Chapter Text
Shoes are dumped onto her desk in the middle of a write-up. Startled, she looks away from typing, hands following to make the last line a garbled string of repeating letters. The intruding footwear is black leather, has a single strap across the ankle, and chunky heels. They’re her size, too.
“What’s this about?”
“You have to dance.”
Rey stares piercingly up at her fiancé, thoughts of calling the whole wedding off springing to mind with that one aggressively offensive sentence. “I don’t dance.”
“I am not going to hear any arguments. You’re planning the whole thing without me, I’m allowed this request.”
“I’m planning it because you had a meltdown about the cheese selection. That doesn’t give you grounds to make demands.”
Ben huffs. “I’m not saying vows unless you dance.”
“I’m not marrying you if you make me dance.”
“Just take the damn shoes. You’ve got lessons at seven tonight.”
“Are you…are you seriously going behind my back about this?”
“One goddamn request, let me have one goddamn request.” He slammed the door of her tiny office on his way out.
Jesus, she was looking forward to this whole thing being over. At least then, they could start fighting about normal things like whose turn it was to take out the trash. She’s growing sick of every row being a façade, the topics never important, always hiding the issue underneath.
She’s dead serious though; she’s not dancing.
Seven rolls around and she is whisked from the drafting floor upstairs to one of the conference rooms by the least likely suspect. The table has been removed and all the seating is pressed against the walls, making it look as though a very wild game of musical chairs had only recently ended. She folds her arms over her chest, uncomfortable with the arrangement.
“I don’t want either of you looking like idiots doing one of those boring, predictable, hands-on-shoulders-at-the-middle-school-ball slow dances. Luckily, you’re the only one of the pair who needs to learn.”
Hux looks immaculate in the center of the room, boredom dripping from his expression. It turns out he’s been dancing ballroom since he was a kid. If Rey had known, she would have jumped ship at six. Or begged for literally anyone else to teach her.
“Ben dances formally?”
“We were glued at the hip in college. I went with him to fencing, he came with me to dancing.” Hux shrugs. “He has been elusive about which style he’s planning so to spite him, I won’t teach you tango or samba, his two favorites.”
“By all means, please ruin this for him.”
“Now, now, I do have a reputation to uphold, so I won’t teach you to dance poorly. I will gladly make this hard on him, however.”
She bites her lip. “Did he pass over you for best man?”
“No,” Hux says flatly. “He’s deliberately not telling anyone that at the moment. We can be petty afterwards. Arms up.”
She’s been lying all this time. Hux is quick to find out as he leads her across the floor in a waltz. She doesn’t have all the muscle memory like she used to, but the grace is still there—she’s light on her feet. He makes no remarks until after the song has ended and her legs are warmed up.
“What did you do before?”
“Ballet. Years and years of ballet.”
“Sick to death of it?”
“Just seeing a leotard makes me cringe.” She falls into place with the quickstep, already familiar with a few of the styles. “Do you have a specialty?”
“Greta and I compete Lindy Hop and Charleston.”
“Why am I not surprised? How does her wearing heels work when you dance?”
“It doesn’t.”
“Can she take my place instead?”
“I think that would be in poor taste, though I’d love to boot Ben off the floor.”
She remembers why she hates dancing when she’s out of breath and sweaty on the edge of the room. Her clothes feel sticky in the air conditioning and she’s dreading exiting the building into the mid-May heat. It’s late—almost nine—but the asphalt traps the sunlight and exudes heat long after the dusk has begun to climb into the sky.
“I don’t think I need to teach you anything, but he insists we do this more than once.” Hux’s ginger hair is plastered to his forehead, his cheeks ruddier than usual. “Or we can just pretend I’m giving you lessons.”
“I’d be okay with ditching.”
“Great. Show up Wednesday evening and we’ll split after about fifteen minutes.”
“Well, how is she?” Ben asks as Hux slides in next to him at the bar.
“You need to communicate more and I’m appalled by how you’re handling this.” Hux orders before turning back to Ben’s slack jaw. “She’s a former ballerina and you need to pick your best man already, the wedding is in a month and a half. Most people have this done when they send out invitations.”
“She danced ballet?”
“Funny what people tell you when you bother to ask them.”
“How was I supposed to know?”
“Ben, I asked. You didn’t. You didn’t even make an attempt to ask because you’ve been pussyfooting around for ages. What the hell is going on, and don’t give me anxiety as your excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse—”
“It’s an excuse when it’s a lie. I’ve seen you anxious, and this is not you anxious. This is you sticking your head up your ass and praying everything will get better if you ignore it.”
“It’s about Han, isn’t it?” Phasma pulls out the stool to his right.
“You brought Greta? This isn’t fair.”
“Sorry Ben, but you need a good kick in the ass.”
They’re demons, always plotting, always holding something against him. Sometimes he forgets he was like them years ago, made of the same shark-like angles and ruthlessness. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth is a good start.” Hux takes a drink of his scotch. “We know you’re not fond of your old man, but it’s been a while since you’ve been this…well, useless, Ben.”
“And don’t pull the ‘daddy didn’t love me’ card, we both know that’s false.”
“He wasn’t good about showing it.”
“You get angry about that, not dismissive.”
“You’re both buying me a shot before we go through with this brain picking.”
“Done,” the demons chime in unison.
It takes another hour for him to open up. He hates picking his scabs open and this is no easier than it’s ever been. He could argue it’s been getting worse as the date approaches. He hasn’t seen his father in person in years, and, he admits, he’s afraid to see what’s happened in all that time. Has he grown worse? Has his father? What if this has all been a perception issue, and the conflict is in his head?
“That one’s not true,” Phasma says with a sigh. “The one time I met Leia, she wasn’t quick to hide there was a rift between you and Han.”
“Do you always feel this sorry for yourself?” Hux’s eyes are drooping.
“Not when I’m sober.”
“Maybe that’s the problem—you’re not confronting the root of this. What is it about your dad that makes you so self-deprecating?”
“I never…” Ben sighs, gathering the loose ends of thoughts. “Never really got his approval of anything. I couldn’t tell if he were proud of me, ever. He was almost never home and I guess I just wanted him to see I’d been improving in the time he was gone.”
“And now you’re a successful physicist with a major aerospace firm.” Phasma is the only one still sober, sipping a ginger ale. Thank god. “Why can’t you be proud of yourself without needing him to reaffirm what you already know?”
“What if he thinks I haven’t done well enough for myself?”
Both Phasma and Hux groan, agitated and frustrated. He’s being pigheaded and he knows it.
“You have a doctorate, you’re making six figures, and you’re getting married. What else could he want you to do? Grow six wings and own a champion thoroughbred racehorse?”
“That would be a good start.”
“You can’t grow wings, Ben.” Phasma rubs her temples. “We’re not there with the genetics yet. You could own a horse but you’d go broke.”
“What if he doesn’t like Rey?”
“Have you met a single person who doesn’t like her?”
He rolls his eyes at Hux. “You don’t.”
“I don’t mind her, I’m just not friends with her. I’ve never said anything about disliking her.”
“Armitage is impossible to please, don’t judge anything on him.”
“Listen to her, she’s been the only voice of reason between us for years.”
“Thanks, Greta.” Ben swirls his drink, mind muddled. “I know this is all irrational.”
“Whatever happens, she’s important to you, right? Then it shouldn’t matter whose approval you have. You’re a big boy, Benjamin. You’re in charge of your own happiness.”
“Just because I’m in charge of it doesn’t mean it’s immune to outside forces.”
“If your dad says anything negative about her, I will personally beat him up.”
Phasma grimaces. “Sweetheart, you’re all mouth, no muscle. If you try that, I’ll have to step in. Please do not make me step in.”
“Fine. Anyway,” Hux starts, resting his elbow on the bar, “you should probably bring up this concern to Rey, or one of us might just let it slip in conversation.”
“I’ll disinvite both of you.”
Phasma laughs. “I’m her maid of honor.”
“Wait, did I know this?” Hux asks, sitting up.
“I might have mentioned it off-handedly.”
“I think you have to make Dameron your best man now. Otherwise it’ll feel too double date-y.”
“Hux, it’s a wedding.”
“Still. Double dates, not my thing.”
Ben sighs and it turns into a chuckle. His shoulders feel a little lighter now, a little more confident.