Chapter Text
Trach
An average day for Commander Masir Trach of the Star Destroyer Steadfast would look something like this:
0530: wake up, drag himself into the sanisteam, pull on the uniform he’d laid out the night before, and make his way to the canteen.
0615: Find the rest of Pryde’s team in the mess hall, and listen to them complain about General Hux while he drank his caf and ate his plate of generic breakfast rations.
0700: Shift begins. Trach was an Electronic Countermeasures specialist, trained to run interference on enemy assets and communications at medium to close range. On more exciting shifts — such as that one awesome day three months ago when he’d been jamming Resistance transmissions from orbit around Crait like a badass — this meant Trach would be on the front line of defense in battle. On an average day, however, he would spend most of his shift monitoring the scanners, maintaining and running system updates, navigating the neverending stream of conflicting orders from General Hux and Allegiant General Pryde, and flirting with the cute dark-haired Lieutenant on Weapons.
1600: Shift ends. Typically, once he was relieved from his shift, he would consider asking the cute dark-haired Lieutenant out for a drink, fail to do so, and curse himself briefly for his cowardice. He would then follow the Lieutenant and the rest of Hux’s team to the mess hall, where he would listen to them complain about Allegiant General Pryde while he drank his tea and ate his plate of generic evening rations and laughed a little too loudly at the dark-haired Lieutenant’s jokes.
After that, it was half an hour in the gym, half an hour of study, and several hours of drifting off to First-Order-sanctioned holovids about brave Imperial heroes who never backed down from a fight against the Rebellion (or the opportunity to ask a cute dark-haired Lieutenant out on a date, probably). And then at some point Masir would fall asleep, and the whole thing would begin again at 0530 the next cycle.
This, however, was not an average day.
First of all, Trach had to wake up at 0500, because his dress uniform took an extra half hour to put on. Then, in the mess hall, the topic of conversation was two-fold; first, it was how pointlessly uncomfortable everyone’s dress uniforms were, and second, it was how Pryde had the worst taste in men ever and how General Hux was probably just in it for political power or something. Trach, as usual, quietly refrained from comment.
His 0700 shift began as usual, except that Petty Officer Kerjo Haliv (who was in standard dress) snorted with laughter at the sight of Trach’s uniform and told him he looked like a twat. In retaliation, Masir had a discreet look at his update schedule, and moved Haliv’s request — something about a security system patch for Pryde’s personal estate — right down to the bottom of the list.
Halfway through the shift, Masir was relieved of his post, along with about half of the bridge staff, and escorted via command shuttle to the surface of the planet Alsakan, in preparation for the wedding of Allegiant General Enric Pryde and General Armitage Hux.
Hux
“How do I look?”
Hux adjusted his cuffs as he spoke, deliberately avoiding the sight of his reflection. He could feel Opan carefully rearranging the chains on his shoulders before stepping away.
“Perfectly presentable, sir,” the assassin told him. “There’s… still time to delay this until the Supreme Leader returns from his mission — ”
“I have no interest in what the Supreme Leader is doing,” clipped Hux.
After a long hesitation, Opan said, “If you would only tell me why this is necessary, perhaps I could help.”
“This isn’t something you can help with.” Finally, Hux forced himself to meet his own eyes in the mirror. His gaze was hard and resigned. “Don’t worry, Tritt. I’ll be fine. In the meanwhile, you have your orders.”
Trach
He’d managed to wrangle a seat next to the dark-haired Lieutenant for the ceremony. Dopheld Mitaka was distinctly white-faced and nervous, and, after a long period of consideration, Masir leant over and muttered, “Are you okay?”
“Hm?” Mitaka glanced at him, his expression closing off. “Oh. Yes. I’m fine.”
“Do you maybe want to get a drink after this?” Trach murmured, although it came out sounding more like ‘dyoumaybewangeadrinfths’, and Mitaka shot him a confused frown.
“Sorry?”
“Nothing,” said Masir, sinking down a little in his seat.
The wedding proceeded without incident. The First Order didn’t go in for the decadent theatrics of the Republic, so it was short and functional, and led quickly to the reception, where Masir slunk off to grab a glass of something alcoholic while Pryde and Hux stood chatting with the Allegiant General’s inner circle, the older man’s arm clamped tight around the younger’s waist. The sight made Trach feel strangely ill, and when he saw Mitaka head out for some air, he took the opportunity to follow.
The Alsakan sky was cold and bleak, and already darkening into night. Trach found the Lieutenant smoking a cigarra against the side of the ceremony hall.
“Oh, sorry. Didn’t know anyone was out here,” lied Trach.
“It’s fine.” Mitaka smiled weakly at him. Masir searched desperately for a topic of conversation.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” he said.
“Ah. I don’t, usually.”
“Listen. This is weird, right?” Trach blurted out, after an extended pause. “I can’t be the only person who thinks this is really weird.”
“I suppose not.” Mitaka began nervously tapping his foot against the duracrete. “I’m afraid I can’t speak to the General’s personal tastes.”
“Alright, but — they hate each other.”
“Apparently not.”
“I’ve been their go-between for three months. I’m pretty sure they do.” Trach watched the Lieutenant’s expression carefully. “Look, you’re his adjutant. You must know what’s — ”
“I don’t,” snapped Mitaka. He ashed his cigarra with one trembling hand. “Just — it’s none of my business and it’s none of yours. I’ll see you later.”
Masir watched the other man leave with a sinking feeling in his chest. When he returned to the reception hall, Mitaka was already disappearing into the crowd, and Trach’s attempt to follow was stymied by the approach of the Allegiant General himself.
He offered a raise of his glass and a smug half-smile, and Masir responded with an awkward, “Sir. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Commander.” Pryde leaned in conspiratorially. “So. You and that Lieutenant, eh?”
“Oh! Er, no sir, it’s not like that,” Trach fumbled. “I mean, with the difference in, in rank and everything, I wouldn’t dream of, you know — ”
He’d been about to say fraternizing without completing the relevant forms but Pryde stopped him with a wink.
“Taking advantage of your position?” he said, with a heavy irony that made Masir blink. “Don’t worry. I’ll ensure he doesn’t make a fuss.”
“Erm. Thank you, sir,” Trach managed. “That’s…” Creepy. “...very kind of you, but I’m sure it won’t be necessary.”
“Yes, yes, you’re probably right. He’s not the sort.” Pryde gave a small, slightly tipsy wave of the hand. “If you’ll excuse me — ”
“Of course,” said Trach. “Right. Congratulations again.”
There must be something about my face that attracts weirdos , he found himself thinking, as one of the two Knights of Ren who’d remained with the fleet waylaid Masir en route to the bar and asked him if he was “THE ONE WHO CAN WAGE WAR ON MACHINES” and what measures one might take “IN ORDER TO BETTER STRIKE FEAR INTO THE HEARTS OF OUR PREY”.
“Well,” Masir replied, as he glanced around for a way out of the conversation, “I suppose stealth would be the best way to go about that. I’ve noticed your insulation buffers are under quite a bit of strain, and the, er, resulting gas trail makes the Night Buzzard easier to track — ”
“THAT IS INTENTIONAL,” one of the Knights cut in, ominously. “OUR ENEMIES MUST KNOW WE ARE COMING FOR THEM.”
“O-oh-okay. In that case, I suppose it wouldn’t be too difficult to increase the range of your jammers and maybe install something that allows you to… to play scary noises through the onboard speakers of approaching vessels…?”
“THAT IS ACCEPTABLE. TELL US MORE.”
Trach made one last attempt to locate Mitaka in the crowd around them before giving up and downing his drink.
Hux
“Just promise you won’t hurt him.”
Pryde’s breath on his neck. Pryde’s hands on his skin. This was all too familiar. Hux’s flesh crawled as the older man eased his greatcoat from his shoulders and pressed a mockingly gentle kiss to his neck.
“Do what I say, and I won’t have to,” he murmured. His breaths were quick already, the hard jut of his arousal pressing against Hux’s back.
It was hard not to blame Mitaka, but something told Hux that this would have happened anyway. Ever since things between he and Kylo went sour, Hux had become acutely aware of his own vulnerability in the presence of his father’s old cronies. Pryde in particular, he knew, had been waiting for the opportunity to strike.
And he’d found it.
As if from a distance, he felt Pryde press his body forward until he was bent over the edge of the bed; felt the rough hitch-down of his opened belt, the cold drip of lube between his cheeks. The leather of Hux’s gloves made a quiet squeak as he curled his hands into fists.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Pryde crooned. “Everyone’s a bit shy on their wedding night.”
Hux couldn’t keep back the small choking sound as Pryde shoved into him, his body now unused to the rough treatment.
He’d been young, the first time. It had been far worse. But at least back then he’d been able to leave.
Chapter Text
Trach
Trach awoke at 0530 the next day, with a blistering hangover and faint memories of listening to Trudgen and Vicrul Ren expound long into the evening about how much they enjoyed beheading people.
He had a vague recollection of being dragged onto the Night Buzzard to do some tech support, as well, but that could have just been a really bad dream. There probably wasn’t much difference in aesthetics.
He dragged himself groaning into the sanisteam, and carefully checked himself over for ill-advised Sith tattoos or any other sign that he might have been inducted into a cult. Then he spent five minutes trying to locate his uniform in the pile of clean laundry that he’d forgotten to hang up last night, another five trying to smooth out the worst creases with his hands, and five more trying to remember where his code cylinders had got to.
He made it to the mess hall fifteen minutes later than usual, and eschewed his generic breakfast rations in favour of a second cup of caff, which he sipped carefully as snatches of conversation filtered in through the headache.
“... really doing it...”
“... who cares why? He’s out of our hair, isn’t he?”
“... don’t hate each other after all...”
“Guess you’ll be joining our side officially now, eh, Commander?”
“What?” Trach looked up blearily into the eyes of Lieutenant Garan, an earnest young woman whose work in signals intelligence frequently brought her into contact with Masir. She was nice enough, although her voice was perhaps a little too loud for this time of the morning.
“What, you didn’t read the memo?” she asked him. “General Hux is resigning.”
The official announcement went out at 0900 hours. Lieutenant Mitaka was not at his station. Trach glanced over at it as the rest of the bridge crew stood to attention, listening to the news with expressions varying from surprise to concern.
Captain Opan, Hux’s personal aide anddefinitely-not-assassin, was also conspicuously absent. The sinking feeling in Masir’s stomach grew heavier, and did not relent at all when, at 1300, he was called into a side room for a conference holocall with the Allegiant General.
“I have a proposal for you,” Pryde told him, his lilting tones interspersed by static. “I know you’ve been Hux’s man for a while, but now he’s decided to settle down and disband his personal staff and I’d hate to see you shunted off to the arse end of the fleet. How would you feel about becoming my aide?”
Masir assumed his best sabacc face, and gave what he hoped was a thoughtful nod.
“You don’t have to answer now, and of course I’d understand if your career goals lay elsewhere,” the General continued. “But I need capable officers to take care of my estate while I’m with the fleet, and I really do think you’d like this assignment, Masir. It could be a fascinating new direction for you.”
It did not sound like a fascinating new direction, to be honest. It sounded more like how a well-groomed sarlacc might invite someone to come and inspect their teeth. But Trach didn’t want to offend Pryde with an immediate refusal. He smiled politely, said he’d think about it, and went back to his station.
Things were not quite as Masir had left them. He’d laid his uniform cap on the edge of the console, and now it was upside down and filled with some kind of sticky, greyish dirt. A strip of charred-looking flimsi had been placed in the centre.
Masir picked it up with the tip of his finger and thumb, frowning.
“One of the Supreme Leader’s ghouls left that for you, sir,” explained Lieutenant Garan, eyes bright with curiosity. Trach blinked at her. “You know,” she prompted. “The Knights. The one with the…” She made a gesture over her face that probably meant ‘mask’. It didn’t really narrow things down.
Masir stared at the piece of flimsi. TO THE ONE WHO WAGES WAR UPON MACHINES, it read. YOUR ASSISTANCE IS ONCE AGAIN REQUIRED. BE AT HANGAR BAY CRESH-3 AT 2030 OR WE SHALL BE FORCED TO FETCH YOU.
“Right,” he said. “Okay. Did he explain why he was leaving me a pile of… of crumbly dust as well, Lieutenant?”
“It’s the ashes of one of their enemies,” the young woman explained. “It’s a great honour, sir.”
“It’s all over my hat,” murmured Trach weakly.
“Yes. A great honour.”
Throwing them away would probably come across as a great offence, so absent of anywhere better to put them, he awkwardly tipped them into his pocket, resolving to find a nice pot for them later, or something. Then he went to the freshers and washed his hands five times.
Hux
“Happy now?” he asked Pryde, as the older man smoothed his hands possessively over Hux’s shoulders.
“Nearly,” he said. “Just one more thing.”
Hux watched him flatly as he moved to his bedside cabinet, pulling out a gold-inlaid box and placing it on the dressing table before them. Pryde was a man who seldom smiled, so the rare instances where he did were all the more sinister.
He opened the box. Hux recoiled.
“No. Absolutely not,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Pryde held up the metal collar, laid open at the central clasp like two halves of a bear trap. “Your Lieutenant was so extremely helpful, after all, and there’s still time for me to make all that evidence public. Perhaps we’ll see what High Command thinks of your treachery.”
Hux decided against telling him that execution was starting to look more appealing. Instead, he took a deep breath. You can endure this , he told himself. Just wait. One day, he’ll slip up, and you’ll be there ready with the knife.
Out loud, he said, “We should have left the announcement longer. People will suspect something.”
“Let them.” Pryde placed the collar around Hux’s neck and closed it with a snap. “You and I both know that your allies hold no power any more.”
Trach
Trach arrived early. He didn’t know what the Knights of Ren thought about lack of punctuality, but he didn’t want to find out.
Hangar Cresh-3 was relatively empty, and the Night Buzzard was not difficult to find; it stuck out like… well. Like a dubiously spaceworthy pile of trash in the middle of a First Order hangar bay, which was exactly what it was.
As Masir made his way across the vacant landing pads, he caught a glimpse of a solitary figure weaving its way through to the decommissioned shuttles beyond, and did a double-take.
“Dopheld?”
Mitaka turned around, and Trach corrected himself. “I mean—Lieutenant.” The man’s expression was somewhere between wary and pained, and as Trach drew near, he noticed an equipment bag slung over Dopheld’s shoulder. He frowned.
“What are you doing?” he asked. Mitaka looked away.
“Can you… do me a favour, please, Commander?” he asked. “Just—maybe don’t mention you’ve seen me here?”
“Okay,” Trach replied slowly. “Is… everything alright?” His gaze flicked to the kit bag.
“It’s fine. I’m sorry, sir, I have to go—”
The Lieutenant’s uneasy stance and darting eyes made hairs prickle at the back of Masir’s neck. “Is this about Hux resigning?” he asked. “Look, I’m not going to get you in trouble, but can you just… tell me what’s going on?”
Mitaka swallowed visibly. “I made a mistake,” he said. “I’m trying to fix it.”
“Right.” Trach bit his lip. This was all getting seriously weird now. “Just… be safe, yeah?”
“You too.” Mitaka turned part-way, and then paused. “And… Commander? Don’t be alone in a room with General Pryde. It’s not worth it.”
Trach could only nod in answer. He watched Mitaka make his way toward one of the supposedly decommissioned shuttles, feeling a chill settle over his skin.
When he heard it take off a few minutes later, he found he was not surprised at all.
He woke the next morning to a new hangover, a reassuring lack of Sith tattoos, and a shipwide memo announcing the death of Dopheld Mitaka.
Apparently there had been a small explosion in the aft weapons battery maintenance shaft. Lieutenant Mitaka had been performing diagnostics when a random electrical short resulted in an unexpected detonation. His death was confirmed by medics at 1941 ship’s time—a full half hour before Masir had met him in the hangar.
Something was very wrong here.
“Terrible shame about that weapons officer last night,” crooned Pryde, over the holo. “I’ve heard you were quite fond of him. But I’m assuming you haven’t called to commiserate. Have you considered my offer?”
“Yes,” said Trach. “I’ll do it.”
“Perfect. I’ll send a shuttle tomorrow.”
Hux
“You promised you wouldn’t hurt him!”
Naked aside from the collar and wrist binders, Hux felt every bit like a helpless supplicant at Pryde’s feet.
When he was first shown into the secret room adjoining the Allegiant General’s quarters, whose walls were lined with canes and restraints and other tools whose purpose he didn’t want to think about, Hux had assumed that he would only be an occasional visitor here.
He had known already that Pryde’s tastes ran to the sadistic. He’d thought he could handle it. A temporary endurance whenever his darling husband deigned to visit the estate, and then Pryde would return to the fleet once more, and he’d be free. Relatively speaking.
Now, he was starting to suspect he would never be allowed to leave.
Pryde tucked the handle of his whip under one arm, stiff and imperious, in the same manner as he might have borne a swagger stick during drills. Behind him, Mitaka strained tearfully against his bindings, and Hux took a deep, steadying breath, willing himself to stay calm.
“That was before Lieutenant Mitaka started nosing around in matters which didn’t concern him,” Pryde intoned. “Besides, I’ve barely touched him, and I don’t intend to for a while. I’m going to leave that pleasure to you.”
He offered out the whip. Hux grit his teeth.
“No,” he said.
Pryde narrowed his eyes.
“Are you still trying to work out how to disarm me while your wrists are bound?” he taunted. “I’ll save you some time: even if you kill me, you won’t be able to leave this room. You’ll starve in here. And I think you know it’s not worth the risk anyway.”
When Hux’s hesitation dragged on, the Allegiant General threw the whip down in front of him with a snap that made both captives wince.
“This is your only warning, Armitage,” he said. “Pick it up, or I will. And I won’t be anywhere near as merciful as you.”
“Sir?” Mitaka’s voice was high and fearful; Hux could see the places where the ropes were beginning to cut into his skin.
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” he said, and took the whip, readying himself to stand.
Chapter Text
Trach
It wasn’t until the laundry droids had already been round that Masir realised he’d forgotten to take the ashes out of his pocket the other day. Welp. He just had to hope that Vicrul and Trudgen weren’t going to ask questions, because he had bigger things to worry about now.
Pryde had signed him off for the cycle, and sent a shuttle to escort him down. Like most buildings on Alsakan, the Allegiant General’s estate was a stark and functional affair, all duracrete blocks and windowless facades. The guards who met him in the hangar wore the usual First Order uniforms, with only their swagger sticks to distinguish them from the crew of the Steadfast, still high in orbit above them.
“I’ve had you and Petty Officer Haliv reassigned to my personal staff,” Pryde told him, as the two made their way into the main atrium. “You’ll have a variety of duties; mainly working with my chief Security officer to monitor incoming traffic and so forth, but with some… more eclectic duties alongside. I’m sure I can count on your discretion.”
“Yes, sir,” Trach managed. That sinking feeling in his gut was starting to become unsettlingly familiar. “Happy to serve.”
His orientation passed with reassuring normalcy, although Trach couldn’t help but feel he was wasted here. There wasn’t much call for an ECM specialist planetside, especially on Pryde’s home ground, where Resistance incursion was going to be scarce at most.
It was only when Pryde came to fetch him in the evening that Masir finally learnt why the General had invited him here.
He’d assumed, perhaps naïvely, that Pryde was only trying to scoop up the last of Hux’s retinue before anyone else could get to them. He’d worked closely with the former General, after all, and there wasn’t a moment in the day where someone on the Supreme Council wasn’t trying to get dirt on someone else.
Trach, who had only ever been peripheral to Hux’s operations, had very little dirt to provide. Hopefully, it would still be enough to string the Allegiant General along until he had a clearer idea of what was happening down here.
But then Pryde had led him into his personal chambers (where Mitaka’s warning about not being alone with him rang alarmingly clear in Masir’s head) and pressed a panel under his desk. Nearby, a ceiling-height mirror receded into the floor, and the Allegiant General beckoned Trach through with a smirk.
He’d been expecting some kind of secret vault or monitoring room or—well, pretty much anything except a sex dungeon, which this room definitely was . Canes, whips and floggers adorned the grey-panelled walls, interspersed with O-rings and restraints at varying levels. There was a hook hanging from the ceiling, and a cage in the corner, and an actual kriffing interrogation chair , and none of that was even the worst part of it, because…
“... General?”
“Not any more,” murmured the cage’s naked occupant. Hux was rigged up in a complex web of black leather straps and durasteel bindings that Trach recognized belatedly as some form of predicament bondage (sometimes his holofilm watching habits veered into interesting places). Hux’s ankles were fixed to the corners of the cage in front of him, holding his legs apart; each wrist was bound at the opposite diagonal behind him, giving Hux the unenviable choice between holding himself up by the bars or lowering himself down onto what Trach wasn’t looking too hard at but was almost certainly some kind of dildo.
Masir had to take a moment.
So this is a thing now , he thought. Not only is Pryde creepy and intimidating and a bit weird in general, he has General Hux imprisoned in a literal sex dungeon, which I have just walked into, like the gullible twat I am.
Was he going to be chained up here too? He felt Pryde’s hand clamp down onto his shoulder and jolted, wondering if he could get away with reaching for his blaster. The Allegiant General’s next words, however, made him pause.
“Like what you see, eh? Well, there’s more.”
What was it about Masir that made people think he agreed with them? Seriously. If it wasn’t Lieutenant Garan waxing lyrical on how ‘Hux only got his job because his dad had it first’, it was Petty Officer Haliv talking about how attractive his collection of replica knives made him to women, or Vicrul and Trudgen Ren expounding in graphic detail about how much they enjoyed ‘MAKING LOVE TO ONE ANOTHER IN THE CHARRED VISCERA OF OUR SLAIN FOES’. Nobody in Masir’s day-to-day ever seemed to interpret his polite smiling and nodding as anything other than wholehearted agreement. It was weird . But it was nowhere near as weird as what Pryde drew his attention to next.
In the opposite corner of the room to Hux was a kneeling figure, equally naked and equally familiar. Mitaka was neither bound nor collared, but his hands were secured behind him with binders, and his eyes widened at the sight of Trach.
Lightheaded with panic and disbelief, Masir forced himself to hold the younger man’s gaze. There was shame in his expression, and betrayal, but after a moment, realisation took its place, with relief quick on its heels. You came for me , his eyes seemed to say—so clear and certain that if Mitaka’s lips hadn’t been pressed shut, Masir would have sworn the younger man was speaking out loud.
“Think of him as an… additional benefit to your position,” Pryde said, magnanimous. “I see great things in your future, Commander, and loyalty such as yours demands acknowledgement.”
“Great,” said Masir, still feeling a bit dizzy. “Thank you, sir. Really appreciate it. If you don’t mind, though, I might leave it till later—”
“Oh, no. I insist.” There was a dangerous edge to Pryde’s voice now. “An officer in our position can’t afford to be shy, after all, and I’m sure you don’t mean to appear ungrateful.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” Masir found himself saying. “So can I just—"
Pryde cocked his head, beckoning Dopheld over, and Masir bit back a shudder at the way the young man winced when he stood up. There were friction burns around his ankles, and small beads of sweat gathering beneath the loose black strands of hair over his forehead. When he turned around at Pryde’s gesture to allow the Allegiant General to undo his binders, Trach caught a glimpse of the angry red welts over his back.
He took a long, steadying breath. Mitaka was affecting a fearful expression again, but as he sank to his knees before Masir, he mouthed, “Cameras.”
Masir’s heart sank. So this was Pryde’s play—get Trach on tape doing something reprehensible, and use it as leverage. He gave Mitaka a tiny nod as the Lieutenant rested his hands on Trach’s thighs.
The Allegiant General had moved to stand by Hux’s cage, and was lighting a cigarra while he watched the two of them. With his back to his captor, Dopheld twitched his shoulders and made a noise like a sob. “Pretend I’m pleading,” he whispered, inhaling halfway through the sentence in a frankly masterful impression of someone trying to hold back tears.
“Yeah, well—do what I say and I won’t have to hurt you,” Trach replied loudly. He was trying to sound authoritative, although seeing Dopheld open his tunic and go for the fastening of his trousers was doing complex things to his emotional equilibrium.
A cry of pain split the air, and Masir couldn’t help looking for its source. Pryde was crouched down beside the cage, driving the butt of his cigarra against Hux’s fingers. The younger General had his hands clamped tight around the bars, trying to keep himself from descending any further onto… whatever it was beneath him. But his eyes were fixed on Trach’s.
He’s covering for us , Masir realised. There must be microphones in here too. Kriff . He forced himself to reach out and curl his fist into Mitaka’s hair, although he couldn’t bring himself to be rough. When Hux cried out again, Mitaka used the sound as cover for his own hurried whisper.
“He’s blackmailed us both. Try to get hold of Captain Opan.”
Trach nodded again. His pulse was pounding in his ears by the time Dopheld’s hand closed gently around his cock. He wasn’t convinced he was actually going to be able to get hard, and the thought terrified him, but then his body began to respond to the warmth of the Lieutenant’s fingers, and that was even more terrifying.
Was he actually going to… wait, was this rape ? Clearly they were both doing this under duress, but Masir could still theoretically say no, even though it might potentially lead to him being shot and discreetly disposed of. But then Mitaka and Hux might be trapped here, and… kriff. His thoughts were freezing up. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed.
“It’s okay.” Dopheld’s breath trembled against his hardening shaft. “He’ll expect you to finish.”
Hux screamed . Automatically, Trach lifted his head in the man’s direction, but Mitaka hissed, “Look at me,” and then, more gently, “It’s alright. Just pretend I’m someone else.”
“Don’t need to,” said Masir, without thinking, and instantly felt like an immense dickhead. Of all the times to confess his attraction, this had to be the worst.
Mitaka stared up at him, eyebrows lifted. Trach swallowed and steeled himself before raising his voice once more.
“Now - get down to it, and, er, if you even think about biting me, I’ll -” Shit, he was so bad at this. He’d come out of his Interrogation Techniques course with the second lowest mark in the class. “I’ll… punch you in the face.”
“You’ll get the hang of it,” interjected Pryde, over the sound of Hux’s laboured breathing. If the man was acting, he was doing a brilliant job; together with the reminder of Pryde’s presence, it was nearly enough to kill his erection entirely. Nearly.
Mitaka squeezed his thigh, and swallowed him down.
For all Trach's concern, it was mercifully quick in the end. His orgasm crept up on him almost by surprise, brief and physical and entirely disconnected from any kind of eroticism. He'd had just enough warning to pull Dopheld's head away and come all over his chest and throat instead. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than the alternative, and Mitaka seemed grateful for the reprieve.
"I'll be remaining here for a while longer," Pryde said lazily, as he ushered Trach to the door, tapping in the keycode before laying his hand on the biometric scanner. "But I'm sure I'll see you bright and early tomorrow, Commander." His hand clamped down on Masir's shoulder. "Incidentally - I don't doubt you're a man of great sincerity and discretion, but for my own peace of mind, I'll be retaining a recording of what happened here today. I do hope you understand."
"Absolutely, sir," Trach replied, trying to sound every bit as enthusiastic as he didn't feel. "Thank you again for your hospitality. I can see I'll enjoy this assignment."
He glanced back in Mitaka's direction, but he was already being led out and into Pryde's chambers. "Oh, you'll see him again," the Allegiant General said, with an indulgent smile. "Don't worry."
Trach's panic attack was polite enough to last until he was back in his personal fresher, where he could swear and gasp for breath and say what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck to his heart's content without the risk of being overheard. Obviously his quarters were bugged, but unless Pryde had taken the trouble of installing an expensive steam-proof microphone—unlikely—the hiss of the sanisteam was enough to ensure his privacy.
He was fairly sure he was in deep shit now, and a terrible person, and that he'd never want another orgasm in his life. He'd just walked into a room where two of his fellow officers were being kept as sex slaves and then walked out again without them . He'd basically forced himself on Mitaka, and no amount of reassuring himself that they'd both been unwilling would stop Masir from wanting to scrub at his skin until it was raw. He resisted the urge, though.
Instead, he turned off the sanisteam, went to bed, and didn't sleep.
Hux
In return for good behaviour—which here entailed allowing Pryde to draw a reaction out of him—Hux had been released from the cage and permitted to sleep. He and Mitaka had been leashed to the wall furthest from the door, with just enough slack to lie down freely.
They had only one thin blanket between them, but being out of those binds was better than nothing. He had enough space to stretch his limbs and ease the aches that came with extended immobility, after which Mitaka helped massage the circulation back into his feet while his own hands were out of operation.
Pryde had given him only enough medical care to ensure that the burns wouldn't get infected. Painkillers were out of the question, but if he concentrated hard enough on the parts that didn't hurt, sometimes he could forget about the parts that did.
"How's your back?" he asked Dopheld.
The Lieutenant's hands paused, and he looked at the floor. "Not great," he admitted, in a quiet voice. Then he assumed a false tone of amusement. "But I'm quite happy to be the bigger spoon again."
The lights never went off, but the room got cold when Pryde wasn't there. That was probably deliberate. It wasn't a dangerous cold—or not in the short term—but it was enough to make sleep even more difficult. And there was another advantage to sharing body heat, too. As soon as the blanket was covering them both, Mitaka took Hux's palm under the covers and began tracing individual Aurebesh characters with his finger.
T o l d - T r a c h - t o - c o n t a c t - O p a n.
He wrote slowly and then repeated the message, allowing Hux time to process between letters and clasping his hand tight when each iteration was finished.
G o o d, Hux traced in turn. Then, S t r e s s - c a u t i o n.
While Hux was not someone who trusted easily, one glimpse at Masir Trach's first brief expression had been enough. Hux wasn't going to give himself false hope—was in fact fairly convinced that Masir would get himself killed in short order—but the possibility of rescue would keep Mitaka from breaking down while Captain Opan waited in the wings.
I - w i l l, Mitaka responded. W h a t - n o w ?
Hux wasn't sure how to respond. He dearly wanted to tell Mitaka that they could both expect to be rescued by morning, but the sad reality was that Hux had no idea how long his pet assassin might take to muster enough support for a coup. Assuming the Supreme Leader didn't decide to throw a hydrospanner into the works once he returned.
W a i t, he traced, after a pause. S u r v i v e.
He hoped it would be enough.
Trach
An average day for Commander Masir Trach now looked something like this:
0530: wake up. Check secure stolen datapad for any reply from Tritt Opan. Drag himself into the sanisteam. Panic, swear, maybe cry a little bit. Give himself a mental pep-talk while pulling on the uniform he’d laid out the night before, and make his way to the canteen.
0615: Gulp down some caf and generic breakfast rations with the security team, then head to Pryde’s quarters to arrive early for the morning briefing.
0645: Throw a couple of ration bars and some cleaning wipes at the inhabitants of Pryde’s creepy sex dungeon while the Allegiant General read through his memos. No time for any kind of covert communication, so Masir had to make do with a quick visual once-over of their injuries and, occasionally, a quiet panic attack in Pryde’s personal fresher.
0700: Morning briefing. Take notes. Drink more caf. Try not to think about creepy sex dungeon or associated prisoners therein.
0730: Shift begins. As predicted, there wasn’t much call for an ECM specialist, but the day-to-day running of estate security kept him busy enough, and when he wasn’t working, he was taking lots of notes . Building layout. Guard rotations. Surveillance feeds. He hadn’t yet figured out how to get access to the cameras in the—while Masir knew he should probably call it something else, he couldn’t think of it as anything other than Pryde’s creepy sex dungeon —but there was always tomorrow. He just had to stay calm, and be careful.
1700: Shift ends. Quick bite in the mess hall, then off to the on-site gym to work out some frustration and watch Kerjo Haliv practice combat moves with one of those ridiculous fucking replica knives of his. Why did he even have those? Why not just use a real knife? Maybe real knives were too expensive or not fancy-looking enough. Maybe the answer was that Kerjo Haliv was just a massive douchebag who existed solely to piss other people off. These questions kept Masir’s mind nicely occupied for an hour, and provided a welcome respite from thoughts such as ‘two of my colleagues are being kept in a sex dungeon by my new commanding officer’ or ‘guess what, I am a literal rapist now’ or ‘oh kriff oh kriff I’m in over my head and I’m going to die’.
1800: Back to his quarters. Check datapad for any reply from Tritt Opan. Sanisteam, panic, cry. Wait to see if Pryde would summon him.
If no: Sit at desk. Study. Look for opportunities, escape routes, ways to circumvent Pryde’s biometric lock. Try to work out how much time Pryde had in the day to actually sit and examine his private security feed. Probably there was a function that allowed him to see where there had been motion or sound in the room. Think about how to get around that. Think some more. Maybe take a third shower.
If yes: Make self presentable. Join Pryde for an evening of casual torture and sexual assault. Attempt to communicate reassuring messages or information to prisoners if possible; scream internally if not.
Then, back to his quarters. Definitely take a third shower.
After that, it was holofilms—difficult to pay attention to—and attempting to sleep.
Sometimes he even succeeded.
Hux
“General?”
The pain was bad enough; the helplessness was worse. Hux wanted to lift his head and reassure Mitaka that he was fine, but every movement felt like it was weighed down under tons of duracrete.
The burns on his fingers had finally begun to heal, but more had been added to the soles of his feet in the interim. Those felt swollen and itchy, and sang with pain from the ankles down every time he tried to shift them. Mitaka had done what little he could, but Hux had a terrible suspicion that the infection had already taken hold.
In his fevered state, he couldn’t tell what would be worse: surviving this, with or without the prospect of amputation, and continuing to endure Pryde’s abuse afterwards—or dying, and leaving Mitaka alone in Pryde’s clutches.
Opan was still out there. In theory, there was still hope. But theirs had never been a short-term plan. It would take weeks, perhaps months, for his assassin to arrange all the moving parts that would allow him to unseat Pryde’s authority, and it wasn’t even a certain bet.
What would happen when Masir saw him like this? Hux prayed the answer wouldn’t be ‘an attempt at a heroic rescue’. That was almost guaranteed to end with at least one of them being shot, and Hux still needed all the allies he could get.
He needed to communicate with Mitaka, but Pryde was always listening, and Hux’s fingers were shaking too hard for him to trace a message into the Lieutenant’s palm. In fact, in his current state, he wasn’t convinced he could even remember how to write .
Hux had a horrible feeling he was running out of time.
Chapter Text
Trach
The morning had not started off well.
It had been three days since Pryde had last invited Masir to his chambers, and the lack of opportunity to check up on Hux and Mitaka was beginning to get to him. His scheduled mini-breakdown in the sanisteam had seriously threatened to exceed its allotted time, and he could barely bring himself to force down his breakfast rations in the mess hall afterwards.
As if that wasn’t enough, on his way to Pryde’s quarters he’d slipped his hand into his pocket and finally discovered what remained of the ashes that Vicrul and Trudgen had given him. They’d clearly been through the laundry at least once and were now disconcertingly powdery, clinging to his uniform when he tried to wipe his fingers clean.
He tried to put it out of his mind while he braced himself to face the prisoners again. Trach hadn’t seen them since yesterday morning, and he was slightly worried about the cigarra burns on Hux’s feet—enough that he’d convinced Pryde to give the man some antibiotics on top of the usual topical bacta treatments. Pryde had looked supremely unconcerned as he pushed the button under the desk and waved Masir past, though. Perhaps that was a good sign—
Masir stopped dead as the door shut behind him, ration bars in hand. As usual, Hux and Mitaka had been secured to the opposite wall by way of a collar and leash. This time, though, the younger man was bent over his commanding officer, pressing the damp corner of their blanket to Hux’s pale forehead, and the General’s feet were red and swollen above his bandaged soles. The air had a faint, cloying bite to it that Trach recognized immediately as the scent of a septic wound.
This was bad. This was very bad. This was… ten minutes before the morning briefing. So no guards outside. But half an hour before shift change, so barely anyone would be in the halls. And he had a blaster. And… a way out. His brows furrowed, remembering.
“Can you pick him up?” he heard himself saying. Hux made a pained sound, but Mitaka nodded slowly. “Right. Get the two of you as far from the wall as possible. I’ll take care of the leashes.” He drew the blaster from his belt. “The sound will draw Pryde. I’ll shoot him as soon as he comes through, and I’ll hold open the door—"
There was a mechanical swish from behind them. Someone grabbed Trach’s arm and wrenched it behind his back.
“Too late,” Pryde hissed.
Masir didn’t even need to think. In fact, his mind went somewhere else entirely. As Masir’s free hand slipped into his pocket, it went, of all the times for that bastard to be listening in , and he didn’t even realize he was flinging the dried ashes in the Allegiant General’s face until the older man had staggered back and loosened his grip on Trach’s arm.
It was enough. Masir twisted the blaster and shot him, sending him sprawling, and stayed inside the doorway to keep it open while he blasted each prisoner’s leash free of the wall. Mitaka scooped up Hux into his arms—the ease of his movements told Masir that the General had become worryingly light over the course of his incarceration—and followed the Commander into Pryde’s chambers, and out into the corridor beyond.
Trach had reasoned that he wasn’t likely to meet anyone else at this hour of the day, but the reality was different. By the time they were halfway to the hangar, he’d had to shoot two of his fellow officers—the second while he was helping Mitaka carry Hux—and he wasn’t feeling good about their chances once they were within sight of a shuttle. The hangar was overlooked by windows on more than one side, and the guard rotations there were far more stringent. He made an executive decision.
“Duck into the public freshers on the right,” he said hurriedly. Mitaka frowned at him.
“The women’s freshers?” he repeated, as Hux’s head lolled onto his shoulder.
“Yeah, Chesille has her morning cigarra in there now. We can take her uniform and key card.”
“...right.” Taking Hux’s full weight again, Mitaka flattened himself against the wall beside the door and allowed Masir to enter first.
Trach banged open cubicle doors until an irritated shout drew him to the right one. He slammed it open and pointed his blaster in Chesille’s face.
“Get undressed,” he said, with a note of apology. “I promise this isn’t weird.”
“There are two naked men in collars behind you,” Chesille replied faintly.
Masir didn’t actually know much about Chesille, other than that she was smoking inside now because she didn’t want Kerjo Haliv—who had a view of the open hangar—to come out and talk to her. (Understandable.) But she didn’t seem too panicked by the situation, which meant she’d probably seen some combat. Trach prayed silently that she wouldn’t turn out to be some kind of close-quarters badass.
“I promise we aren’t going to hurt you as long as you take your clothes off,” he clarified. Yes, it sounded really bad, but Masir was just going to have to process that later.
Thankfully, her uniform was an acceptable fit for Mitaka, and after some brief discussion, she’d somehow managed to take her bra off from underneath her shirt (how??? Masir could only conclude that this was some manner of Sith sorcery) so they could secure her wrists and ankles while not feeling too weird about it.
Transporting Hux was going to be the stickler. Luckily, the trashcan was surprisingly roomy, and had a removable top, and wheels.
“I’m really sorry ,” Masir told Hux, as they folded him into it.
They finally left Chesille behind with a freshly-lit cigarra pinched between her lips, and pulled their hats down over their eyes as they carefully wheeled the waste bin ahead of them. By the time they were on the approach to a shuttle, everything was looking great. Then the doors opened behind them, and a barrage of shouts echoed across the duracrete. Oh, fuck.
“Give me the blaster and run,” Mitaka said quickly. “I’ll cover you.”
“I’m not leaving you!”
“I need to stay with Hux. Go, get help!”
There wasn’t time to argue. Masir set off into a run. Blaster bolts skimmed past him, but whatever Mitaka was doing was enough to keep them from hitting him while he jumped into the nearest shuttle and began the takeoff sequence.
With a few additions.
Fact: General Pryde’s estate was equipped with ground artillery capable of taking down approaching or departing craft. The right technology could jam their targeting systems entirely, allowing for a clean escape. This shuttle did not have the right technology. However…
Fact: Prior to the most recent patch, there had been a potential exploit in the First Order’s sensor operating system whereby someone who knew what they were doing could remotely force the scanners into training mode. This patch had been installed across the entire Order before Trach left the Steadfast. However…
Fact: Kerjo Haliv was an incorrigible dickhead, and Masir had put his update request for Pryde’s estate down to the very bottom of the queue and left it there—first on principle, and then because it might come in useful later on.
Masir could only hope that nobody had applied the patch between yesterday’s shift and now, because if they had, he was imperially fucked.
Only one way to find out.
Hux
It was no longer possible to differentiate between what was real and what was not, but General Hux was fairly certain that his vague memory of being folded into a trashcan by Trach and Mitaka was some kind of hallucination. Otherwise, he had several additional questions.
He was no longer in Pryde’s hidden chamber—that much was clear—but how he’d got from there to being curled up on the floor of Shuttle Control was far less clear.
Someone was pointing a blaster at him, which seemed a bit pointless. Mitaka was there, secured on either side by two guards and staring transfixed at the sensor display. Pryde was shouting orders in the background, his voice pained and angry and warring for dominance with the soothing tones of one of the estate medics.
“Alert the Steadfast!”
“—sir, if you could just keep your head still—"
“He’s going low, sir—they won’t be able to target him.”
Hux’s feet hurt a lot , but he’d sort of risen above that now.
“Then take him down now ! Shoot to destroy!”
“—think you might have a concussion, Allegiant General, so you really should be sitting down—"
“Locking on…”
The floor was nice and cool, at least. Hux decided to focus on that for now.
“ FIRE !”
“He’s down, sir!”
“No!” That was Mitaka’s voice. There was something odd about the tone of it. Hux felt his own eyebrows furrow.
“Excellent. Scan for wreckage and confirm. Detain that one until the medics are done with his friend, and then bring them both to my quarters.”
Whoever said “Yes, sir” was sounding distinctly uncomfortable now. Or perhaps he’d dreamt that. Consciousness was becoming harder to grasp by the moment, and Hux felt himself being carried through the darkness in gentle arms.
A long, long time later, someone was touching him. A finger on his palm. A pattern . Hux concentrated. This was important, although he didn’t know why.
Letters began to form in his mind.
A l i v e, they read. M a s i r - i s - a l i v e.
He could not, in the moment, remember what any of it meant. It gave him hope nonetheless.
Trach
The thing about training mode was that you only needed to hit close to a target to destroy it. Trach had no way of telling directly whether his plan had worked, but when he finally left the atmosphere without being blasted out of the sky, he thought he could safely assume that he was past the first hurdle.
Evading the Steadfast’s sensors was a different matter. For that, Masir had to make the shuttle look like a bit of random subspace chatter, and he wasn’t entirely confident the shuttle’s sub-standard jamming equipment was up to the task.
It was a relief, then, to catch the ghost of the Night Buzzard’s distinctive gas trail on the edge of his sensors. He followed it up and out into the void, trusting that the Steadfast would not look too closely at any fluctuations.
And then, all of a sudden, Masir Trach was free.
Now out of range, he took a moment to sit back and assess the situation. He was still running on adrenaline, but once that wore off he’d probably need to set aside half an hour for the inevitable panic attack, and maybe a bit of stress-vomiting as a treat.
In the meanwhile, he needed to work out what the fuck he was going to do now.
Tritt Opan was his first port of call. The Captain hadn’t yet responded to his messages, but when Masir opened a holochannel, he was on the other end within an instant. (Trach was faintly annoyed by that. If he had time to pick up a holo, he had time to answer a bloody message.)
“Give me twenty minutes, Lieutenant,” he said, confusingly. “Having a bit of audio trouble. I’ll call you back.”
Masir waited.
“I owe you an apology,” Tritt offered, when he finally resurfaced. “I couldn’t be confident that my messages weren’t being monitored. This line should be secure enough for the moment. What’s the situation?”
Masir tried to sum it up as best he could without using phrases like ‘creepy sex dungeon’ and ‘daily crying session in the sanisteam’. Tritt’s expression became ever more grave as he listened.
“That would explain why General Hux hasn’t been in contact,” he mused. “I’ve been extremely concerned, of course, but my orders were very clear; I’m to stay away and muster allies until the time is right to move.”
“Right, but—he’s seriously ill,” Trach pointed out. “And he’s—he and Mitaka, Pryde is… torturing them .”
Tritt’s voice was infuriatingly calm. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just not in any position to storm in and help. It could jeopardise the long-term—"
“Yeah, that’s great, but if Hux dies, there won’t be any long term!” Masir realized he was shouting. He wiped his eye with the heel of his palm.
“Let me finish. I’m not in any position to storm in. The Supreme Leader, however—"
“—is away on a mission, and hates General Hux.” Masir frowned. “What’s that look for?”
“Kylo Ren and General Hux have a… history,” explained the assassin slowly. “Their separation was acrimonious. But I believe, under the circumstances, he would want to intervene.”
Masir stared at him, taking this in.
“Unfortunately,” Tritt continued, “I don’t have any way to contact the Supreme Leader directly, but I could—"
“Don't worry. I think I do.”
It wasn’t hard to extrapolate the Night Buzzard’s position from the gas trail, and they were still moving at sub-lightspeed when Trach got within communications range. He offered a silent prayer of thanks to the Force, and then another quick prayer that it would be Vicrul or Trudgen at the helm and not someone who would open fire on him for shits and giggles.
“Night Buzzard, this is Masir Trach—the, er, the long-distance machine warfare guy,” he said into the mic, “Are Vicrul or Trudgen there? I’m… looking to get in touch with the Supreme Leader.”
A voice crackled through the channel. “THE SUPREME LEADER IS OTHERWISE ENGAGED.”
“Trudgen! Hi. Yeah, I think he’s really going to want to hear this.”
“THEN SPEAK, FRIEND MASIR, AND PRAY YOU DO NOT DETAIN US WITHOUT CAUSE.”
Trach took a deep breath. “Allegiant General Pryde is keeping one of my colleagues and the Supreme Leader’s ex-boyfriend in some kind of… nonconsensual sex dungeon situation and he’s been torturing them and now Hux’s wounds are getting infected and I’m worried he’s going to die.” He tried not to sound panicked. It happened anyway. "And I can't go back there because they caught me trying to break them out, and also I faked my own death, hopefully, and I'm only one man . I can't save them on my own."
There was a brief hesitation. “THAT IS INDEED CONCERNING,” Trudgen said. “VICRUL SHALL RELAY YOUR MESSAGE. HAVE YOU CALLED UPON THE FORCE FOR GUIDANCE?”
“Erm… don’t actually talk to the Force all that much, but if you think it’ll help—"
“I SENSE SKEPTICISM, FRIEND MASIR. THAT IS MOST STRANGE, GIVEN YOU ENGAGE IT ALL THE TIME.”
Trach felt his head sagging. “No, look, we’ve been through this. It’s not magic, it's all done by computer—"
“NOT THAT. YOU HAVE A GREAT SINCERITY, FRIEND MASIR—GREATER THAN EVEN YOU KNOW. WHY ELSE DO YOU BELIEVE PETTY OFFICER KERJO HALIV SPEAKS SO OFTEN TO YOU OF HIS FABRICATED SEXUAL PROWESS? OR THAT THOSE WHO WORK ALONGSIDE YOU CONFIDE THEIR PETTY RIVALRIES SO FREELY?”
Masir was struggling to get his head around this. “Are you saying that the Force makes people trust me?”
It sounded ridiculous, but it also made a weird kind of sense. He’d never been charismatic, or intimidating, or even particularly likeable if he was honest, but people seemed to assume by default that Masir was on their side . The reason he’d got the second lowest mark in his Interrogation course was that he couldn’t really bring himself to hurt his prisoner—but the guy had given up the information anyway. At the time, his instructor had commented (somewhat spitefully) that he probably just felt sorry for Masir, but… maybe that wasn’t the case at all.
Trudgen’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “VICRUL HAS SPOKEN WITH OUR MASTER,” he said. “HE WILL RETURN AS SOON AS HE CAN. IT WILL TAKE HIM FORTY-SIX HOURS TO REACH YOU. WE ARE TRANSMITTING COORDINATES NOW; AWAIT HIM THERE.”
Almost two days. Could Hux last that long? As if in answer to his unspoken question, Trudgen spoke again.
“WE GO NOW TO TAKE HIS PLACE IN BATTLE. FOR THE MOMENT, FRIEND MASIR? STAY ALIVE. THE REST WILL FOLLOW.”
Mitaka
The medics had done what they could, and were fairly reassuring about Hux’s chances, but he was still in no state to bear the brunt of Pryde’s anger. It was up to Mitaka to distract him, and the task was not a pleasant one.
Pressed face-first against the wall, he turned his eyes to Hux—slumped in the corner, pale but conscious—and immediately looked away again. The guilt in his General’s eyes was more than he could bear.
“Treacherous little whore,” Pryde was spitting, as he unbuckled his belt. “I should have just killed you and been done with it.”
“Better than having to endure your pathetic dick any longer,” Mitaka hissed, hiding his fear. He knew the only things keeping him alive were Hux’s weakened state and the Allegiant General’s sadistic need for vengeance. Once those two had run their course…
Mitaka didn’t want to think about it. After the first dry shove of Pryde’s cock inside him, there was no room to think about anything. It was a mercy that Pryde was still recovering from a blaster bolt-graze at close range, and couldn’t move as quickly or as viciously as he’d like.
“You know, Lieutenant,” he heard, through the wrenching haze of pain and his own involuntary cry, “I think I liked you better when you were unconscious.”
“Yeah, same,” Dopheld managed.
Pryde’s hand fisted in his hair. “You’ll pay for that.”
So will you , Mitaka thought. He hoped it was true.
Chapter Text
Trach
Masir Trach had forty-six hours to prepare. It was imperative that he be focused and well-rested by the time the Supreme Leader arrived, which meant taking time to relax, sleep, and keep his mind and body honed to a fine point.
Naturally, he spent almost the entire time worrying.
He did try to get some sleep, but the bunks in here were extremely uncomfortable and it was difficult to settle down when the First Order could conceivably turn up at any time and blast his defenceless little shuttle into smithereens.
He'd found an an emergency survival kit with ration bars and hygienic wipes, and that had kept him nicely occupied for thirty minutes before his mind returned to such classic hits as 'Hux and Mitaka are going to die and it will be my fault' and 'I am a terrible person and a coward'.
He also devoted some time to wondering why Kylo Ren was returning in person, instead of simply ordering the High Council to arrest Pryde and release Hux and Mitaka. Several possible answers emerged, in varying degrees of discouraging.
Most encouraging: Kylo Ren actually had given the order and Hux and Mitaka were being rescued and given medical care at this very moment. He was only coming to meet Trach in person because… he… wanted to give him a medal? Okay, no.
Slightly less encouraging: Kylo Ren expected Pryde to kill Hux and Mitaka and make a break for it as soon as the Order began to move against him. Kylo Ren still cared about Hux and didn't want him to die, so he was coming back alone to catch Pryde by surprise.
Significantly less encouraging: Kylo Ren was coming to verify Trach's story by probing his mind with the Force. He hadn't given the order to move against Pryde because he was ambivalent about Hux's wellbeing and didn't want to waste anyone's time unnecessarily, but he wanted to come here in person anyway so he could murder Trach if it turned out he was lying. Or just if he felt like it. Kylo Ren was a terrifyingly unpredictable person.
Extremely discouraging: Kylo Ren didn't care about Hux, or what Pryde was doing. He was only coming here so he could stop Trach from making any more trouble. By murdering him.
But even these thoughts were only a distraction from the worst and most important aspect of the situation—namely, that Trach had fucked up big time . If only he hadn't panicked when he'd seen how ill Hux was, if he'd only thought about the likelihood of Pryde arranging medical care, perhaps he'd still be in a position to help.
Now, though? He was floating in the dead of space, praying that nobody else would find him before Kylo Ren did, and meanwhile Hux and Mitaka were still down there, or possibly already dead, and there was nothing at all he could do.
Hux
“And you’re sure there’s no need for amputation?” asked Pryde.
Hux was lying on Pryde’s bed, for a change. No medics were allowed into the secret room, but they doubtless suspected its existence by now. The young woman examining him shot Hux a look that was some combination of concerned, alarmed, and sympathetic. It was a look that said ‘I am really sorry that my boss is apparently keeping you as a sex slave, but I also have no idea what to do about it’.
“Quite sure, Allegiant General,” she said. “Any longer and we might have considered it, but the infection seems to be under control.”
“Shame,” Pryde murmured. “How long until he’s fully recovered?”
Hux caught her eye and gave a fractional shake of the head. The medic swallowed nervously.
“Er, hard to say for certain, sir. Keep him warm, fed, and hydrated, and he should start improving at… some point in the next few weeks? Maybe? I’ll come back to check on him tomorrow.”
Pryde brought his lips close to Hux’s ear when the woman was gone.
“Don’t think you’re doing Mitaka a favour by dragging this out,” he whispered. “By the time you’re strong enough to kill him, I’ll make sure he’s begging you for it.”
Trach
Masir awoke to the screeching of his alarm. It was just his luck that the moment he settled into a decent sleep would be the very moment Kylo Ren was due to arrive. Luckily, he’d found a can of insta-caf stashed in one of the footwells, and had saved it especially for this moment.
He settled in front of the pilot's console and opened the pull-tab.
“This may be the last caf you’ll ever have, Masir,” he told himself. “Enjoy it while you can.”
He took a slow, savouring sip. It tasted like unwashed ass. Masir winced and chugged the rest down as quickly as possible, because he was committed now, and also he really needed to wake up.
“How was it?” asked Kylo Ren.
“Kriffing piss fuck what the fuck,” Masir said, as he simultaneously dropped the can, grabbed for his blaster and spun round in the pilot’s chair ready to fire.
Kylo looked at the blaster, then back at Masir. He was sitting casually in one of the passenger seats with his legs crossed and his cloak draped over the backrest behind him. There was something both threatening and unsettlingly mundane about the sight, like seeing a rathtar doing its laundry or something.
Masir wasn’t sure how to react. His mind had gone blank. He put down the blaster again, saluted, thought about it, stood up and saluted, and then clumsily knelt down and bowed his head.
“Supreme Leader,” he said. “Erm. How…?”
“Later.” Kylo lifted a hand. “Keep your mind open, or this will hurt.”
“What does that—"
Oh. That’s what it meant. Actually, the closest comparable feeling to having memories wrung out of his mind was pressure , rather than pain. Like having someone press down on a full bladder, except… less weird than it would be to have Kylo physically do that to him. Once Masir got the hang of it, he could even see glimpses of Kylo Ren’s reaction.
Perhaps understandably, Kylo Ren’s reaction consisted mostly of anger.
“Set a course,” the Supreme Leader barked, abruptly withdrawing his presence from Trach’s head and looking away.
“Yes, sir!” Masir turned to his console.
Kylo gave him a look of mild secondhand embarrassment. “I meant my pilot.”
Ah, right. Masir realized belatedly that Kylo must have been projecting himself. Apparently that was a thing Force-users could do. Another thought began jumping up and down and waving in the back of his mind.
“Wait!” he said. “Er. Sir.”
Silently, Kylo Ren turned a look on him said, ‘this had better be fucking important’.
“You’ll need me piloting,” Masir explained. “If Pryde sees you coming, he could kill Hux, or shoot you down, or both. And as far as we know, the Steadfast is still in orbit around Alsakan. You’ll have to evade two sets of sensors.”
“And you can do this?”
“Yes. The Steadfast won’t be a problem as long as we position our approach right. Evading Pryde’s ground equipment is…a bit more difficult. On my way out, I noticed a blind spot in the estate’s sensor array—but it’s something of a moving target. Unless your pilot is an ECM specialist or better, I need to be in that chair.”
Do you realize what you’ve just volunteered for? asked a tiny, disbelieving voice in the back of Masir’s head. Are you mad?
Kylo’s projection tilted his head, thinking.
“You’ve flown a TIE Silencer before?” he asked. “You’re certain you can handle it?”
“Er... yeah. Sure," Masir said, uncertainly. "Can't be that different from the training sims, can it?"
Kerjo Haliv
Shuttle control was quiet, this time of day, so Petty Officer Kerjo Haliv liked to fill the silence with conversation and intellectual debate.
It was a shame his direct colleagues kept getting transferred away to other departments, but on the upside, it meant he got to meet a wide variety of new and interesting people. Maybe one of them would even become his friend. It was good to have friends, or so Kerjo imagined.
Today’s topic of conversation was Commander Masir Trach. Kerjo had Opinions about him. He’d thought Masir was his friend, once, and the betrayal stung.
“Yeah, always knew he was dodgy,” he told Petty Officer Carid Tamb. “The second someone told me there was a traitor in our midst, I said to myself, it’s only Masir bloody Trach, isn’t it?”
Carid Tamb frowned at his console screen. “Did you see that?”
“See what?” Kerjo’s gaze followed his. “Nothing there, mate. You must be going mad.” He took a brief moment to laugh at his own hilarious joke. “Anyway. Did you hear how he tried to kidnap the Allegiant General’s husband by wheeling him out in a bin?”
“I think you’re making that up,” murmured Petty Officer Tamb. “Look—there it is again.”
“It’s atmospheric chatter, mate. Just ignore it.”
Carid frowned and looked up. After a moment, he opened a channel to his CO.
“We have an unauthorized ship on approach to land—looks to be a TIE Silencer—er, did someone forget to notify us?”
“Carid, mate, chill. It’s just—” Kerjo began, but Carid only pointed at the window with a furious look. Kerjo had to squint to see it—a distant shape in the sky, with the telltale sharp, sectional wings of a TIE/vn space superiority fighter.
“TIE Silencer, this is Alsakan Two, requesting identification and landing codes—we don’t have you on our schedule or on our scanners,” Carid was saying.
The shape was getting bigger now. “Carid,” said Kerjo.
“TIE Silencer, I repeat, halt your course and identify yourself or we will take defensive action.”
“Carid. It’s not really slowing down. Should we, er—”
Abruptly, Allegiant General Pryde’s voice burst through the emergency channel. “TAKE IT DOWN! NOW !”
“Readying weapons now, sir. Carid, tell me when we’ve got a clear—"
He looked to the side. Carid’s chair was empty, and still quietly spinning.
“Fuck,” said Kerjo, in slow realization.
And then Kylo Ren’s TIE Silencer crashed through the window.
Trach
It was technically a landing. Neither of them were dead. Possibly Kylo Ren had saved them with the Force, which was good, because it indicated he wasn’t then going to behead Masir for accidentally wrecking the TIE. He climbed out of the pilot’s seat to find Kerjo Haliv sprawled amongst the debris, bleeding from a head wound, and pointing a blaster at him.
“You seriously don’t want to do this, Kerjo,” Masir said.
“Give me one good reason ,” Kerjo sneered, in the manner of someone who genuinely believed they were the most heroic of badasses right now.
Then Kylo swept out from behind Masir, looking like an actual heroic badass with his cloak swirling in the rising smoke from the damaged TIE, and Haliv said “Karking shitballs, it’s Kylo fucking Ren” and threw his blaster to the ground.
Ren didn’t even pause in his stride. There was just something inherently impressive about the way he moved, like he had the biggest dick in the galaxy and didn’t even give a fuck. From the corridor outside, Masir could hear the shouts and footfalls of approaching troops. This is my moment , he realized. When I emerge from a cloud of dust next to Kylo fucking Ren, blaster held high like the hero in a holovid, ready to take on the—
The doors opened. Kylo activated his lightsaber.
“Oh karking HELL what the fuck,” Masir said. “He literally just pulled that guy’s head off with the Force, oh fuck, what the fuck, I am definitely going to piss myself.”
“It’s fine, man,” Kerjo reassured him. “Just let it happen. I did.”
Trach had assumed that this would be like any other combat situation. He was wrong. None of his previous experiences had involved shadowing a dark and extremely angry force of nature bent on vengeance through the smeared remains of his own former colleagues.
It was also becoming increasingly clear that Kylo didn’t need Trach—had in all likelihood now forgotten about him—but knowing what Pryde or his troops might do to Mitaka if they didn’t get there first drove Masir to follow anyway.
“ WHERE IS HUX ?” he heard, from somewhere in the carnage ahead of him.
“Pryde’s chambers! I’ll get you there!” he yelled, hoping desperately that he wasn’t too late.
It all went a bit blurry after that.
Most people had surrendered immediately upon seeing the Supreme Leader. Some of them tried to fight, and were promptly relieved of duty, and also their heads. The door to Pryde’s creepy sex dungeon had already been open when Trach and Kylo arrived, and though the Allegiant General was nowhere to be seen, both his prisoners had been on their knees with blasters held to their heads, their captors awaiting the order to fire.
Kylo hadn’t even hesitated. With one smooth gesture, he’d pulled their blasters into the air and slammed both wielders bodily against the opposite wall, and then Hux was being swept up into Kylo’s arms. Masir only had a brief moment to think oh, now I see it before Mitaka’s arms were flung around him, hugging him desperately, and it didn’t matter that they were both shaking and wounded and covered in blood and would probably need an imperial fuckton of therapy if they ever wanted to be able to look each other in the eye ever again. They were alive.
Chapter 6: Epilogue
Chapter Text
Trach
“Pryde put something in my drink,” Mitaka said, when Trach came to visit him in medbay the next morning. “That was how it all began. Next morning he showed me a recording and told me he’d leak it to my colleagues unless I helped him.”
“I’m sorry.” Masir wanted to take his hand, but he didn’t know how Mitaka would react; it came as a surprise, then, when the other man reached over and took his .
“Don’t,” he said, his voice warm and kind. “If you start apologising every time I say something grim, it’s going to get old really quickly.”
“Alright, fair. So…”
“He was looking for evidence that Hux was undermining the Order. He wanted restricted files, logs, access codes. By that time I was panicking, and—I swear I thought he wouldn’t actually find anything. I was wrong.”
Trach’s eyes widened. He lowered his voice beneath the distant beeping of equipment and the low-level chatter of med droids. “Wait. Hang on. You’re saying General Hux was—"
“—not quite .” Mitaka tapped the back of Masir’s hand with the pad of his thumb, voice dropping to a corresponding murmur. “He was conspiring to try and remove Kylo from power, and Pryde along with him. Apparently he and Pryde had a contentious history, and being demoted to beneath him was the last straw.”
“Right. I’ve been wondering… why was he demoted, anyway?”
“Ah.” Dopheld looked awkward. “That would be because he broke up with Kylo Ren.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s extremely petty.”
“Mm. Neither of them are tremendously well-adjusted people.” Mitaka’s voice brightened a bit. “I hear they’re bonding again over planning the Allegiant General’s execution, though. I think it’ll be good for them, getting back together. They have a lot in common.”
Masir turned his head. He couldn’t see Kylo and Hux from here—Hux had been moved into a private bay—but he could imagine the scene anyway; Supreme Leader Kylo Ren sitting by the General’s bed, black-clad against the sterile white, and holding Hux’s hand just as Trach was now holding Mitaka’s. It had a nice symmetry to it. He cleared his throat.
“Look,” he said. “If seeing me is going to be… weird for you, after this, I’ll understand. And I’m sorry again for everything. I know we’ve both been over this and, yes, neither of us really had a choice, but I’m still really sorry I hurt you.”
Dopheld shook his head. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy,” he began. “And we’re both going to need a lot of therapy. A lot of therapy. But I don't want to lose touch with you because of this, Masir. And once we’ve had some time to process everything... who knows?”
“Fair. Alright then.” Masir bit his lip. What was it the Knights had said, about sincerity? He could have said I like you a lot, but he suspected Mitaka knew that already, and it was a bit too early for do you want to get a drink sometime, so instead he went for, “You’re strong, Dopheld. I think you’ll be okay.”
Mitaka smiled at him.
“I believe you,” he said.
DarthAstris on Chapter 6 Mon 13 Dec 2021 04:00PM UTC
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Failed_to_Deanon on Chapter 6 Tue 14 Dec 2021 12:10AM UTC
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Ellalba on Chapter 6 Thu 04 May 2023 04:21AM UTC
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