Chapter Text
They stare at each other from the opposite sides of the cantina in the least unsavoury harbor on Talita, each just as surprised as the other.
If they were any closer, close enough to to talk, perhaps they would've said it. Both at the same time. I thought you were…
But there's a crowd, a sea of hairdos and headpieces, helmets and lekkus, horns and carapaces between them, all rowdy and thirsty and mingling. Blurring and insignificant, paling away from that single point of focus. Unfamiliar clothes, different hair, but eyes just as sharp. Just as cold, like the touch of a ghost.
Kylo drops his gaze first. Stares at his glass, at what’s left in the bottle in front of him. Swallows dry before he flicks his eyes back up, something in his chest clenching at the thought that this might be just a fleeting hallucination. Hoping. Fearing. That it isn’t. That it is.
He doesn’t remember much from that time but this moment always stood out clearly, after all. The shaky blue glow of the holocall. Nameless officer, eager for recognition.
Supreme leader, sir. Allegiant General Pryde wishes to inform you that the spy has been found. It was General Hux.
Was. Past tense. Pitch black fury surged up in Kylo's mind and crushed the stupid pimp's windpipe across hundreds of parsecs but even that wasn't enough to swallow up the glimpse of another color in front of his eyes. The color of regret. For years, it had the color of flaming red hair.
The red is gone now. The man staring unwaveringly across the room at him is dirty blonde. Even his eyebrows are bleached to match. His cheekbones stand out starker. But Kylo would recognise that nose, mouth, shape of jaw anytime. Anywhere.
Even in the cheapest, dirtiest canteen out here in the Wild Space. Even in the afterlife.
Before Kylo can decide between ignoring Hux like the rest of the canteen or bolting out of here, the man is already making way through the crowd, picking up a bottle from the bar along the way and sliding right into the free seat at Kylo's little Leave Me Alone table.
"Well, look at you." The initial shock melted away, replaced by sneering amusement. He clinks his bottle against Kylo's glass in a gesture of easy familiarity. Something they never had, before.
"What's the name these days?"
"Kane Saro." After two years, the name comes to Kylo's tongue easily. Doesn't feel any better than Ben or Kylo did but at least doesn't weigh as much.
"I like it," Hux says. He smirks, perfectly aware that he didn't give his name in turn. "That cargo transport company, Saro and Moon, that's you?"
"Moon had a freighter and needed a pilot," Kylo shrugs. Doesn't mention Nar Shaddaa and how Moon had attempted a big deal there only to get shipped back in several pieces. Kylo told him not to do it but that vain prick didn't listen. And Kylo got to keep the ship. Win-win. He kept the company name, too. More solid. Less questions. Kamino system has lively trade and decent traffic. It keeps the roof over his head and the open tab at the bar.
Hux has the bottle in his hand but doesn't drink. In the few moments Kylo dares to look up, he isn't even meeting his gaze. He keeps staring, distracted and obviously fascinated, not at Kylo's face or the notable absence of a scar on it, but at his… hair?
Ah. Kylo almost never thinks about it, one of the reasons why it got so long. And looking different comes in handy.
He shakes the long matted locks forward, obscuring most of his face out of habit. Notices the minute twitch of muscles in the hand that holds the bottle, an instinctual clench that used to signal irritation. He wonders if it still does. If he still can read Hux like he used to, like a favorite bedtime story.
Or like a list of sins. Chronological or alphabetical, Hux would surely let him choose.
“Why, are you a client?” he counters with a question of his own. Hux snorts.
“I need a place to stay for awhile,” he says bluntly. “The job I came here for kind of fell through, and the one I hoped to pick up here isn’t exactly panning out either. You know how it is.”
Kylo doesn’t. He doesn’t know what Hux is doing these days. How he calls himself. How did he survive in the first place. So many questions, and so little courage to actually ask them.
Not to mention that Kylo isn’t even sure how he did survive, himself. Everything pointed towards the opposite. At one point, he could feel himself becoming one with the Force. Maybe those all of the Jedi that Rey talked about joined forces and kicked him collectively out, back to existence. Kylo resents calling it a life. It doesn’t feel like one. It’s like… living on borrowed time. On the universe’s benevolence. It’s wretched.
I have a room , Kylo’s mouth almost says for him. He catches himself just in time.
“There’s an inn uptown that takes republican credits,” he says instead. The rest of Talita prefers Kaminoan currency, or the good old barter.
“Oh Kane ,” and the smile Hux’s drawls his name on looks almost pitying. “I’m afraid I can only pay in silence.”
He taps his fingers against the table. “A few days in your gracious hospitality… to ensure that the New Republic doesn’t get anonymously tipped off to the whereabouts of the unlamented but very much alive Kylo Ren.”
“I could drag you down with me,” Kylo points out. Doesn’t point out the obvious - that he could ensure Hux’s permanent silence, just as soon as they step out of here, or at any point during those next few days. But Hux is probably prepared for that. A man who survived an execution shot point blank to his chest must be. And the more…. subtle ways of snuffing out a life… Kylo can’t use them. Not since he cut himself from the Force.
“You could try,” Hux agrees lightly. “But remember that General Hux was on the winning side of the war when he died.”
As if Kylo could ever forget. There was a time when Hux was on his side. However briefly. But then Kylo lost him, and then he lost the war.
They leave the canteen side by side, Kylo pulling his hair back with a loose tie to better fit it under the hood to keep away from the neverending drizzle. He might be imagining it but Hux next to him lets out an exasperated huff.
“What?”
Hux is funny with his disapproval, as if Kylo still rankled his sense for regulation. Maybe Kylo is funny for showing he somehow cares what Hux thinks.
“You look beastly.”
His hair was one of the things Kylo stopped caring about, after Exegol. No longer a padawan to keep it short, no longer wearing a helmet to keep it tightly braided. He let it grow. A proof, of sorts, that he wasn’t dead.
“And your point?”
“Never mind.”