A/N: post-tlj fic #4, though this is actually the one i started writing first. still working though my feelings (there are a lot of them).

their relationship is open for interpretation, so you can view it as gen if you want to. for me it reads sort of like exes, but that wasn't a conscious choice. you can think whatever.

Disclaimer: Star Wars is not mine, no money is being made etc etc.

When Hux wakes, he's upright in a chair, neck bent back in something that's almost painful, his arms crossed over his chest. His great coat is off, hung over the edge of an adjacent seat. He can feel his hair fall across his forehead; pulled free of gel by stress and sweat, panic and battle.

He has no recollection of falling asleep, barely has an idea of what he'd been doing beforehand. All he knows is that whatever time had passed is still not enough, is that his body still begs for rest, the ache in his joints and the bags beneath his eyes quite possibly the closest thing to constancy Hux has, now.

Around him, the shuttle vibrates gently, the ship far quieter than it normally is; the silence little more than a reminder of how much they've lost, how much they've failed. Hux can feel the sigh crawl up the back of his throat, can feel it itch to be let out, but he stifles it, swallows it. Now is not the time for retrospection, he thinks. Now is the time for action, for scheming, for survival.

Across from him, Ren is asleep. Hux can see his chest rise, fall, rise again, can hear the low breathing, the quiet snores. He's slumped in his chair, chin to chest, strands of greasy hair hiding most of his face from view. He'd fallen asleep first—had passed out the second he could, switching off the way he used to, the way Hux remembers from their first few years together. Rest had not come easy then, just as it doesn't now; any time spent unconscious broken up into stops and starts, into drowse and doze.

Hux shifts in his seat, stiff clothes moving with a rustle, the metal beneath him creaking quietly. He stares at Ren, eyes fixed on the unguarded lines of his face, and his mind swirls. The past two days have been a whirlwind, things happening so quickly that Hux has barely had time to process them, and this is no different. He is not quite sure what to make of Ren, now; has not quite pieced together his thoughts.

There is envy, jealousy; is a yearning for what Ren has claimed for himself. It sits deep inside of him, the sensation frustratingly familiar. Aside it, there is annoyance. The familiar type he associates with Ren, the type which pulls his mouth to a scowl, which sends scathing words to the tip of his tongue. And beneath it all, there is anticipation, interest.

Opportunity.

(Hux chooses to ignore the hint of betrayal that lingers. There is no time for that now).

There is another rustle as Ren moves, and then his eyes are snapping open as if Hux's attention had pulled him from sleep. Hux does not move, does not turn away. Their eyes lock, Ren's gaze intense even as he blinks himself awake. The air between them is heavy, tense; the conversation they need to have hanging over them like the promise of impending doom.

Ren does not speak. Hux waits for it, but it doesn't come, the silence stretching between them. He can feel the question sitting on his tongue, can feel it press at the back of his teeth, and as the quiet extends to something typically awkward, Hux cannot stop himself. He holds Ren's eye, makes sure he's listening when he speaks.

"The First Order was almost destroyed," he says, and he still can't quite believe the truth to it; can't fathom how they'd managed to fuck up so badly. "What now?"

The question is quiet, almost tentative. Ren stares at him, and the whites of his eyes are bloodshot, his body tense in a way that conveys anger. Still, he is calmer now, than he had been before; as if a bit of sleep had helped clear his muddled mind.

"I thought I made that clear," Ren says, and a gloved hand brushes over his throat. The words are rough, throaty; traces of sleep still evident in the tone. "General."

He puts an emphasis on the last word, and Hux knows it's to remind him of his place, his title. Even so, he can feel something like a laugh bubble in his chest; amusement that Ren honestly believes he can take the title of Supreme Leader without consequence, that he can succeed on his own.

"You are clutching at threads," Hux says. His voice is level, flat, but the words are meant to hurt, are meant to have an impact. "Holding on to what little power you have. You think you can rule on your own?" There is a scoff, a sneer, Hux's top lip curling to reveal a flash of white teeth. "With what experience?"

Anger shimmers behind Ren's eyes. Hux can see it build, can almost feel it bubble. "You're not any better," Ren mutters, voice low and sharp as it carries across the room.

The breath that leaves Hux could almost pass as a mocking laugh. "No?" he asks, shifting forward in his seat. "Who commanded after your failure?" he says. "Who gave orders while you stared at an empty room? While you threw a tantrum."

Hux can feel his own frustration rising to the forefront, his buried anger build. It'd been easy, before, to channel it into the battle, to aim it at the enemy. Now, with Ren in front of him, it's impossible to ignore where it really stems from; impossible to cast aside the image of being thrown around like a rag doll, of being treated like some sort of animal.

"As I recall, I am not the one without training," Hux starts. "I am not the one who devalues bureaucracy in favour of careless destruction. I do not get distracted by my emotions." The last word is spat like it's something to be ashamed off, Hux's hands clenching around the arms of his seat. "I am not the moron who sends a whole army after one man!"

His words pull a reaction from Ren. Hux had known they would; neither of them do very well with humiliation. The rise and fall of Ren's chest comes quicker, every exhale traced with a bitter fury, and Hux half expects to feel the Force close in on him again, to feel it press at his throat.

It doesn't. Rather, Ren shifts, eyes alight with something inexplicable as he looks at Hux.

"Correct, General," Ren murmurs. It's quieter than Hux expected, than he's used to, but still mocking. "You're the one who follows power," Ren starts. "The one who picks his battles, who fights only those he knows he can win. The one who clings to order because it's all he has." Ren meets his eye, and Hux's nostrils flare as he exhales; wrath, rage. "You spend your days coveting for that which those above you possess, planning to eliminate the competition before they can win. But not me," Ren says. "You are too weak to even try it."

"If you think—"

"I do not think," Ren snaps, not allowing Hux to finish. "I know—can feel it. You will follow because it will keep you alive." Ren shifts closer, the corner of his mouth curling as he speaks. "Because it will keep you your title."

Hux's jaw is clenched, the reality of Ren's words sinking in. His hands curl into fists, and if not for the leather of his gloves, Hux imagines his nails would dig in to his palm, would draw blood; an attempt to keep his anger at bay.

"Tell me, General. Will you beg?" Ren's voice is almost sweet, his smirk still lingering. "I could demote you without a second thought. Could kill you just as easily."

Hux glares. "You wouldn't."

"No?" Ren asks. "What makes you so sure?"

Hux swallows. His gaze is still trained on Ren, his fury fixed in every line of his face. "You need me."

"Do I?"

"Yes." Hux's voice is harsh, cold, definitive. "Power is only useful when one knows how to wield it."

Ren slumps back in his seat. Hux watches, waits for a response. There is a long exhale, and then: "The First Order was almost destroyed," Ren says, repeating his earlier words. "What do you suggest?"

Ren looks away, and Hux can't help but notice that he looks tired; looks like he harbours a brand of exhaustion which runs bone deep. It is comforting to Hux, in an odd sort of way; refreshing to know that he is not the only one who feels this way, that, despite what Ren is capable of, he can suffer like the rest of them.

The space between them is tense, heavy with the weight of Ren's words. Hux knows what he's really asking, but he makes a show of pausing, of contemplating the question despite the answer being obvious.

Stripped down to its very core, their relationship with each other is little more than begrudging co-dependency, is a lack of anyone else in their lives. They are all each other have left. It is a harsh truth, one Hux feels in his very core, one he's sure Ren feels, too. They can hate each other all they want, can argue and taunt and hurt, but it does not change that fact; has never changed it.

"Together," Hux answers. The word feels ridiculous on his tongue, the proposition almost outrageous, and yet, it is the only plausible solution, the only way they will pull themselves up from the ashes. Ren cannot do this on his own, and Hux cannot do it without Ren's power. "Co-commanders."

Ren turns back to him, and there's a flicker of a smile; ironic, almost. "As you wish, General."

It is little more than a murmur, and yet it cuts across the room. Hux feels a flicker of shock, is certain that Ren feels it, too. He refrains from saying anything, just sits, watches as Ren reclines back in his seat.

It's not until later that Hux speaks, not until Ren has started to snore once more. His voice is just as quiet as Ren's had been; perhaps even more so.

"Very well," he says. "Supreme Leader."