Chapter Text
Rose Tico is eight years old when her parents die in the relentless fight against the Imperial invaders. She and her older sister Paige, only twelve, are waiting for the night to fall on what’s left of the mining village they once called home.
The First Order troops are marching through the rubble of yet another village they just wiped off the face of Hays Minor. They head back to their transports, not even bothering to finish off the injured and the dying.
They know, just like children as young Paige and Rose also know, that soon the temperature will drop, and with no intact living pod left there will be no survivors in the morning.
The snow is stained with blood and grime, traces of dirty boots, and burnt soil. It’s so cold already that the bodies on the ground are already freezing, and the cries of the dying are rapidly going silent, turning the devastated outpost into a mute expanse of white desolation.
A tall figure stops at the wrecked doorway of what’s left of the Tico living pod. For a moment Rose struggles to see. The air is thick with fog, smoke, and just their breaths. She squints as the stranger takes a few steps toward them, and when a thick, wooly great coat is draped around her and her sister’s little bodies, she can only grasp at it eagerly even though she can barely feel her hands anymore.
The face staring at her and Paige belongs to a man in an Imperial uniform. His features are not monstrous like Rose had imagined from the tales of the villagers. He’s a man, a common man with green eyes and a fiery red beard. She has never seen someone like him, and she just stares at him in awe and fear. There’s not an ounce of kindness in his eyes as he lifts Rose in his arms, still wrapped in his coat, and holds her firmly against his hip before offering his free, gloved hand for Paige to grab.
Rose is fourteen years old when Commandant Brendol Hux denies her request to enlist in the academy yet again. He has been her and her sister’s protector and mentor for six years now, but the price for his favor is complete obedience, and Rose is clever enough to know not to cross him, not openly, so she doesn’t protest.
Paige has grown to be his favorite, tall, strong-willed, and athletically inclined. She is the perfect cadet every high-ranking officer would be proud to consider their pupil. She is everything Rose is not. Her stature is unimpressive, and her physique is getting heavier in a quite feminine and pretty impractical way as she grows up, but this doesn’t stop Commandant Hux from having great plans for her.
Both Rose and Paige’s last name is still Tico, although Hux had been a father to them, or at least what he thinks a father should be. He has no intention of officially adopting them, not when there’s someone out there, in the vast Galaxy, with the Commander’s blood in his veins and every right to his last name and legacy. He just needs to find him, welcome him back to the glory of the Empire, and give him his rightful place at his father’s side.
Only then will Rose be allowed to take the last name of the man who is raising her. Through his long-lost son, through marriage, by bearing children with his blood in their veins, this is what he’s preparing her for.
Underneath her unthreatening appearance and quiet demeanor, though, Rose hides something Brendol Hux would find unacceptable: ambition. Her body might not be built for the battlefield, but her mind is built for so much more. She reads everything she can find, she dismantles every piece of tech she can put her hands on only to assemble it back together the second she understands its inner working, resurrecting it to a pristine status that makes her little acts of defiance almost undetectable.
She has been learning and learning and learning, and doing very little else since she was ten. In secret of course, away from those green eyes that look at her with contempt every time she expresses even a glimpse of autonomous thought.
Even her last attempt at getting to the academy has been hidden underneath a veil of feigned meekness and false devotion. Whenever her future husband will come into the picture, he will need someone to watch over him to make sure he adheres to the values of the Empire, someone who reminds him of the proper etiquette. It would make only sense for him to have by his side someone prepared for a life he’s been taken away from so young.
Unfortunately, her plea is not enough to make Brendol Hux agree. Wherever he is, Rose hopes Hux’s son chokes on his next meal, dying the irrelevant death he deserves.
Rose is sixteen years old when, admittedly, her ambition gets bolder. Maybe too bold. Fortunately, her arrogance pays off, for the first time in many. Paige is back home, on Commandant Hux’s Imperial-class Star Destroyer, to spend some time for the poor excuse for a family she, Rose, and Brendol Hux had become. Rose waits for the sleeping cycle to slice her datapad, and gain access to her contacts.
The same night her blueprints for a new, optimized TIE Fighter engine are sent directly to Grand Admiral Skywalker, a member of the Shadow Council, and, if the rumors are true, brother of Empress Organa herself.
Rose doesn’t know if he shares with his alleged sister the gift of the Force, nor does she care. All that matters is that he’s known for his ruthlessness and his partiality to tech development and that he’s one of the very few people Brendol Hux wouldn’t dare to go against.
Rose cannot help the little, triumphant smirk on her face the next day when she’s personally summoned by the Shadow Council to discuss her remarkable talent for innovation. Dear old Brendol even receives a formal complaint for hiding her protegeè’s remarkable gift for all these years.
Paige resents her to a degree for going behind her back, but surely not as much as Brendol himself does. It hardly matters anyway, not when Rose has finally gained her one-way ticket to the academy’s tech division, where the Shadow Council looks forward to seeing her thrive.
That very same night, finally free, Rose enters the med bay of the ship and instructs the medical droids for the procedure she has craved for most of her youth. Being turned into a child-bearing pawn will never be an option again.
Rose is nineteen years old the first time she meets Empress Organa, for the inauguration of Her Imperial Highness’ new Triumph-Class Star Destroyer, Rose’s design, of course. Her expertise has gained her the rank of Lieutenant General, but her career hasn’t been as remarkable as Paige’s, not yet.
That same night, when the Coruscant sky is filled with the distant, indistinct forms of an entire fleet of Star Destroyers in orbit her older sister is promoted to Grand Admiral by the Empress herself, the youngest to ever achieve such a rank at only twenty-three. It surely helps that Paige has been the one to express to the Empress her concern for Skywalker’s growing thirst for power, which has led to the alleged Brother of Her Imperial Highness' untimely, brutal demise.
Rose is proud, but at the same time, she knows she can outmatch her beloved, ambitious sister. She still has four years to beat her record, and she commits to it. After all, the Empress is generous to the most loyal among her servants, and Rose knows how to harvest that generosity well, she has made an art out of it.
Rose is twenty-two years old when she and Paige meet for a family reunion that is more of an informal strategic meeting than anything else. She’s a General now, and Commandant Hux is growing old and resentful toward the women who once were his pupils, especially Rose. He seems stupidly devoted to the mission of obstructing the Tico sisters in every way that he can.
Unfortunately for him, going against Rose or Paige is now going against the Shadow Council itself, so it’s hardly bad news when the top of the Imperial chain of command is informed of Brendol’s unfortunate untimely demise. Heart failure is said to be the cause, in his own shower no less. It’s a truly undignified way to go, but at least his evident incapacity to handle stress has taken him before he could bring embarrassment to the Order.
Fortunately Rose is there to take his place, to walk in the shoes of her beloved mentor to walk the extra mile that will make her Grand Marshal, with the complete support of the Council, of course. After all, the Empress knows how to reward loyalty, and Rose is nothing if relentlessly loyal, just like her increasingly advanced tech is.
Rose is twenty-three years old when the Empress informs her that her apprentice is ready to join the fight against the threat of the Resistance. The Outer Rim is growing restless with subversive activities, and now, it seems, the rebel scum is emboldened by the presence of a young Force wielder of their own among their ranks.
The identity of the Force wielder in question, a Jedi no less, is a very delicate matter, one the Empress wishes to be handled personally by her apprentice since it seems that the young man in question might in fact be her illegitimate son, conceived before her rise to power. It’s all alleged, of course, but Rose doesn’t really need to know more than that, nor does she wish to.
Commander Kira Ren is young and impetuous, just like most Force Wielders tend to be, or so she is told. It is mildly displeasing to Rose that Lady Ren isn’t under her direct command and that the woman is free to roam her Star Destroyer as she pleases, allowed to destroy her equipment and choke his men to death whenever her hunt for the Jedi becomes too frustrating.
Rose stumbles on an unexpected method to tame her during yet another confrontation, a not-so-cordial one, over Kira contradicting Rose’s orders in front of her men.
They’re in Rose’s private offices on board her Star Destroyer and the discussion escalates to a point where they’re all but screaming in each other’s faces. Instead of grabbing her lightsaber and slashing her, though, Kira stops, breath heavy and eyes wide, and just stares at her mouth.
The tension between them snaps with frightening speed, escalating to the point in which Kira’s trembling, lean body ends up bent on her desk, moaning and squirming as Rose’s fingers are buried deep inside her and her other hand sinks into her chestnut hair to gift her a firm, merciless pull that almost makes her scream with uncontrolled delight.
Later, as Kira is lying on that very same desk and Rose is on her knees, riding her unskilled, overly enthusiastic tongue, Rose can’t help but think that this is surely not what the Empress meant when she said she wanted them to work as one.
They don’t become lovers, words like those mean next to nothing for people in their position. They do become close though. It’s hardly the first time Rose has allowed someone this close, but the regularity of this entanglement with Kira gives her pause. Those who had come before, mostly women but sometimes men too, had been quick excuses to let out some frustration, but things with the young Force user are different.
As time goes on, she shows up in Rose’s quarters in tears more often than not, and the sex gives room to long talks and chaste gestures of affection. To her surprise, Rose doesn’t mind. Even though their lust for each other is slowly dying, it’s a natural, almost serene death, that is giving birth to something new and unexpected. They care about each other. Something tells her that she’s going to regret letting her in.
Rose is twenty-four years old when she meets him for the first time. They’ve been pursuing the Starcruiser containing the last remnants of the Resistance for hours as they cross the Crait system. The hyperspace tracker she has designed has intimidated the enemy into a crazed sublight rat race that will inevitably end with their demise, but they seem determined to make the Empire waste as much time and resources as possible before they’re blasted out of existence for good.
They keep themselves out of the range of their cannons, and Rose would almost commend their spirit if not for the impatience of the Empress breathing down her neck. Only a few days earlier she experienced the power of Organa on her own neck, gasping for air as her holographic hand squeezed its first warning. She can’t afford to lose time chasing a doomed band of delusional idiots, but here she is, stuck. It doesn’t help that Kira has become particularly erratic these days.
She’s almost grateful when Captain FN-2187 calls her to the main hangar, informing her that two Resistance saboteurs have infiltrated the ship, and are now waiting for her judgment in the main hangar bay. It gives her something to do, it gives her someone to unleash her frustration upon.
Even after years of command, Rose knows that her unthreatening appearance is both a blessing and a curse. As the turbolift sinks into the belly of her ship, she looks in the mirror to make sure that her strict medium-length haircut is in perfect order, her uniform lacks any wrinkles and the leather of her platform boots is perfectly clean.
When she finally marches into the hangar her usual confidence is only boosted by her irritation, making her feel over seven feet tall. That’s when she sees the prisoners on their knees, surrounded by her perfectly ordered divisions of stormtroopers in full display, ready to get their comeuppance.
The first she lies her eyes on is a woman, tall, so very tall, tall enough that the top of her gold-haired head almost reaches for Rose’s shoulders despite her knelt position. She remembers her quite vividly, despite only having seen her face in her file. PS-8532, if she remembers correctly. She is the traitor stormtrooper who helped the young Solo escape the last time.
When her eyes drift to her companion, though, every trace of smugness drains from her face in an instant. They have never met, and they never should have, but the second she takes in that awfully familiar red beard she knows exactly who she’s dealing with.
He looks so much like his father, although his features are sharper, more elegant, and definitely more pleasant. His hair is longer than Brendol would have allowed his to grow, flowing messily to his chin and down his neck, but the oddest thing is looking at his eyes. They’re of the very same color as her mentor’s, but somehow still look nothing like his.
They’re staring at her in defiance, and they’re so full of emotion, so raw and sincere it's almost ridiculous how much she allows herself to be enraptured by them, if only for a moment. Brendol’s eyes had never looked like this, so alive and so ready for the fight. He’s an amusing sight to behold, and Rose doesn’t miss the irony of having him here, at her disposal, on his knees, wearing a stolen Imperial uniform to try and perform his little machinations.
She can’t even recall the last time she remembered he existed, despite being the biggest threat to her ambition for most of her younger years. There’s a twisted beauty in the fact that Brendol’s son, the one her dreaded mentor wanted her to marry for the glory of the Empire, is a full-fledged, bleeding-heart rebel, fighting against anything his father stood for. It’s a little, delightful final spit on the old man’s memory.
She would almost revel in the poetic nature of it if not for the fact that this man’s cause has actively put her neck on the line for the last two years.
What it’s far less delightful is that her body reacts to that specific whim of fate by making her stomach drop and her skin prickle under his gaze. She finds him attractive, disturbingly so, and she hates it.
For a moment she can’t help but ask herself what her existence would have been if Brendol had actually managed to drag this tall, willowy man into her life. She doubted he would have joined the Order willingly, but, to her utter disgust for herself, she needs to admit that she might have considered joining his marital bed willingly enough, well, surely the bed part, the marital part, not so much.
It’s a disgraceful realization to come to. That she wants him. Wants the man she killed her mentor to avoid. It makes her furious, feral, feral enough that she realizes she’s snarling at him only when the back of her gloved hand hits his cheek with enough strength to make his head snap to the side.
It’s a liberating feeling to put distress on that handsome face, even just for a moment before he’s hateful and defiant again. Good. His repulsion toward her really helps to keep her focused.
“The young Hux, I presume,” she finally speaks, voice dripping with venomous amusement, “your father would be so thoroughly disappointed.”
The absolute hatred burning in his eyes almost makes her squirm with delight.
“That is not my name, he was not my father,” he utters between gritted teeth. Oh how his voice reminds her of Brendol’s in a way, but is smoother, gentler even if furious. It also has nothing of the Imperial accent his father used to have, his speech is thick with an inflection that Rose immediately recognizes as Arkanisian, probably one he shares with that useless kitchen maid he calls mother.
“His name is Mav!” the blond traitor snarls her way, fighting against her shackles, words charged with a protectiveness for her friend that sounds both heartbreakingly genuine and utterly useless. A nod of Rose’s head and the stormtrooper who holds her at gunpoint hits her cheek with the heel of his blaster rifle, making her grunt in pain.
Mav , as he deceitfully dares to call himself, gasps at the sight of his friend in pain, eyes filled with horror. The fact that his attention is no longer on her makes her furious, and such a visceral reaction from herself enrages Rose even more.
At this point, her body is demanding to touch him. Her mind is screaming to punish him with the knowledge of what his mere existence had done to her, and how much fear and pain he had caused her. Of course, it would be unbecoming of her rank to offer her vulnerability so easily, still, she finds a way to try and quench her needs.
Her gloved hand sinks in the vivid orange of his hair and he groans in pain as she forces his head to tilt. He is tall as well, taller than his father was, tall enough that she needs to lean forward only so much to talk in his ear.
“I killed your father,” she whispers with all the malice she can. Her chin barely scrapes the scruff of his beard, and for a distinct second she wants to eat him whole. He smells like tea, rain, and engine coolant, and the odd mix almost makes her mouth water. “And I will kill you, as well.”
There is no verbal response, not that she expects any words of grief for a father he seems to despise so much. Instead, his face snaps toward hers, and she feels teeth sinking into the soft flesh above her jaw, only an inch below her full cheek.
He clearly has the single-minded objective to cause as much damage as possible despite his restrictive circumstances, and he succeeds to a degree. Mind-numbing pain floods Rose’s senses mixed with something entirely different, and she has to bite back a loud moan as her whole body shivers without permission. Her attempt at being silent works enough to make sure her men don’t know how affected she is, but not enough to keep in a quiet, bewildered wine against his neck.
She snarls at her own shortcomings, punishing him for eliciting that sound out of her by pulling his hair with such strength he’s forced to let go.
Rose stumbles back, holding her cheek, feeling hot, sticky blood dripping on her collar. Her eyes find his lips stained with red, her very own red, and he’s smirking at her before spitting the evidence of her weakness on the pristine floor of her hangar.
Oh, he knows. He knows exactly what he has done to her. Her blood boils with fury, it demands retribution.
“Grand Marshall, sir,” she hears FN-2187’s voice coming closer, composedly concerned.
“I’m fine,” she spits between gritted teeth, “execute them both.”
That said, Rose turns on her heels, marching back to the main bridge, not regarding the prisoners with another glance. The Hux men had pursued her destruction long enough, she would not allow one of them to finally succeed.