Written as a gift for Very Merry Kylux 2016. Details (and the giftee!) can be found on my AO3 (link in profile)

I've used Founder's Day rather than Life Day because as far as I can see the Empire wasn't a big fan of Life Day. Due to that I personally don't think the Order would celebrate it either. Founder's Day is established in the new canon and all we know is some kind of roast bird is eaten on it. That's vague and celebratory enough for me! Dedication Day is completely fabricated.

It all started with a calendar notification. Between the endless meetings and towers of paperwork Hux had been graced with following the destruction of Starkiller Base, he'd hardly had the chance to sleep, let alone check the date. He had been in a daze, still writing – though his cheek rested on his desk and his eyes were getting harder and harder to open – when the beeping erupted from his datapad and wrenched him awake. Jolted, he groped around to turn the alarm off.

The notification on his screen was a reminder to 'Send Father Dedication Day card'. Hux groaned, gracefully dislodged a flimsi stuck to his cheek by tacky ink (no matter how advanced a level Hux and his fellow engineers developed First Order technology to, the bureaucracy of the higher-ups would always have its hard copy pound of flesh), and swiped at the screen to send the notification away.
Dedication Day? Already? Surely not. The Arkanian holiday was only a month before Founder's Day and it was hardly that time of year yet. Right? Hux tapped on his calendar and scrolled through the months. There was Starkiller Base's first firing (marked with a little firework emoticon) and – well – he hadn't put a mark on the date years of his work had been destroyed, but he'd never forget it. He scrolled further down.
Ugh. There it was. The desaturated red highlight showing the current date was on the little square that was also labelled 'Dedication Day'. Scrolling down one more time showed that yes, in roughly a month it would be Founder's Day, festive scourge of the First Order calendar. Hells.
Hux wasn't sure what was going to happen this year. Usually, Founder's Day meant a day off for everyone (bar essential technicians and navigators being on call), slightly better rations, and a ghastly party for the officers that usually consisted of heavy-handed political posturing and enough alcohol to ensure there was a lot of heavy handed something else as well. This year, though, there was a general miasma of sobriety that made festivity feel a bit out of place. Like a stripper at a funeral.

At least the drain on resources this year would hopefully prevent the party. Hux would rather swallow a blaster shot – or worse, spend ten minutes locked in a room with Kylo Ren – than go through another one of those. The strutting of inexperienced officers was almost physically painful, and their terrible attempts at suggesting their power left Hux ready to scream: 'Yes! I am a bastard! How very original of you for noticing! I'm also your superior officer and could space you whenever I felt like it!'. Though, he'd probably have to drink a lot of alcohol to respond like that.
That was the other awful thing about the parties: his rank prevented him from fraternising in dark corners like the other officers, but also from downing enough alcohol to make the night pass smoothly otherwise. You can hardly be taken seriously as a general if your subordinates have seen you puke into your hat on the journey from the function room to your quarters, after all.

Sometimes, though, Hux wondered if keeping up appearances was really that important. Kylo Ren got away with his massive displays of emotion towards various poor, unsuspecting control panels, and everyone still feared him. Admittedly the invisible magic powers and giant laser sword gave him an edge, but still. Part of it had to be authority, right? Anyway, Ren had lost his lightsaber with Starkiller. After Snoke had kicked him back to the Finalizer following their fool's errand to his hideout – what a waste of resources, to summon Ren and Hux all that way only to pronounce Ren 'unready' – all the crew were still scared of him. Would that fear continue for the foreseeable future or-

Hux paused, suddenly realising something.
Good manners dictated a co-commander should really buy their counterpart a Founder's Day gift, even if they bought no one else anything. It was just common courtesy. Even in the piecemeal Academy Hux grew up in – another Star Destroyer, his class only comprising of the dregs rescued from the Empire – one gave something – be it a new stylus, valuable information or even just a portion of your rations – to one's closest comrades on Founder's Day.
He'd got away with it every year before now. Ren disappeared often, sometimes for months at a time, and so far every Founder's Day had fallen within one of those disappearances. Now, though, with Ren pacing the ship like the trapped and wounded animal he was, Hux would be forced to find him a present.

Uh.

Hux carefully picked up his small pile of finished paperwork and dropped it into his out-tray. The pile of unfinished paperwork was three times its size, and when he wedged it back atop another pile of forms, the whole thing wobbled precariously. He set his datapad down on his now-clear desk and opened a blank note.

What do you get a Dark Force user for Founder's Day?

Hux absently chewed the end of his stylus. It sounded more like the setup for a joke than an actual dilemma. Hux hadn't really seen Kylo Ren actually want anything besides the information to Skywalker. Was there anything functional he could get him? He had a face. And hair. Hux would gift him hair products, only he highly doubted Ren used First Order-issued products in the first place, what with how soft and fluffy that hair was.

Hux pulled up the Finalizer inventory. If he couldn't think of something to get Ren, he could at least order a card up to his quarters so he could do what the kriffing notification that started this whole mess had been telling him to do. Maybe while he was keying in the code for 'blank white card', something would miraculously pop up and save his brain.
The results – top of the list, the card he needed. Further down – white blankets, spare Stormtrooper helmets, standard-issue toothpaste. No luck. He tapped on the result he needed. Maybe the 'related items' list would help. Socks – no, drill bit set – no, edible underwear – he made a mental note to get that removed, and also to demote whichever idiot ordered that for the Finalizer inventory in the first place, datapad battery – no.
Hux let his finger hover over the 'order' button, waiting for some power to give him a final burst of inspiration.
…

?

Ugh.
He jabbed at the 'order' button, shoved his datapad out of the way, and dropped his forehead on the desk.

His co-commander present brainstorm soon turned back into a doze, once again feeling his eyelids dragging heavier with each blink until he couldn't keep them open at all.
He had no idea how long it had been when he was woken once again by the obnoxious beeping of his datapad. He had to change his kriffing notification sounds.

It was a call from Phasma. He opened the line.
'Sir. We've found some more items in one of the old silos. Requesting your permission to trash them.'
The old silos were, like many parts of the Finalizer, salvaged from Imperial Star Destroyer wrecks. Sometimes their cargo was left inside, difficult to find in the massive storage containers. So far, only armour parts and bolts had turned up in the Finalizer's silos, but all the Order's senior officers had heard the legends about people finding more precious things in old Imperial parts.
'That's a negative, Captain,' Hux replied, 'Retrieve the items. I would inspect them myself before getting rid of them.'
'Yes, sir. We're in General Storage Vestibule Leth.' Hux closed the comm line. He stood and stretched, hearing the joints in his knees and wrists click.
The vast silos - and the storage levels they were on - were even colder than the regular-use hallways of the Finalizer, so Hux actually pulled his coat on rather than draping it over his shoulders.

Phasma was overseeing a small group of 'troopers, who were arranging the items on the desk inside the vestibule. They looked up when Hux entered, then nodded their respects.

'Captain Phasma. What have you found?'

'Several of the usual armour parts, but when we were extracting them we found some other items that might be more interesting.' Phasma tilted her helmet toward the small clutter atop the desk.

There was an empty blaster shell, a strap of grenades, and a small tin box that seemed to have escaped most of the batterings the other items had sustained.

'Do you have any idea what this is, Captain?' Hux went to pick the box up.

'No, sir. We scanned everything for threats. All negative. Unfortunate that those grenades are useless, though.' Hux nodded, distracted by the box. His fingers found the catch and he popped it open, smoothly sliding out a tray. There were neatly folded cloths, bottles of cleaning fluids and polish, and a small kit of tweezers and scissors. A helmet-cleaning kit. And a high end one.

'Your lucky day, Captain.' Hux tilted the tray towards her.

'I think not, General. My armour requires specialist care for the materials. Such a kit would be wasted on me.' Hux rested the kit back on the desk. Ren had a helmet, right? He remembered all the scratches and gouges in it. Maybe a portable little kit like this would help him keep on top of repairs.

'Then… if you don't want it, may I keep it? I think I can find use for it.'

Phasma nodded.

'You need no permission from me, sir.'

He walked all the way back to his quarters with a spring in his step, increased ever more by the delivery of his card awaiting him behind the door.

He had just sealed the card to his father (crushing the minuscule urge to tape razor-blades along the top of the envelope) when a tinny 'ding!' let him know there was someone at his door. By the way it was followed by at least ten other identical tinny 'ding!'s, it also let him know there was an impatient someone with no respect for authority at his door. What was Kylo Ren doing, visiting him?

Hux jabbed the door release button on his desk, allowing the man himself to sweep into his quarters.

'Ren. Why are you here?' Ren stepped near to Hux. If he was trying a physical intimidation tactic, it wasn't working. Hux knew he was tiny compared to the musculature of the other man, but he'd never feared Ren. He had a blaster. And, if all else failed, his teeth, and a knowledge of major arteries.

'The bridge needed someone to drop off these forms to you. I volunteered.'

Hux's eyes narrowed.
'Surely a simple courier task is beneath someone so powerful and all-knowing as you. Why are you here, really? '

Ren leant close, his beaklike nose inches away from Hux's.

'You've been avoiding me, General. You're hardly ever on the bridge anymore.'

What? Yes, Hux had kept his distance from Ren just after the Spectacular Starkiller Fuckup, but that had mostly been to keep himself from punching the melodramatic bastard in the face and reopening the tender wound bisecting it. Since then the only concern on Hux's mind had been the endless paperwork, desperately trying to keep his head above the ever-louder murmurings that he wasn't right for the job, what was Snoke thinking letting an engineer become a General, did you hear who his father was – and who his mother wasn't? Ren had become a footnote to his life, a force (heh) only witnessed in the memos sent to him requesting new equipment to replace what he broke.

'Actually, Ren, I haven't. Elevated as you are, you may not have realised that blowing up a superweapon incurs an awful lot of paperwork.' Hux inclined his head towards his intimidating in-tray. 'I've merely been doing my job. You might not have heard of those. My sincerest apologies that my life revolves around something other than you.'

Ren seemed to ignore the vitriol in Hux's words, instead craning his neck to see the stacks of forms towering on the desk. His eyes widened.

'They've got you doing all that? These higher level folks must love wasting your time.'

'Unfortunately they must be done, if we are to keep the Finalizer and any rebuild efforts are to be considered.'

'We?' Ren looked confused, the muscles in his jaw tensing slightly. It was odd to be standing so close to him, to be able to observe how his face moved.

'Yes, we. They might take this as evidence that the Order's force users cannot be involved in such delicate matters. You'd be taken off this ship same as I would, and the rest of your knights would be treated likewise.'

'A shame. I like the Finalizer.'

'You do?'

'Yeah.' Ren's face suddenly broke into a lopsided smile. It distorted the scar like a fault line, a ribbon of red mapping the contours of his features. 'The food's okay and you always replace the things I break.'

'You do realise if you could stop taking your emotions out on my equipment, there'd probably be enough money saved to fund an entire new Starkiller.' Hux raised his eyebrows.

'You might not understand now, General, but believe me, my destructive tendencies can be very useful.'

'How, exactly?' Ren's smile seemed to widen while his eyes focused on something behind Hux.

'General, when do all those forms have to be returned by?'

'ASAP. Everyone's schedules have been abandoned for a while now.'

Ren's smile turned into a full out grin.

Almost lazily he raised his hand towards the towering in-tray, and with a flick it combusted. The whole pile neatly reduced itself to ash in seconds, with barely a scorch mark to the tray beneath.

'Wh- Ren! I needed to finish those! My life is literally on the line here.'

'A freak accident. Some sparks from some nearby maintenance work. It couldn't be helped. Now you can work through the forms as they're resent instead of having to do them all at once.'

'Thank you, Ren.' Hux swallowed his pride to get the words out. Ren was so unpredictable in his motives – he was sure to have some other selfish reasons – but Hux had slowly been going mad from the work.
'Make sure you come up to the bridge more. It's boring not having anyone to argue with.' Ren tossed the package of forms he'd come in holding into the newly emptied in-tray.

'Where did you get those from, really?'

Ren grinned again. Hux wished he would stop doing that. It lit up his asymmetric features and caused a weird ache in Hux's back and fingertips. It must have been some weird Force thing. Smile fighting. Or something.

'I stole them off a trooper on my way down.'

The weird ache abruptly vanished. Hux didn't know whether to be pleased or not.

While brushing the slick out of his hair before going to bed, Hux found his thoughts wandering to Ren. Had he truly missed Hux being on the bridge? Or was this just another way Ren had found to add torment to his life? Well. If that was what Ren wanted, Hux would be happy to give as good as he got. He could almost picture the look on Ren's face as he socked him in the jaw. He was almost glad Ren didn't wear his helmet anymore – it made Hux's fantasies of causing him grievous bodily harm a lot more satisfying.

His… helmet.

The bottom dropped out of Hux's stomach as a sick revelation came over him. Ren wasn't wearing his helmet anymore. Ren hadn't been wearing his helmet when Hux rescued him from Starkiller. The image of dark strands of hair strewn across blindingly white snow, speckled with blood, flashed in his mind. Of course Ren didn't wear his karking helmet. Ren's helmet was little more than some particles mixed in with the many other particles of Starkiller and its inhabitants.

He picked up the little tin box and threw it into the bottom of his wardrobe.

Back to the drawing board.

This fic is up in full on my AO3, but I really want the experience of not posting all the chapters of a fic at once! There are ten chapters to this, and I'll probably update daily :D