paces away. He was opening the Falcon’s cargo door. “You going to give me a hand with this or what?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Chewie said. “You mind hauling a couple of boxes of lettuce, Hux? It’ll go faster with three.”
“Sure.”
It took thirty minutes to unload the plane and get everything arranged in the back of Chewie’s truck. It was a small shipment that day.
“Hop in, Hux,” Chewie said when they were finished. “Han said you’re going to the cabin?”
“Thank you, yes.”
“See you around, kid,” said Han as Hux climbed up into the cab of the truck. “Say hi to Benny for me. I haven’t seen him in a few days.”
Hux nodded and gave him a wave before shutting the door. The drive from the airfield into town took about ten minutes, but the cabin was at the far end, so it was closer to twenty. Hux’s anxiety was beginning to build as they turned onto the long driveway. It wasn’t plowed, but the snow had been packed down hard enough that they could drive over it. The truck groaned as they hit a bump. Then the cabin was in sight.
Hux’s lips parted as he took it in. The log house he remembered was still there, nestled among the trees, but it barely resembled the squat cabin he and Ben had moved into when they were eighteen. It had been added on to, and there was porch out front where a pair of snow-covered Adirondack chairs sat. The roof had been replaced with dark green metal. Beside the house was a two-storey garage that had not been there before.
“He did a good job with it, didn’t he?” Chewie said.
“Ben did all this?” Hux asked.
“Well, he hired a company to put the addition on and build the garage, but he did the inside himself. You’ll see.” Chewie unwrapped a stick of gum and chomped down on it.
“Thank you for the ride,” Hux said, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
“Welcome. See you, Hux.”
Chewie backed the truck into the turnaround by the garage and then headed back toward the road. Hux watched him go, his stomach tightening with nerves. Taking a deep breath, he approached the house. The snow on the porch steps hadn’t been shoveled, and it was cold enough that it squeaked as Hux walked through it.
There was no button for a doorbell, so he rapped curtly on the glass front door. It had been plain wood when Hux had last walked through it. There were quite a few more windows now, he noted. He had always used to complain to Ben about how dark and dreary the cabin could be. Ben had said it saved on their heating bills, but Hux would have been willing to pay a few more dollars every month for a little sunshine.
There was no answer, so he knocked again. He shivered slightly as the wind blew. The bare branches of the trees above him creaked. Pressing the side of his hand to the glass, he peered inside. He couldn’t see much; the lights were off. It was possible Ben wasn’t at home. Hux cursed, thinking that it might have been a better decision to call ahead, but what he had told Han was true. He didn’t have Ben’s phone number.
As the wind died down again, he heard something from the direction of the garage. He thought it sounded like music. Going back down the steps, he made his way over to the side door of the garage and tried the knob. It turned, and the door swung open.
The music came through clearly. Hux almost laughed as he recognized the driving chords of The Sex Pistols’ “God Save the Queen.” It had once been one of his favorites. The song was punctuated by the hiss and snap of an acetylene torch. Hux could see the sparks hitting the concrete floor of the garage from around the side of a sizable piece of metal. Hux moved toward it cautiously, not wanting to get too close.
Rounding it, he saw the man wielding the torch. He was dressed in a ratty pair of jeans and steel toed boots. The henley he wore was torn in several places, the holes stretched across his broad shoulders and back. He had on a full mask to protect his face and eyes. He was facing away and was too focused on his work to see Hux.
A loud bark cut through the air, making Hux jump. He looked up to see a husky come padding across the floor toward him, its ears up and tail flagging. It moved a little stiffly, betraying its age, but it looked friendly enough, so Hux reached out a hand for it to sniff. It did so warily, but then pressed its head up into Hux’s palm. He patted it, rubbing at its ears.
“Aren’t you a handsome old man,” he said as he reached down to look at the tag that hung around its neck. It read: “Palpatine.” Hux’s stomach clenched.
“I have a surprise for you,” Ben had said as he stomped the snow from his boots one evening ten years before.
Hux had been in the kitchen of the cabin working on dinner. He hadn’t really been in the mood for any of Ben’s antics. They had fought that morning—again—about Hux’s college applications. Ben had told him more than once that it was too expensive and that he wouldn’t mortgage the house to send Hux to school for a few years just so he could get a job in Fairbanks and leave Arkanis. Hux had argued that it was what he wanted, that he wouldn’t get a job at the pumping station or the grocery store or the library like everyone else. He didn’t want to stay here forever.
“You know I hate surprises,” he had said, stirring the pasta once before going back to cut cucumbers for the salad.
“You’re going to like this one,” said Ben. He was carrying a box, it’s top open. “Come here and look.”
Hux had sighed and set down the knife.
Ben had put the box down on the kitchen table and reached inside. A little whimper came from the gray and white puff of fur he lifted out. “His name’s Palpatine.”
“What kind of name is that?” Hux asked, though he was already holding out his hands for the puppy. He was warm, and Hux could feel the quick beats of his heart. His eyes were ice blue.
“He’s registered with the Kennel Club, so they have to have unique names,” said Ben. “Lando picked it. Don’t ask me.”
“We can’t really call him that,” said Hux, touching the puppy’s downy ears. “Pal. We’re going to call you, Pal.”
“Told you you’d like the surprise.”
Hux glanced up at see Ben looking pleased with himself. “I never thought about having a dog, but it’s...all right.”
“I know, but look at him.”
Hux patted the puppy again. If it made Ben happy, he wasn’t about to tell him to give Pal back to Lando. “He’s a good dog. It’s a good surprise.” Hux stepped closer and kissed Ben, the puppy squirming between them.
He hadn’t been much bigger than he was then when Hux had packed a bag and left both Pal and Ben behind.
Hux pulled his hand back from Pal’s head, standing up straight again. The dog had other ideas, though, barking and jumping up as much as his old bones would allow him to. He had to be almost eleven years old, senior for a husky.
At the racket the dog was making, the figure with the welding torch stilled. The flame went out abruptly as he released the handle. He set it down as he turned toward Hux.
“Ah, hello,” said Hux. “I apologize for barging in. The door was open and, well...I’m looking for Ben Solo. Is he here?”
The man didn’t reply immediately, nor did he move. Johnny Rotten’s harsh vocals echoed around the garage as Hux waited. As the song ended, though, the man reached for his mask and lifted it over his head.
“Hi, Hux.”
His breath stuck in his lungs. He knew Ben’s face immediately, but that was the only thing about him that was the same. He had always been tall, but Hux was certain he had grown another couple of inches. There were ridges and hollows of muscle beneath his shirt that had not been there before. His dark hair, damp with sweat, was long enough to brush his shoulders and hide his overlarge ears. This was not the boy Hux had married at eighteen; this was a man he hardly recognized.
“Oh. It’s you.” Hux winced inwardly. There were things that would have sounded more foolish than that, but he could think of very few of them at that moment.
“Yeah,” said Ben, dropping the helmet on the ground next to the torch. “It’s you, too.” He took three long steps closer, affording Hux the opportunity to appreciate exactly how much taller and broader he had gotten. Pulling a rag from his back pocket, he wiped his hands. “What are you doing here, Hux?”
Managing to get a hold of himself, he said, “I’ve brought the papers.”
Ben’s brows drew together. “Papers?”
Hux’s temper flared. “The divorce papers that my lawyers sent to you last year that you returned unsigned. Twice.”
“Oh. Those papers.”
“Yes,” said Hux, clipped. “Since you didn’t see fit to take care of this before, I had no choice but to come here and get you to sign them.”
Ben crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, you came for nothing then.”
Hux scowled at him. “Don’t do this. I do not have time to argue with you. I have a noon flight to catch tomorrow.”
“You came for one day?”
“I would have come for less had it been possible.” Setting his bag on the floor, he unzipped the side pocket and pulled out the folder there. He held it out to Ben. “There are three copies. One for me, one for you, and one for the lawyers. They even have these colored tabs so you know where to sign.”
Ben eyed the folder, but made no move to take it.
“I’m not asking you to do this,” said Hux. “I’m telling you. This should have been finalized years ago.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Jesus Christ, Ben. We’re not children anymore. Please don’t act like one.” He waved the folder. “Sign the papers and let me go home.”
“This is home. Or did you forget that off wherever you’ve been?”
“No,” said Hux. “Not anymore. I have a life in New York, and I’m going back to it as soon as you sign the damn papers.”
“Why now?” Ben said.
“Because I’m flying out tomorrow at�—”
“No. Why do you want the divorce now?”
Hux wet his lips. It shouldn’t have been hard to say it, to tell Ben that he was getting married again, but the words wouldn’t come. “It’s...time.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
Ben glowered. “You don’t think I have a right to know who my husband is leaving me for?”
“I’m not your husband,” Hux sighed. “I haven’t been for a long time.”
Ben looked at him for a long moment, his brown eyes searching, but then his expression hardened and he said, “I have to go.”
“What?” said Hux.
“You heard me,” said Ben, brushing past him. “I have somewhere I have to be.”
Grabbing his bag, Hux charged after him. “You can’t just leave. You need to sign these. Ben, stop.”
“I can’t do this right now. Come back...later.”
“Later? Absolutely not. You have to do this now. It will take thirty seconds.”
Ben sprang up the porch steps, Palpatine on his heels. “I have to read the papers.”
“You didn’t even read them when I sent them before?” Hux said as they reached the front door.
“I read the title. That was all I needed to see.”
“All you needed to see to know you weren’t going to sign them?”
“That’s right.”
“For God’s sake, Ben. I told you I don’t have time to argue with you, and I don’t. I’m getting married in two months.”
That brought Ben up short. He rounded on Hux, his eyes flashing. “Sounds like you have two months worth of time, then.” Opening the front door, he went through. The glass rattled as he slammed it in Hux’s face.
Hux watched him disappear into the dark recesses of the house, too stunned to move from his spot in front of the door. It wasn’t any surprise that the first thing they had done was fight, but Hux hadn’t expected it to end with him standing out in the cold with the unsigned divorce papers in his right hand. He rubbed his left across his forehead. He considered pounding on the door until Ben relented and let him in, but he wasn’t one to underestimate the pigheadedness of a Solo. So, instead, he shouldered his bag and started down the driveway toward the road.
There was only one place Ben could be going on a Friday evening, and that was Calrissian’s, the one and only watering hole in Arkanis. It was in the center of town, nearly three miles away, though, and Hux had no car. It wasn’t an impossible walk, but he was exhausted from flying all day and from the altercation with his soon-to-be ex husband. He needed something to eat and a shower, not necessarily in that order. As luck would have it, there was a place only about a mile away where he could get both: the Millennium Hotel.
Hux was chilled to the bone, his fingers starting to tingle painfully, when he finally crossed the threshold in the lobby of the hotel. Arkanis was far from a tourist destination and hardly needed a hotel, even one that had only twenty-six rooms, but it was kept open by the pipeline inspectors who came through on a regular basis. It was clean and well kept, smelling faintly of lemon-scented carpet soap.
There was a young woman in a neat blue blouse and a khaki skirt standing behind the desk as he approached. The standard bright smile and greeting she offered him faded when he got close enough for her to see him properly.
“Hello, Rey,” he said.
“Hux,” said Rey Skywalker, Ben’s only cousin and his closest friend. Her father Luke owned and managed the hotel. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here.”
“In your hotel lobby?”
“In Arkanis,” she hissed. “After what you did.”
Hux pressed his lips into a thin line. “You mean leaving town?”
“You didn’t just leave town.” She gave him a hard look. “Do you even know what Ben went through? No, of course you don’t because you ran away .”
“I went away,” he said. “I wasn’t running from anything.” He didn’t know why he was even having this conversation with her. He didn’t have to explain himself, especially not in the middle of the hotel at which he was trying to get a room for the night.
Rey leaned in. “You really believe that? Please. You ran off on Ben. You deserted him.”
Hux felt the familiar stab of pain at that, but Ben had refused to support him going to college, and Hux had had no other choice than to leave. Unwilling to argue with Rey, he said, “Are you telling me I can’t stay here?”
She stiffened, but turned to her computer monitor. “Is it just you?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see your ID.”
He passed her his New York driver’s license and his Visa card.
“Is a king bed okay, Mr. Hux?” Rey asked, placing a contemptuous emphasis on the surname. She had been there on the day he changed it to Solo and was apparently not about to let him forget it.
“That’s fine, yes.”
“Do you need a receipt?”
“No, thank you.”
“Okay.” She reached behind her and pulled a key—a real key, not one of the magnetic cards most hotels used—from the box behind the desk. “You’re in 108 for one night. It’s just one night, right? Then you’re leaving.”
He nodded.
Sliding the key across to him, she said, “Good. He doesn’t need you here anymore.”
Hux took it and left her, though he was sure he could still feel her staring daggers into his back. When he had first met Rey, she was a skinny slip of a girl two years younger than he was. He had arrived in Arkanis in the middle of the school year and was dropped into what was roughly the equivalent of his level in England, eighth grade. Rey had slid into the seat next to him on the bus, held out her small hand, and told him her name.
Hux had been most surprised by her accent, which didn’t sound like the slow drawls the rest of the Americans had.
“I was born in London,” she had told him. “My dad brought me here a year ago when my mum died. You’re from England, too.”
“Leicester,” he had said.
“What are you doing here?”
“My father works for First Order Petroleum. They run—”
“The pipeline. I know. That’s cool. What’s your name?”
“Hux.”
“Nice to meet you, Hux.”
She had shown him to his homeroom class when they had gotten to the school building. Singular. There were few enough people in Arkanis that the elementary, middle, and high schools shared the same building.
Hux had made friends fairly quickly, much to his satisfaction, but Rey did not remain among them. At least not at first. She still waved to him whenever they were in the same part of the hall, but they didn’t bond over their shared birthplace as he and Phasma had many years later. However, as Hux had grown closer to Ben over the course of their first two years in high school, Rey’s friendship had come along with it.
Though they hadn’t spent their whole childhoods together, Ben and Rey were as close as siblings. She had been the amalgamation of best man and maid of honor when he and Hux were married. She had been sixteen then and still had her braces on. It hadn’t stopped her from smiling radiantly when her cousin said “I do” as Hux slid a ring onto his finger.
Absently, Hux rubbed his thumb against the underside of his left ring finger. He had done it often after he had left the gold band on his bedside table in the cabin, but the slight indentation where it had once sat had long since disappeared. When he was nervous, though, he still found himself doing it.
The key stuck a little in the door to room 108, but he got it open after a few turns and walked in. The lights were off, so he flicked them on. The room was nondescript, as most hotel rooms were, though instead of commercially produced, abstract art or prints of pastoral cottage scenes, there were framed photographs of the natural wonders of this part of the Alaska on the walls. In the corner of each one were the initials FF. Finn Fischer had been in Rey’s year in school, and had always been quite good with a camera. Hux was pleased to see that he was still taking pictures.
Tossing his bag onto the floor at the foot of the bed, Hux went immediately into the bathroom. He took a long, hot shower, shaved, and put on some clean clothes. The black slacks and emerald green button down shirt were far too much for Calrissian’s, but he hadn’t brought jeans or an appropriately shabby flannel pullover. He combed his hair and treated it with a bit of pomade before pulling on his shoes again.
Rey was thankfully gone from the desk when he walked back into the lobby, replaced by a older woman with bottle blond hair. “Have a good evening, sir,” she said as he passed.
He was already halfway to the bar when he realized he had left the divorce papers back in his room.
“Shit,” he muttered, tugging the collar of his coat tighter around his neck and preparing himself to face Ben again.