#his love triumphs over his self restraint but not his fear of telling the truth

[starlightsearches]

Office Romance: Ch. 21 Subterfuge

General Hux and Kylo Ren have found themselves competing for the affection of a lieutenant aboard the Finalizer.

Series Warnings: Language, some violence, near-death experiences.

Masterlist

AN: Remember how I said this series was on hiatus? Turns out I’m a huge liar! This came to me a couple days ago and I have no self-control so here it is; hope you enjoy to everybody still following!

Chapter Warnings: Hopefully without giving away too much, there’s some drugging and some kidnapping in this chapter! Read with caution!

The rumors going around the Finalizer said that the Annual First Order Anniversary Gala would be a party unlike any other, and standing here in the middle of it all, you're sure they must be right. Everyone is here: all of the Finalizer's officers, plus the crews of all the other ships—some of them people you hadn't seen since the Academy—the entirety of the Directorate, and a handful of celebrities, all sympathetic to the cause: politicians, holo-stars, stage performers. It's a massive, swirling body of people, an electric meeting of heartbeats and minds under the glittering lights.

And certainly many of them are eager to meet you. Your reputation precedes you, it seems, the young, brave Lieutenant General—you're the talk of the party, your name on the lips of many of the guests. The hushed voices follow you like trails of ribbon flittering on a breeze; they talk of the assassination attempt, the mysterious death of Antibree Soar.

The conversations always grow quieter, here, delicate whispers laced with smiles. I heard, they say, that she's become involved with the force user, Kylo Ren. The rest of the party will gasp, the speaker's lips turning upwards with triumph, with the power that comes from sharing a secret. The smile falls though when another guest interrupts. No, no, you've heard all wrong, they say, it's the general who's caught her attention. I heard . . .

And so it goes. You have to admit you look the part—mysterious, powerful. The gown you're wearing is unlike any other: the silver material flows over you like a waterfall, shimmering in the light. The cut of the neck is low, daringly so, the skin of your chest exposed all the way to the waist of the gown, and the cape, secured around the neck, falls over your shoulders, fluttering in your wake as the crowd parts around you. You've never looked more beautiful. And you've never felt more miserable.

You bid farewell to your latest dance partner whose name you've already forgotten, making your way to the edge of the crowd again. You had hoped that the determination in your gait would discourage any more invitations to dance, but you still have to tug your arm away from a few of the more persistent men, telling them that you'd love to join them, in just a moment. You needed to get some air. Alone.

It’s quiet on the balcony, private, and there’s no other guests taking advantage of the darkness that would be afforded to them out here. The night air is cool on your flushed skin, the twilight a blessing to your eyes after the bright and colorful chaos of the ballroom. It's quiet out here on the balcony, and when you look up, you can see the tiny pinpricks of stars flooding the night sky.

You had talked to the general, the night after Pryde's visit. It had been a stilted conversation, full of long, awkward pauses, your eyes traveling the walls of his quarters, your throat stinging as you tried to hold back the tears that kept threatening to spill onto your cheeks. You don't remember everything that was said, and it's probably for the best. You had left in tears.

As bad as that was, your conversation with Ren had been worse. He hadn't even taken off his helmet, standing there with his arms across his chest, solid as a wall and just as responsive.

You hadn't been lying before. You wanted to make a choice, but wanting and doing, you had quickly come to realize, were two very different things. And despite everything that had happened, you were still unsure.

You weighed the options in your mind again, as you had done a thousand times. The General. Ren. And just as before, a sick feeling of dread poured into your stomach. It was no use, and now you'd be lucky if either of them would have you. Once again you had lost your chance to do something that actually mattered.

The door to the balcony opens behind you, but you don't turn around just yet, still wishing to be alone. The sound of the music swells and then lulls as the door is once again closed, the soft footsteps of the new visitor approaching.

"I'm alright, Doe," you say, eyes still straight ahead. Mitaka had been very understanding after you told him about what had happened. He must have seen your flight from the ballroom and come to check on you, but you couldn't look at him now. Seeing his face full of concern would certainly make you cry, and you were already blinking faster to quell the tears.

It's quiet still, and you're about to turn to face him when the warm arm wraps around your waist, and for a fleeting moment, you think it might be Ren, or Hux before there's a hand covering your mouth, and you don't have time to fight before you're sinking, darkness clouding the corners of your vision and a voice in your ear, low and mean, saying," guess again." You recognize the voice now, but it's too late. The sky fills your vision, melting into a swirling mess of stars, and then everything fades to darkness.

_______________________________________________________

Based on the dull headache growing between his eyes, and the way the words of the conversation he was pretending to listen to were slurring together with the blush of wine, Hux estimated that this ridiculous party had been going on for about an eternity. Although it certainly didn't help that he had wanted to leave before the party had even begun.

He had shown remarkable self-restraint, hardly looking at you all evening—or at least hardly looking at you compared to a normal amount. He'd see how long he could stretch that self-restraint once he was alone, how long it would take before he was driving himself mad thinking of you again, how long before he was waking with a pounding headache, an acrid taste in his mouth, and the distinct feeling of guilt in his stomach that came from wanting you so deeply and refusing you so harshly at the same time.

Hux takes a long sip from his glass, using the action as an excuse to close his eyes for a moment against the grating lights. He sees your face, as he expected, maybe hoped for. It's still there, playing on the back of his eyelids—the way you leaned into him, your words echoing over in his mind. Maybe I wouldn't have stopped you either. Suddenly the cool feeling of the glass against his lips is all wrong, too hard and unyielding. He pulls the glass away.

There's a new face in his line of sight when he opens his eyes, and it's not one he had expected. As if Hux’s evening could somehow get worse.

"The lieutenant," Ren says, in the closest approximation to a whisper he can manage with the ridiculous mask, "she's missing."

________________________________________________________

Ren watches the general carefully, waiting to see if the mask of indifference will slip. Hux immediately guards himself the moment he sees Ren, but he can't hide his surprise quickly enough. Ren sees it. And for a moment, he lets himself be glad.

"What should that matter to me, Ren?" Hux turns away from Ren rather stiffly, staring towards the dance floor with a falsely blank gaze. He’s looking for you. Ren knows he won't find you there.

"I thought you might know where she'd gone." Ren almost wants to laugh. This stilted, whispered conversation is a far cry from the one they had only a few days ago in the training room. It's driving him insane that he knows so little about what happened after.

The rage had left him feeling emptier after the confrontation in the training room, as it often did, but there was nothing to fill the aching cavern in his chest once it was gone. He was well and truly hollowed by your rejection. Left with nothing. And so with nothing left, he had simply watched, waiting to see if his fears had come to fruition.

But nothing had happened between you and the general, as far as he could tell. There was no weight to your interactions with him. He couldn't sense a spark, no smoldering glances or subtle smiles. He could discern the truth if he really wanted to, of course—he would have no trouble pulling the information from your mind or the general's. But he couldn't. Maybe he didn't want to know.

"I don't know where she is." Hux is as close to snapping as he could get in public, leaning in for a moment to utter a harsh whisper, before he remembers himself, "she probably stepped outside for a moment."

Hux excuses himself from the conversation, not that anyone notices his departure, but Ren refuses to be brushed aside so easily. Hux could try to fool him, to convince him that he didn't care, but Ren knows better. And more importantly, he knows something isn’t right. He can sense that you’re in danger—he feels it in his very core.

"I already checked," Ren says, loud enough to disturb the other guests, and Hux pauses, turning to face him again. There's conflict in his eyes, his mouth set in a hard line of frustration, but he doesn't walk away.

"I've looked for her everywhere. She's gone," Ren steps closer, and Hux turns to face him again. There's hatred, pure and arrant and clear in every facet of Hux’s face, and for Ren the feeling is mutual. But he hasn't even gotten to the worst part yet.

"There's something else," Ren lowers his voice again, and Hux leans closer to hear, "Pryde, he's gone too."

____________________________________________________

You open your eyes to the darkness, conscious, but not awake—like your mind is submerged in deep and turbulent waters—and you wait for the feeling to pass. The relief doesn’t come, and your stomach rolls, and for a moment you think you might die here, alone in this hellish darkness. Or maybe you’re already dead. It’s hard to tell without a frame of reference. You’re lost without your senses—no sight, no feeling or movement in any of your limbs, and, maybe the most frightening of them all, no connection to the force. You reach out for it, stretching yourself to the limits, and your stomach gives another heave, threatening to spill its contents. The tears that track down your cheeks in response to the feeling burn as they go, and you let out a single, pitiful sob.

    You hear something, just barely, at the same time the little animal noises first start to make their way out of your mouth, and you clamp your lips tighter, hoping to muffle them enough so that you can hear. There’s someone else here with you . . . wherever you are. They shift again, and the soft rustle of their clothing seems deafening in this small space. 

    “Please . . .” you try to form the word, but your lips feel enormous and unwieldy, and you’re still trying to choke back the sobs. “Please, let me go.”

    They get to their feet, stepping around into your line of sight. Your vision is blurry, and you squint, trying to get a better look.

    “You’re awake,” there’s the voice again, you recognize it instantly, and with the recognition comes a new wave of fear, “that’s a pity. The dosage I used could have killed you. Such a shame he wants you alive.”

    He peers closer, and your vision finally focuses in the low light. The edges of his face still blur, but you can see his eyes with poignant clarity, harsh and full of cutting animosity.

    “Allecul,” his name comes out jumbled, but he recognizes the sound all the same, “you’re the spy, working with . . . with Pryde.” He tenses in response, bringing his hand to your face again, and you feel another rush of darkness coming swiftly towards you. There’s no use fighting, but you struggle against it regardless, your mind desperately thrashing, urgently working to keep a hold of the sliver of consciousness you’ve gained. It’s no use. You sink back into the restless darkness. And you stay there.

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