Archive of Our Own

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It is early autumn. The air has only begun to cool from the summer's blistering heat. A forlorn sort of calm falls over the Chandrila village proper. A forlornness that is greeted with a melancholic peace at the Alderaan estate. Three hours out of the tiny town's borders, in a twist of ancient trees, home to sprawling, overrun gardens, steep rock faces and nestled into the stony bosom at the foot of the mountains, it's little wonder that there is no cell coverage out this far.

It is quiet. Only the occasional chirp of birdsong, the soft step of elk on fallen leaves in the forests, the sigh of the wind through the ancient boughs of trees. A peacefulness that is broken by the approach of a motorcar.

The applicant.

Leia sighs, looking to her son.

"You'll be good, won't you, Ben?" She asks him softly. He remains silent, staring at a point over her shoulder. She rises from his bedside, slow and stiff. Age hasn't been the kindest. Her movements are halting. It always gets worse this time of year, the arthritis and the rest of it. Han places his hand at her elbow, to help steady her.

"Come along now, dearest." Han prompts, glancing at Ben who doesn't respond one way or another. There are times... Han's hand shakes as he reaches for Leia's back to guide her away... Times he wishes it all could have been different.

He hopes that this time, his time WILL be different. Picking the name of Armitage Hux was a bit of a gamble. The man's CV seemed woefully inadequate in terms of fulfilling the role of carer. Or anything particularly suited to this role, if Han was being perfectly honest. Leia had chosen him. Said he had kind eyes. Who attaches photos to their resumes? It's beyond Han but none of the applicants he had chosen had ever panned out.

The more dowdy, more elderly women couldn't keep up with any of the housework, when they had tried that, let alone begin to look after their son properly. None of the young, unwed women could make themselves stay in such isolated places, spooked by the immensity of the property, the vast sprawling house and it's old quirks of shifting and bumps in the night. No. And the broader, braver men who would have been able to tend the mansion and estate had no care for their charge.

This was fast becoming their last hope. And for what? Han sighs. He hopes that Leia's 'kind eyed' young man will be the right fit. Not, he supposes, that it matters overly much. It's rather out of their hands.
 
~
 
The building is a towering cloud, framed with elegant, tall silhouettes of trees wearing the foliage of autumn that is somehow faded where it should be bright and full of life.

Even when the sunshine dares to shimmer in and out of existence, the estate remains a place seemingly shrouded in shadow.

It was no easy task to find... Narrow, bumpy, unpaved roads...
He pulls in, unsure if there's really a proper place he's supposed to park.
As soon as he climbs from the car, he finds himself struggling not to gawk at it. It's so... Grand. Of course it is.

Part of the appeal, he supposes. To live here, despite the solemnity of the grey colouring, he can't deny a grim beauty.

It being so far from all else holds its own appeal, of course. He's startled by the quiet, he can hear his own step crunch in dead leaves so loudly. Silence... He thinks silence might be a blessing.

He tries not to look as nervous as he is. He wasn't sure entirely how nicely he should dress. He doesn't wear a suit, of course. But a nice shirt and jumper, some smart trousers...

At least, what he could find...

He fears it isn't enough but of course, it's not appearance that makes the most difference, he reminds himself, tidying his hair as he cautiously approaches the daunting set of front doors.

He wrings his hands, adjusts his sleeves and checks his watch. Usually he is very early but he is mildly horrified to find he's almost fifteen minutes late, due to missing a sharp and narrow turning on his way.

He shifts his weight, chewing his lip, his pale eyes scanning the doors that must be oak. Such a beautiful mansion.

He swallows down the odd churning of his stomach. He can't see a bell so he uses a door knocker instead.
 
~
 
The knock sounds like thunder in the foyer. Cavernous and yet much like a cathedral - high ceilings and a chandelier hanging heavily in desperate need of cleaning. Han makes his way to the door, faster than Leia whose hands grip at the bannister to steady herself.

Her son... She hopes this isn't a mistake. The others before, so thoughtless! She draws a deep breath.

"Is it him?" She asks. Han shoots her a look over his shoulder. Of course it is. Who else might it be?

He pulls open the door, his aged features fixed into what he supposes might be a friendly look but it's been so long that they have endured company that it simply looks like a scowl.

"Armitage Hux?"

The heavy doors open to reveal a man with withered looks... Armitage would be intimidated were it not for a softness in his eyes that he thinks he glimpses.

He outstretches a hand for him to shake.

"A pleasure to meet you." Armitage tells him straightforwardly.

The little research he was able to find tells him...

"...Mr Solo?" He questions hesitantly.

Leia Organa didn't change her name.

Something of a half smile curves Han's lips.

He seems nice enough. Clean cut, Han likes that. Slender, too, though. He hopes their son won't be a challenge for him. He extends a hand and Han stares at it for a long moment before he remembers something of social graces and gives it a hearty shake.

"Yes, the same." He responds, stepping to the side and gesturing for him to come in. Leia has made it to the bottom of the stairs. She smiles warmly at the young man, making her way toward him.

"Mr. Solo, indeed! You can call him Han, dear." Leia greets, pulling him into a gentle hug. "I am Leia. Welcome to Alderaan." The property's name, of course.

"Did you find it alright?" Han asks, gesturing for him to follow them into something of a sitting room.

Heavy, dark wood furniture dominates the room. Antique stuff, mostly. Han slips down into an overstuffed velvet sofa and gestures for Armitage to find a seat. Leia heads off in a different direction. The clatter of porcelain is loud in this otherwise silent house. The solemn, steady tick and whir of the pendulum swinging in the grandfather clock is the only other immediately discernible sound.

Armitage is relieved when those features melt into a half smile, despite how long he stares at his hand...

Yes, the same.

Armitage almost sighs his relief. How awkward it would have been if he had somehow come to the wrong place or under the wrong circumstances, or... He tries to stay calm. Even breaths. He smiles as he enters Alderaan house.

Mr Solo, indeed! You can call him Han, dear.

Han...

He has only one glimpse of the large space of the inside before he reaches the arms of the lady of the house. He tries not to stare at the interiors. Though they are truly awe-inspiring. So old and delicate.

I am Leia. Welcome to Alderaan.

"Thank you..." Armitage is swift to add. "Lovely to meet you."

His eyes are wide, unable to help himself. He gazes at the antiques, the porcelain vases and figures. So beautiful.

Did you find it alright?

Armitage smiles softly.

"For the most part." He tries to adopt a joking tone. Everything seems so somber.

Han is sat down on a glorious sofa...

Armitage finds more humble seating. A wooden chair will do. He is so fearing of damaging anything. It seems as if a single flick of his finger could somehow topple all of these intricacies, shattering the quiet nature of this place.

"This is a beautiful home." Armitage voices aloud.

Han observes him quietly. He seems possessed of a nervous energy. Daunting, he supposes, the aged and in some cases, decaying grace of the old estate. He remembers being similarly bemused and intimidated by it when he had first met Leia. Back then, Alderaan had been in finer form. More populated.

"Mm." He grunts in response to Armitage's admiration of the home. Hardly a home. He shrugs, leaning back.

Armitage regrets saying so. He doesn't mean to take advantage of such a place. Nor behave naively. Perhaps he is guilty of both. Armitage manages to remain reasonably still..  A silence spans between them, broken only as Leia makes her way back in, a tray of steaming tea and some biscuits which she settles on the coffee table.

"Help yourself, dear." She sits besides Han, smoothing wrinkled hands over the fabric of her long skirt. She looks at him. So young. Well dressed, pleasant. Armitage gives a small nod. So generous...

The tea and biscuits eases him…

"Thank you..." He replies, for what feels like the tenth time.

"Tell us about yourself." Han demands, a little gruffly. Leia doesn't protest, however, they need to know what he's like. As much as any sort of interview can reveal. Humans have such a unique capacity for duplicity.

Armitage takes a small sip of the tea... It's a delicious flavour. He straightens himself, trying to... Look perfect.

"I..." He clears his throat, trying to remember what he had rehearsed to himself in the car but he's drawing a blank. "I enjoy calm..." He begins, thinking of how quiet it is here. It's true... A peculiar thing for a young man, he is sure, but...

"I've studied biological sciences though my personal interests are more literary..." He continues. He tries to gather what might be useful... Helpful... "I can cook..." He adds, "and I'm tidy by my nature..."

They watch him curiously. Neither of them reach for the tea or biscuits.

Han sighs, crossing his arms.

"Well, I hope it's the old fashioned literary. We don't have that... What'sit? Internet and such." The last girl had complained about no wifi.

All the better, Armitage thinks. He smiles. A small nod.

"I prefer old fashioned." He's quick to tell the skeptical-seeming Han...

"It can certainly get quite ‘calm’, here. Winters can be harsh, we get decent snowfall and that can lead to road closures and total isolation until the thaws come." Leia informs him. "We have a grocer who makes deliveries, Snoke. He will ensure that you are well stocked here and prepared for that eventuality, should... Should Ben take a liking to you and you accept the position, of course."

Armitage swallows a steaming gulp of tea, setting it down, his fingers tentatively reach for a biscuit. He nibbles on it as she continues to explain. He can tell it's a warning... Armitage looks solemn but not swayed. He nods. Leia pats Han's knee, smiling in response to Armitage's own smile. It is a nice smile. She wishes...

Han frowns.

"You have any family? Partner?" Han is more direct. Leia settles her hand on his knee. They don't want to scare him off but, she inhales deeply. It is necessary, to get a good picture, she supposes.

He blinks. Finishing the biscuit.

"None will miss me." He answers, honestly.

She makes a small sound.

"I am sure that isn’t true." She says kindly. "But it's for the best. Guests... Are not permitted, I'm afraid. Ben's condition is..."

He folds his hands. His eyes lowering. He's beginning to find the elderly couple charming... But he can't find it in his heart to tell them more.

"Unique." Han finished for her. He frowns at Armitage. Armitage lifts his eyes. The mystery. He hasn't been told as to the nature of… Armitage doesn't miss his frown. His look lowers again. He can't help his curiosity. Ben must be a man for sure, if his parents are old.

He sips his tea again.

"Are you good at reading aloud? Ben likes to listen to all manner of things. Stories, lessons, music." Leia asks.

Armitage brightens instantly, lowering his cup.

"Yes!" He exclaims softly. "At least... I have read aloud before. I once considered private tutoring. I have no trouble reading aloud..."

This seems to soothe Leia. Her expression fond, if not a little sad.

"Ben is, as you can guess, not a small child." Han says, getting to his feet. "I suppose you should meet him, before we get into the particulars." Armitage mirrors him, carefully making sure his tea won't spill before standing himself.

"Of course." Armitage answers.

Leia lifts her face to her husband. Ah, yes... No sense in getting attached to this young man if... If he can't...

"Come along, Armitage." She says gently. Back to the stairs. A large, grand staircase. Up only two flights of stairs when it seems many more reach above them. Long corridors - so many rooms. This would have been a grand place for a child. Many nooks and crannies to hide and play in.

He has puzzled over... why he has heard nothing, not so much as a squeak. Perhaps Ben is working or perhaps... More likely, he has an illness that will last for all of his life. The thought is a grim one. Armitage finds himself feeling increasingly sorry for this couple. It's clear, particularly with his mother, that they love him... that they're concerned. Armitage hopes his biological practice might help him in this case, yet neither of the adults have mentioned any visiting doctor or...

He nods to her.

"The tea was delicious." He adds. "Might I ask... how old your son is?" For some reason, the question feels like dangerous territory. Something taboo... but... it seems simply logical.

It's not hard to miss his puzzlement. It feels like such a fall pretense. It's not, Leia assures herself, of course. Ben is...

"I'm glad you liked it. It's Tarine. Grows on the grounds here, you're welcome to collect more anytime you like." She assures him, glancing over her shoulder at him with a small, kind smile. Han only grumbles under his breath. Tarine! His favourite. He... couldn't have hoped for better in terms of location. Lack of signal comforts rather than bothers him. He needs this. This gentleness.

"He's... 27." Han admits.

Not a child indeed! He's almost the same age...

Will Ben mind a carer near the same age as him? Just so long, Armitage supposes, as he doesn't patronise. So long as he is calm and patient. So long as Ben likes him.

His nervousness is returning. Ben is so obviously a concern for his parents... has he always lived with his parents? It is likely...

He is only further bewitched by all the intricacies of such large hallways. There are so many rooms that he fears until he gets a grasp of it, he may get lost… He notes to make himself a short map and explore later, just in case. Assuming he gets this job... which, increasingly, he hopes he does. Ben and his... state, is the only... missing pieces of this curious puzzle.

"Are you handy, at all?" Han asks. "The estate is old. Obviously you're not here to be a caretaker for the grounds but at times, it is necessary to solve any structural deficiencies on your own. You saw Chandrila proper, I imagine - it's too small for handymen to make their way here."

Armitage hums a small sound of understanding.

"I... have my moments." He answers, though he finds his own answer deficient. "I can certainly think quickly and creatively." Armitage rectifies himself.

He cringes at his own answer, it doesn't sound... enough.

"But we've a vast library, Han!  Most things, we have a book on that might be instructive enough!" Leia tries to soothe.

Armitage's eyes light. A library in a house like this! He can't help but feel a little excitement at the thought.

"I'm sure I'll manage..." Armitage tries to assure.

"That will be sufficient." Leia says serenely. The house itself is in relatively good working order. The stonework keeps it cool in summer and any sun during winter is trapped in its ancient stones. Plus, there are plenty of fireplaces. It will be such a large place for only two of them. She hopes he truly doesn't mind his own company. For as much as she loves her son, he's hardly an engaging conversationalist.

Armitage tries not to let his thoughts drift. Tries to pay as much attention to the details as possible.

"The windows are secured. Locked. They must be kept closed." Han rumbles. "At all times."

Perhaps Ben is sensitive to conditions outside. Armitage starts to wonder. He nods again, for what now feels like the hundredth time. In such a large house, he'll doubt he'll want to open windows. Perhaps the shortest walk around the grounds if need be, but...

His eyes catch on a large painting, oil paints, he presumes, hung on the wall. Two loving parents. Younger faces. Leia has long, thick brown hair. Han seems to glow. Between them, close to them and loved by them in the portrait, is a young boy. He has long, thick, black hair.

Little photo frames line a shelf. Armitage spots a man with an impish grin. The same dark hair...

Further along... there is the same young man with a pose lit with near-reckless confidence. He's handsome. Large, captivating eyes that stare out of the painting knowingly. Armitage finds he is staring too long into them. He has to keep going or he'll be left behind.

Finally, they draw to a stop. Armitage shifts his weight. Why should he be nervous? All has been well so far... why is there now so deep a tension? Even in that kindly woman's expression?

Leia moves ahead, her hand resting on the doorknob. She draws a deep breath, turning to her husband and to Armitage. This is always the moment she dreads the most. She swallows hard, offering a small, tight smile.

"Alright, Armitage." She pushes the door open...

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The door is pushed open. It's a modest room, in comparison to the others. A bookcase, lined with dusty tomes. A simple double bed, homemade quilt. A desk. A record player set up upon it - it plays softly in the background. Bach, was it? Or had he requested Tchaikovsky? She doesn't quite remember. Beside it are several other records from bygone eras."Ben... This is Armitage Hux." She addresses softly. Ben. Their son. Sits awkwardly on the bed. Long legs stretched out straight, arms down stiffly at his side. Staring straight ahead at the wall."Armitage, this is our son, Ben."The door is opened. His eyes are led to the record player. Bach... he recognises the Symphony. It's one of Armitage's favourites. A bookcase too.Finally, Armitage's eyes are drawn to the large, seated shape on the bed. Long limbs. His face so smooth and clean and...Armitage stills.
Armitage, this is our son, Ben.
Armitage's eyes must be playing tricks. That... that doesn't make sense he...Armitage has stopped dead in his tracks. The couple... they didn't seem insane when he met them and talked to them. They seemed... perfectly rational. Altogether normal and composed.He blinks and then he breaks into a smile. A joke? But that's not the response. They're not laughing...Yet, the young man, on the bed, has skin made of porcelain. His limbs are not attached by muscle and flesh and blood, but by intricate hinges. He is delicate and large and long... a mannequin of sorts. A doll. He's a doll!Armitage's eyes find the couples' faces. They are... truly they're serious?"He's..." Armitage begins, but his words escape him. His eyes find the doll's. He has large, startling, dark eyes, somehow almost as soulful as the ones in the painting but this... he's not flesh! He's wood and... porcelain or perhaps resin...  Isn't he?! "Your son is..."He's not REAL! -that's what Armitage wants to exclaim. Instead he... he catches himself."Beautiful." Armitage finally states.It's not a lie. The... puppet is pretty but...They watch him very carefully. His halting step. A sudden stillness. The blink that they know all too well. His lips quirk into a smile and Han reaches for Leia's hand. Leia who suddenly looks... Crestfallen.She steps closer to Ben. Protectively, almost, sitting on the edge of the bed. She takes his stiff hand in her own, patting it soothingly.
He's...
Han crosses his arms, prepared for the worst. For the usual disappointment...
Your son is...
Leia sighs softly. Perhaps this was a mistake, after all.
Beautiful.
She exhales, a small smile. Her weathered hand grips onto Ben’s."See, Mr. Hux is nice." She says, almost assuringly. She knew it. She knew it the instant she had seen his light eyes in that photograph."Many have been unkind. Unaccepting." Han says defensively.Leia settles Ben's hand back on the bed.Armitage frowns. No... this doesn't... this can't be right.A sadness is quick to find him. If the parents truly believe this is real that means...They are delusional enough to believe their son lives as a doll. Which means... as insane as this is... if he wants a job not caring for... anyone actually living anyway...He approaches carefully. His expression soft. This is... strange, but he isn't unnerved. Simply this is... a tragic situation."I... see." Armitage replies gently.He clears his throat. Reaching for the puppet's delicate, hardened hand."Hello Ben..." he shakes it.He is looking more deeply into those glazed eyes now. They're so deep. So large...He lowers Ben's hand. Looking back to his... 'parents'. He hardly knows what to say.If this is their 'son', what happened to the real young man? Did he die? Is this... to preserve their memories? It's... it only grows increasingly sad, in his mind.For some reason, Armitage can't stop looking back to those unblinking eyes. How... how could this have happened? How can his parents be so... blind? Or so deluded? He cannot say so. This will be far easier, he thinks, than he could have hoped. Uncanny...He almost thought on first glance that he was real. His long, synthetic hair looks real. Wispy and black..."So..." Armitage clears his throat. There must be... requirements... for their delusions.It's so sad...Thinking of these two, alone in a house filled with memories of their son while their son has either died or run away, unlikely to ever return...
I... See.
He doesn't. No one can. But he hasn't laughed or run screaming and that is the best starting point they could hope for at this point.Han watches him approach their son.
Hello Ben...
The form seems unresponsive. Leia licks her lower lip nervously. Sometimes, others have reported warmth and softness to his skin. She reaches over, fondly putting her fingers to his thick hair, pushing it gently behind his ear.
So...
"You're still interested?" the hopefulness in her tone is unmistakable. Armitage's heart could ache for her. His eyes linger on the doll's face..."He's not." Han says harshly. It's easier... Less painful to get atop of the situation."I am." Armitage corrects. "Show me... how I might care for him."He doesn't know... what exactly he's walking into, but the couple seem... though they seem confused and lost... there's nothing harmful about the situation. He is hardly a superstitious man. What has he got to lose?Han shakes his head and makes his way from the room. The stragglers always leave after the rules. He may as well continue with their preparations as Leia goes over the routines."Well, Ben... Hates to be kept in his room. He's not to leave the property of course and shouldn't be left outside but he does like nature. We're just... Not able to accommodate him." she smiles softly. "There's not much to recommend getting old, I'm afraid."She crosses over to the desk. She draws out a binder."There are ten basic rules." she opens the binder. "Proposed routines. But, he's not a little boy anymore. So, companionship is..." she draws a shaking breath. "We just don't want him to be lonely while we're away."She hands him the list. 
No Guests

Never Leave Ben Alone

Save Meals in Freezer

Never Cover Ben's Face

Read aloud

Play Music

Clean the Traps

Only Snoke Brings Deliveries

Ben is Never to Leave

Kiss Goodnight
 Leia wrings her hands."He is lovely, I promise. I... I think the two of you will get along quite nicely. You have a nice spirit, Armitage."The list of rules perhaps was made when… Ben was a boy? Armitage takes a deep breath, observing the list. He smiles gently at Leia after she compliments his spirit.
Clean the traps...
"Traps?" He questions aloud."Pests. Rats. Since Moses died, our dog, we've had to resort to more old fashioned traps." she explains. "Truthfully it's just a precaution. Wouldn’t want the smaller pests attracting the larger ones."Armitage nods once again. He continues to survey the list, looking to Ben's face again. Staring straight ahead...Well. Armitage won't be scared by him, that's for certain. He doesn't live... still, he supposes the rules for the most part aren't difficult to exact. If he wants to keep the job... they might have security footage somewhere to check-But that is overthinking. He didn't see anything. It is likely to all be just a peculiar circumstance easily explained by old minds and nerves..."Alright." Armitage agrees. "I... hope you're right." He sighs softly. "I hope... we get along."Leia nods, tears unshed, on her lash line. Gods... she really means it. Armitage can see it. She's near to crying. He wishes he could give her more comfort... but it really is insane..."Me, too."She draws a deep breath."He's quite grown. I... Think perhaps it might be worth checking to see if you can manage him" he's large and unwieldy. Beyond her entirely and in a couple more years, even Han won’t be able to manage him.Armitage look him up and down. Oh! Carrying... um... yes... he frowns again. A large, delicate object to maneuver he tries to think of the best way… He seems to take care and consideration. This gives Leia hope. It's promising..."You can bring him with us, I'll show you his favorite room." She continues."Cleaning is not overly hard. Mostly a warm damp cloth. He used to love baths but I'm afraid he's quite outgrown them." And, more to the point, they simply cannot safely manage it themselves.A warm damp cloth. Not much to even clean, Armitage thinks. So long as he isn't gotten too dirty…"Right..." Armitage breathes.He leans forward as slowly and carefully as he can, he lifts Ben's arm over his shoulders, his own arm reaching under the dangly legs...He tries to carry him, bridal style. He finds Ben is heavier than the materials he's made of suggests. He tries not to show it, straightening his back, he holds Ben just fine, in his arms...His head is flopping. Armitage isn't sure if he ought to try and support him more..."You'll find what works best for you." She encourages. She closes her eyes, recalling one such candidate that had drug him through the house. Needless to say, they weren't allowed to stay. Snow or not.She smiles as Armitage finds his way, she steps closer, settling Ben's head to his shoulder so it does not flop so readily. The weight of his head on Armie's shoulder... it is surprising how heavy he feels compared to how he looks."This way!" she is excited now, moving a little faster back out into the hallway."There are many libraries. This one... Is his favourite." she draws the double sliding doors open.Comfortable over-sized bean bags. A cassette tape player. Lots of books. Many caught and displayed insets in glass shadow boxes.Less a child's room. A young adult's haunt. Aged posters of old bands. Plastic glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling and a generously sized window seat. The curtains pulled open to let in the watery sunlight. A generous view of the grounds.He struggles, at first, to escort Ben through doorways, though they are large. He persists slowly nonetheless, escorting Ben's feet inside first before the rest of him. It's a nice, open room... did the real Ben like it here? He guides the puppet Ben to the window seat. Laying him carefully, so that he might see the view.Now able to move more freely, Hux looks around at the books. The tapes. All signs of a young, perhaps rebellious youth. A whole life seemingly lived... yet no evidence of real flesh and blood. It's bizarre…"The mansion is structurally sound. For the most part. Some wings have not been inhabited in so long so I cannot speak for the condition of them.  You're welcome to explore. Denying you would be pointless, since we'll be... Away." she laughs softly, arms crossing as she smiles sadly at the collection of butterflies and insects. She remembers Ben, barely higher than her knees, chasing through the gardens with his little net.Gods.... So... Full of life and love. A little chaos, of course, but she believes all young things must be.He follows her gaze to the butterflies and insects. Did the boy supposedly collect them himself?"Thank you..." Armitage repeats." I... I rather think I might let you settle. Take a look around, get acquainted with him. Ben is... He's a good listener." her voice is thick with emotion. He wants to promise he won't be nosey or snoop... but it is difficult. He is still curious as to this mystery and since he'll be here for so long...Armitage doesn't think he will be lonely. It is better to be safe and lonely than to live with... He is swift to stop thinking of it.Armitage could laugh at that if it weren't for her tone of voice. What happened to them?! Are they traumatised?"I'll have dinner ready by 5pm. Han and I will be on the ground floor." she crosses over to her son, adjusting his head a little, to lean him back against the wall, the grounds spread out before him. Oh, how he loved the outdoors, once upon a time…He watches Leia come back to the puppet. So gently adjusting him. Is she so certain he can feel?She pats his shoulder and then makes her way from the room. She hopes he's a good young man, that he doesn't scare off this Armitage Hux."Great!" Armitage exclaims softly. "Thank you for everything, Leia..."She pauses at the door, drawing a deep breath. Should she warn him?"Just... Remember the rules, Armitage. He... Sometimes he has a dreadful temper..."She leaves, traversing down the hallway, approaching the stairs so she might make her way to the kitchen.Armitage is gazing at the spines of books... some of them were from his own childhood and adolescence. He moves to look over the grounds. So vast...A different tone of voice now. Armitage stares at her, trying not to look so... confused? Bewildered? Skeptical? Leia's voice is a warning.Armitage's brows furrow before he can stop it. A... puppet. He can't cross this boundary, there's no logical reasoning for the entirety of this bizarre circumstance."I'll... do my best." He finally agrees.Playing the game... whatever game this is. These poor people...As she leaves, he can't help but be drawn back to the doll. A strange unease in how real it looks. Truly, it is a wonderful work of craftsmanship... but he is a doll, nonetheless. Armitage kneels in front of him. Following his view to the grounds. A small sigh. What's he to do? Should he really follow these... mad requests? The way she had warned him... but this is ridiculous! He's...Armitage carefully turns the long limbs inward. Carefully reaching to the porcelain face. Large, painted lips. He turns the face so it looks at him. His brow furrows further. Looking into those eyes... and they stare into his own. A somewhat haunting object. Were he less rational, he might be more unnerved. He supposes since the couple are still in the house, he ought to play along."Hi..." Armitage whispers to the lifeless being in front of him. "So... I guess... we'll be spending some time..."He can't help it this time. He does laugh softly. What is he doing?!"Come on then." He sighs, taking Ben into his arms as steadily as he is able. "Let's go exploring."He'd think that the elderly couple should have invested in a wheelchair for their puppet... but he supposes that's the least of all possible concerns around this subject.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hi...
 
Dark eyes housed in a singularly unique frame are settled on the newcomer. Pale eyes greet them, observing. It would be hard not to feel like a twisting insect under a magnifying glass. Leia is gone from the room. Just this stranger, left with a stiff and seemingly fragile body. 
So... I guess... we'll be spending some time...
 
A soft laugh. Disbelieving. Nobody believes. Who would? Yet who would believe such a creation could have been made? To serve what purpose? Leia and Han did not commission a doll to take the shape of a lover, though if either of them had been lonelier and on their own, even that might have been more believable than the truth. 
Come on then.
 
Slender limbs wrap around an unwieldy body. The head falls forward, nestled at his shoulder. 
Let's go exploring.
 
Where will he go? Such a vast building. A decaying carcass, too stubborn to realize its grace has gone. Much, like the doll, in all likelihood. Too stubborn to move on, to let the past die. It's almost cruel. For their lives to wither away under this roof and now... Why are you here? Able bodied... Young... Not without a degree of attractiveness? Why would you come... here? He is, of course, most eager to find out the libraries. First, however, he must grasp the layout. He comes back past the portraits again. Retracing his steps, remembering where it leads. He stares back at the young man again. That... was definitely a real person. There are photographs of him, for pity's sake! He continues on. They had taken a right here... but what about a left? Armitage takes in a breath, adjusting his grip. Why is a puppet so heavy? He continues on... multiple rooms... One is more private and warm... a nice place to clear his mind, Armitage thinks. A four poster bed with blue velvet curtains. How old is the house? Perhaps there'll be some information somewhere. Another staircase. He is careful going downstairs, unable to see where he places his feet because most of the view is of the doll. 
Ben is twenty seven...
 
"You must have lived your life here..." Armitage mutters. This was home. He convinces himself that he's... not talking to the doll. Just himself. "I wonder if you've ever seen the city..." He comes to a large set of doors. He doesn't want to kick them open, obviously, but it's hard to get a hand free. He turns the handle, placing Ben a bit too close to the doors before entering... He gasps. Floor to the high ceiling!!! Shelves and shelves of books... some looking so old that they'll fall apart at a small touch. Some seemingly shining and new! He smiles. Finding a seat to sit Ben in as best he can, without him slipping. There are balconies to reach the higher ones... and windows... showing the country... some resting deer. He makes a gawking sound of amazement. "It's... incredible..." he breathes. His eyes wide. Where will he go? What sort of things might possess his interest? It's doubtful that the burdensome mannequin will captivate him or entertain him. Time will tell if he is to be left on a chair somewhere, forgotten and left to collect dust or worse - a blanket thrown over his features to blank out any perception of the world. Cumbersome as the doll is, the red haired man manages well enough, readjusting his grip but he does not seem to struggle as the others have. Will he like the room of stuffed animals? Hunted, preserved... Stuck on the walls and set onto stands by Leia's father? No. Not likely to be the hunter sort. Leia calls him nice, there must be a reason for it. Is he kind? 
I wonder if you've ever seen the city...
 
Not for so long. There are polaroids, somewhere, in a box. They stop. Ben is leaned against a doorframe. The wood of these doors is familiar. The main library. There is an audible gasp. He's bundled into a chair, staring at rows of neat books. 
It's... incredible...
 
How else can one reach the world, now? Leia was always a bibliophile but... The hunched form in the chair will never touch the world they come from again. His fingertips trace the spines. Romantic poetry! Keats! He draws it out carefully. Remembering where he has taken it from... Shakespeare's love sonnets! An entire collection. He can't help himself. Drawing that out too. He comes back to Ben's table. Sitting himself on the other side of it. At least... though he may not have real company... Ben might serve as a substitute... He realises how crazy that sounds. A small shake of his head. It's only at this angle that he realises... just how melancholy the puppet's expression is. Haunted. He opens the sonnets first. His eyes lifting to the daylight through the windows. Pale... but beautiful. Everything is sad but beautiful here. He finds sonnet 116... He looks back to the doll. Leia said... reading aloud. He can't seriously think... He blinks. Looking back down at the words. He clears his throat. "It is the star to every wandering bark," he mutters. Again... he convinces himself he is muttering to himself. Not to those deep, melancholy eyes... which are so clearly just... glass. "Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks, Within his bending sickle’s compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom..." He looks back up to the doll. He didn't sense a movement. Perhaps the angle of his head just... slipped slightly but now it feels like... Armitage shakes it off. Closing the sonnets. They can explore some more rooms, he reckons, before dinner... He moves about, taken in by the well worn spines. Books that once had been opened time and time again by a sulking young man laying on his back in the atrium, surrounded by plants and birds, rain pattering on ornate ironwork and glass. Books now opened by another young man, seated across from Ben's likeness. His voice, soft and lilting. Smooth... Such longing is steeped into these books. A faint smudge of a thumb print at the edge of the page - eating chocolate while reading, taken in by the prose that no mind was given to the chocolate left between thumb and finger, melting from the warmth of a racing heartbeat. 
If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
 
The book is closed too soon. Too soon for the little sketches to be found in the margins of the pages closest to the binding. Roses. Plants. Whatever was in bloom or took a young man's fancy. The bow of cupid's weapon made into lips. A romantic.Scolded within an inch of his life for defacing books by a much darker haired Leia. Armitage leaves them out. Likely he'll return to them or bring them with him later. There are so many! He circles the room slowly, one last time... noting the layout, different genres, fiction and non-fiction, the various categories... he sighs. He'll spend much time here, he imagines. He returns to the chair where Ben sits. A struggle that is already becoming more familiar each time, he takes him in his arms, still trying to be gentle. He exits the room, careful to make sure the door is properly closed... Another corridor. One of the doors is open a crack. Armitage notes bright colours... he pushes it open a little further. Toys. A teddy bear with similarly glassy eyes, though not nearly as deep or detailed. A toy train and train track. Quite elaborate. It looks like... a nursery. Clouds painted on the walls. It would have looked fresh and still in action if it weren't for the cobwebs... A name in colourful bubble letters: B, E, N. "This was yours." Armitage murmurs. "And... they kept it." He can't hide his pity. How did they lose their son? How could it have rocked them so much... that they're driven to all of this? This... peculiarity. The portrait of the family that looks back at the expressionless face smiles. A young boy with ears far too large for his face, a wide toothy grin. A stern fondness in Han's expression, his hand on his wife and son's shoulder. This portrait guards the nursery. This was yours. And... they kept it. What else might they do with it? There are so many rooms, they could lock a number of them, never enter them and still have an endless supply of rooms to choose from. A small shift, the mannequin's hair falls forward, the bright blue of the carpet reflected in unblinking eyes. Even if it was mostly nannies that spent time with the young child here, it was still a happy room. Ben had liked it. It caught the morning sun and had always felt warm. Why does his head... move so readily? Armitage is sure he didn't... he shakes his own head. He won't let it get to him. No chance. He closes each door behind him. Moving further in. There are hunting trophies... he can't look at them for too long, not least because those eyes are too much like this doll's... and that somehow and unexplainably, makes his heart sink. Not to mention his own fondness for wildlife. Unnecessary…The trophy room. A bizarrely fascinating room, once Ben had grown out of childhood. Until then, it had menaced him - lifelike creatures, perfectly preserved. They would give him nightmares. An irony that is not unappreciated. Armitage doesn't seem to wish to linger there. Such things, perhaps, do not keep his interest. What will he do with the human equivalent of those trophies? A morbid reminder of what once was the glory of this house, it's brightest star? Now, a vast and darkened night sky. Empty of that glow. He enters another room. This one... perhaps a drawing room? A piano! Armitage lays Ben in an armchair this time, facing the piano... as he comes to it. The furniture is ornate, once again. So much to look after... Armitage hopes it doesn't gather too much dust during his stay... though he'll naturally try his best. He sits on the piano stool. There are many clocks here... luckily the ticking is so quiet. Some are even decorated in what looks like gold! Though he can hardly be sure. There are paintings here too... though not of the family. Some of them more mythical. Prints from artists... Armitage has gawked enough. He lifts the lid of the piano as carefully as he is able. He knows the violin better... but he did learn a few songs... His fingertips rest on the keys. It's so quiet again that he could almost fear making a sound. He plays a low note... and it seems to echo all around him. He chews his lip. They did say he liked music, whatever that means... but there were playing Bach as he walked in... Armitage dares to play. Softly and flowingly, his fingers skimming here and there... a gentle river, perhaps too melancholy... but... he loves the feel of the piano. It's so old, so lovely... large. In the centre of the room. Did Ben used to play it? Ah, one of the drawing rooms... A piano. An instrument of much... Controversy in the family. Notes of sweet music begin to fill the room, breaking the monotonous tick of clocks. Spilling out of the drawing room and it makes Han's hand freeze on the handle of the suitcase he had been lifting. Not that damned thing again... He grumbles, heading towards the source. Has Leia told Armitage he can go wandering? Likely. She's far too trusting. He's about to barge in, to tell him to cease his playing but... Ben's form in the chair, facing the instrument… There's a tilt to his head. He's listening. He must be. Han crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against the door jamb. Armitage’s hands glide over the keys, any dust soon departing with his touch, he begins to let the notes unfurl... his playing grows louder, a flower opening, he has lost self-consciousness... his confidence only building... he lays an inch more passion into what started as a slow collection of steady notes... Something has arrived in the corner of his eye. His instincts make him jump from the stool, eyes wide, perhaps something illogical in his senses believes the doll stands... But it is... his father. "Mr..." Armitage realises his mistake. "Han!" He corrects himself, trying to gather himself again... His heart still leaping..  "I..." he can't find any words. "I didn't mean to disturb..." Han watches him leap from the seat. It brings a wry grin to his aged features. Deriving some amusement. "Don't worry." He says quietly. "It's good. Nice to hear something on that old thing again." He looks over at the likeness of their son with something akin to harrowing disappointment. Armitage breathes in relief. Loosening somewhat. Armitage gazes at the piano. The working of it... so rich. How rich is the family? How long has their ancestry owned this land? "Our son liked to torture us for hours with his stirring rendition of Mary had a Little Lamb and his soulful interpretation of Chopsticks." He sounds gruff but there's faint amusement glimmering in his eyes. Armitage grins at the thought. A little boy, sat with a toothy smile on a seat too high for him, plonking one note at a time. How can Han and Leia be so... mad? When they possess clearly plausible memories? "Leia had such hopes." Han shrugs. One of many, lost to the passing of the days. Armitage's smile fades away. He wants to ask a thousand questions but none of them, he can dare to. They will all offend or hurt, or banish him from the house. Such a strange game to be playing... but how can he do anything else? "He'll love that, though. If you wish to play, you must play whenever your heart says to." An oddly sentimental expression. Ben would have laughed at him. Armitage is momentarily stunned by such a statement. He didn't think Han could... or would say something so... He smiles again. A gentle expression. "Then... I will." He agrees. The young man's face is like a book. Easily read. At the very last, he smiles. The corner of Han's lips quirk upwards. "You don't believe any of it." he says calmly. "That's fair. It isn't anything that can be accepted in a day." Armitage opens his mouth to protest, or, even to question, but nothing escapes before Han's next thought follows: He sighs, looking to his son. "Even now..." he looks at profile, the shape of his nose, the fall of his hair. It's a knife twisting in his heart. Armitage looks to the elderly man's eyes with contained empathy. He wants to ask a thousand questions, all of which, he is sure will offend and upset. Then again... what's the point? It's a simple matter. He cannot seriously ask how a boy became a doll. That's ridiculous. It is simply a mannequin, and simply, this man has sense enough at least to doubt his conviction that the mannequin is his son. Leia perhaps, is more lost to the delusion... "There are days when..." his voice wavers. "When..." he tries again. Days when he can't believe it himself. Days when he looks and feels so real, that he can hear his voice... That smart ass grin, audible his son's voice. His tone of voice, the weariness, still strikes Armitage as so very true. So very genuine. Clearly their son's loss was the hardest thing imaginable... but Armitage knows it won't do to argue. If this is how they cope... He shakes his head, clearing his throat. He says nothing, lowering his face until the spell is somewhat broken by the clearing of Han's throat. "But it doesn't matter what you believe, as long as you follow the rules." There is a long silence. "Yes." Armitage answers numbly and softly. It's so strange... will he always commit himself to these rules? There's... no logic behind it. Han considers for a long moment. "You're certain that you've no inclination to.... That you have no unfinished business out there? The winter is long and..." he trails off once more. It's more than the seasons… So much more. How could they explain it? He's being tested enough simply to be trusted to follow some simple rules. There just simply isn't enough time to do this any other way. "No." Armitage answers truthfully and quickly. "I should rather live... undisturbed." He confirms. He takes a small, ragged breath. The sooner he forgets... the better. Han can't guarantee him that. He's afraid that it will be quite the opposite. He's done what he can, he supposes. He glances down at his watch. "Come on then, I'll show you to the dining room. It's nearly time." It is painful, to not have the strength to carry his son anymore. Yet, this day was inevitable. It feels like it has come so soon. Only the blink of an eye. He doesn't say so... but Armitage assumes Ben ought to come with. Especially since his 'parents' will soon leave. He winds his arms once more around the mannequin, lifting him gently along. Already he feels a little strained in his arms... "Do you like the estate so far?" Han asks, leading him through the hallways. "It's lovely." In truth, he thinks it is wonderful... but he decides to tone down his awe of it... "Leia has prepared a room for you across from Ben's room. Of course, I suppose you'll have free reign to choose any room you like once we've left." All of this old home will be left in Armitage's hands, if.... Well. They will find out soon enough. "That's so very kind." Armitage comments politely, following carefully after him, Ben's head balanced at his shoulder once again, his thick, synthetic hair tickling Armitage's neck. "It will be best, I think, for you to spend the night here." Han pauses by double doors, drawing them open to a stately dining room. Cabinets of fine crystal, an elegant, heavy dining room... Everything seems like it would cost a fortune. A fortune that either of Ben's parents would gladly give away if it meant… Armitage smiles back at Han, trying to show his understanding. "I appreciate it." Armitage tells him, honestly. "The roads back to town can be dangerous in the dark. There was a proposal many years ago to bring out such things and street lights and proper roads but... We're something of the end of the road out here and don't warrant that kind of town funding." He shakes his head with a soft grin, ushering Armitage in. He helps to settle Ben into a chair before disappearing through a side door to help Leia bring in the food. He is grateful for Han's help with Ben, thanking him again. He knows it is very soon that he won't have it, should he desire to move Ben... in the small silence of the two of them left alone, Armitage finds himself gazing at the slight pout of those carved lips... That's before a delightful smell greets him. Food... abundant and delicious! He smiles softly at the feast. He looks down at his wrists. His stomach. A small wave of nausea… A delicious spread. Roast beef, gravy, mashed potatoes, peas, little loaves of bread and garlic butter. "Are you hungry, dear?" Leia asks, beginning to serve the food while Han fetches a bottle of wine from the cabinet in the corner. He decants a red. A bottle worth at least a month's rent back in the city, if they cared to sell it on. "Y-yes." He only realises he stuttered after his answer escaped his lips. He tries to rectify it by broadening his smile. "This all looks delicious, thank you." Armitage exclaims quietly and genuinely. He aims to have a small part of everything, though he's hardly used to eating so much, the aromas are irresistible. A rich bottle of red wine presented... Armitage licks his lips. He sits straight in his chair, waiting politely for them to ready themselves. "You are exceedingly kind hosts." Armitage adds softly. If only... Han pours the wine and passes the glasses around. None for Ben, however. Armitage... hides a melancholy that he thinks might even reflect that of the doll's expression. Leia smiles at him softly, serving up a plate for each of them, including Ben who sits motionless in his chair. He loved roasts. She chews her lower lip, settling the plate down in front of him with such an overwhelming sadness on her face. Han sighs, tugging her gently into the seat beside him. "As we hope you will be kind to our son." Leia responds softly. They do not offer grace, only a brief glance at Ben before they begin to eat. Armitage wishes he could comfort Leia's sadness... but it is beyond him and, he thinks, beyond sanity. He is sure to tell her instead that she is kind. Armitage swallows. A small nod. To not obey the rules would now be to behave exceedingly cruel to a poor elderly couple. Can he really believe that? That he would be betraying their trust... somehow? Armitage tries to give her a look of certainty in the face of all things being uncertain. Their son... Gods. What... what is he to do? He tries not to keep watching that plate of food in front of Ben. How... surely they'll notice the food never goes? What happens then? The quiet clink of cutlery and delicate porcelain. The dishes are decorated with gold leaf, fine details and cutlery is gleaming, polished, and also plated in gold. Decadence. Like a pretty tapestry hung over a busted hole in the wall. The estate has the trappings of a life of decadence but the truth is far colder. Armitage follows their glances to their son, waiting for them to begin eating before he does. He takes small bites. Trying not to feel as if all their eyes are watching him shovel the food into his lips... like a greedy... fat... He blinks. As if the fluttering of eyelashes can clear thoughts away as well as tears. He finds his eyes wandering over the decor once again. This... all of this... he doesn't dare to say anything... but surely it can't last. It's large, elaborate, beautiful... but old too. The corpse of someone beautiful, freshly dead... but rot and ruin awaits them. "Sometimes, after supper, it is nice to sit with Ben. The atrium in the east wing has a lovely view of the stars. City lights, clearly, don't play a factor in the night sky here, so it is quite the spectacular sight." Leia says, after a sip of wine. Armitage looks up. From her and then to Ben. Those unblinking eyes... just staring. Consistently. The night sky. Vast and open. "That sounds... exquisite." Armitage agrees. "You won't have to sit with him long. Clearly, there's no food going into him. Just until you're finished eating is usually enough." Han cuts straight back to business. "After that, you can just put it in the freezer for later. Though, Snoke... Always brings enough food to ensure everyone is well fed. We've never been short."A few questions answered, at the very least. Han can at least see the obvious. A strangely, reassuring fact. "I see." Armitage confirms. "With the preparations for our... Away... I'm afraid I've been too busy to do any baking for dessert." Leia apologises, seemingly not to pay attention to their exchange over the meals. "No..." Armitage exclaims, perhaps a little too loudly. "I mean..." again, he must quickly correct himself. "This is plenty and delicious, thank you." How many times has he truly said 'thank you'? It must be getting tiresome. He is already so full... "How are you finding Ben?" She asks, glancing over at her son's form. So dreadfully quiet. "He can be so shy! And I'm afraid he's quite prone to bouts of melancholia at times, but..." She draws in a deep breath, fixing her son with a look of expectation.Armitage's lips part. What is he to say? Something that won't sound like a joke. He's almost relieved when Leia just continues. Once again, he is saved from speaking. "I think what my wife really means, is how are you coping with the moving of him?" Han rolls his eyes, growing more agitated the longer the afternoon wares on. He's tired and grumpy. And more than that, he's concerned that her over sentimentality will drive away what appears to be their first solid candidate. "There are rooms and rooms of junk around here, if you find anything that makes your task easier - by all means. Use it." "I..." Armitage clears his throat. "I shall." He assures Han before his look comes to Leia. It's a hard thing for Armitage Hux to put his rationality away, but if it comforts her... "I think..." his look comes back to those solemn, glass eyes. "I think we're getting along." Armitage finally states. He tries to sound... reassuring. As much as one quiet man and a mute dummy might be able to get along. The poetry, however, and the music were lovely, while they had lasted. A moment of disconnection, brought out of these walls and transported on well-played notes and on soft voice to a world where love still exists. So polite. It doesn't seem affected, either. A genuine appreciation for such simple offerings. Even if he seems uncertain when it comes to Ben. Leia supposes she can't hold it against him. He doesn't have what she has. A mother's connection to their child. No matter how grown he has become. Or had been... Han is much more direct. Less empathetic. His harsh remarks makes Leia frown. Ben is not... Not some junk just to be thrown into a trolley and rolled around! He... He's here, she knows he is! The doll shifts, a slight roll of the head, slipping in the chair. Leia's eyes widen for a moment before she's trying to get to her feet. "Leia." Han warns, she musn't be so agitated! He tries to settle her back in the chair. Armitage's eyes linger on the final pieces left on his plate. It would be polite to finish it. He enjoyed it so much and yet... His hand rests on his stomach. His eyes dazed. That's when there's a movement in front of him. Startled, his eyes lift to the doll... he's slipping! There's a shuffle that comes from Leia... Han's warning... Armitage calmly, but swiftly stands. "Allow me." Armitage implores. He approaches the mannequin, quick to catch under his arms before he slides from the chair. He tries to right him, adjusting him for a few moments, before he seems stable and still. The doll's head is still rolled to the side... but the eyes are on Armitage. Armitage looks back into them. Into his frozen features. He breathes steadily. His hand gently turning Ben's head back to his front. "Thank you." Leia breathes, overwhelmed. He... He looks sturdy, he's heavy but... Should he be broken... She turns, burying her face against Han's shoulder as Armitage moves to set him to rights. Armitage takes in a breath, his fingertips lingering at the mannequin's shoulder. He hears Leia's breathlessness. This woman has worried herself to death... it must be about her real son, Armitage thinks. Not this... porcelain... wooden replica. Though it is definitely an exact replica of the real young man, there is no mistaking. He even has the dots of freckles on his face. So much detail... Han rests a hand on her shoulder, comforting. "I think that's enough excitement for the evening." He concludes. Leia begins to protest but he shushes her gently. "Darling. It's enough." Armitage continues to stare at the doll's perfect skin as Han shushes Leia... Leia nods, finally. "Very well. Armitage, if you're finished... We'll put him to bed." Han shakes his head, beginning to gather the dishes to take them away."Yes." Armitage answers, though his thoughts are escaping him. It's... hard to process any of this. Their fervent beliefs. That he must follow the rules or Armitage will be... hurting them somehow. He sighs, a sound almost inaudible. He leans down to pick Ben from the chair, one leg, then the other. To bed... Do they think their 'son' really sleeps? He's curious to see... Leia leads the way. Trapped in a pensive silence. These will be... She reaches the door where they made a room for Ben's likeness. The grief remains too near to her heart, to put him in his real room. A place that is sacred. "Here." she opens the door and steps out of the way, moving inside to the dresser. The drawer pulled open. Armitage has tried to remember the way, this is obviously where they think the mannequin likes to sleep... and the drawers hold his clothes, his pyjamas... he has laid Ben down on the bed. Pajamas. She draws out a bundle of soft fabric. Dark blue. They had been his favourite. Worn so many times they had become the ultimate comfort. A pair of long elasticised waisted Pajama bottoms and a black singlet. "I suppose you may as well get used to this part. She hands them to Armitage. "I will handle his bathing tomorrow..." She looks so forlorn. Lost. Resigned. "I will make sure there are towels for you in your room." she slips from the bedroom, closing down the door as she sets off for one of many linen closets. Armitage stares down at the clothes... then up at Ben. He faintly hears the rest of her words, offering a thanks before she leaves the room. Why should he feel uncomfortable about this, he isn't sure. Just their convictions, perhaps, Armitage thinks. The fact Leia truly believes that Armitage will now change her son's clothes. He keeps his eyes lowered as he approaches. Somehow it feels forbidden. He shakes his head. A... mannequin! He reminds himself. Nothing more. Never mind the fact that it's so lifelike... and he begins to wonder if that is the case... everywhere on him. Leia didn't give him underwear but perhaps one doesn't wear them with pyjama bottoms... or perhaps she just wants Ben to keep what underwear he has- Armitage is overthinking this. It. Is. A. Doll! He shakes his head. Disbelief. Carefully approaching Ben, he gently unbuttons and removes his shirt and the current singlet he wears beneath. He is sure to fold them in a pile. Then... he steels himself, gently pulling down his trousers, over the ridges of his joints. He folds them too. Purely, he thinks, a practical task. Finally his eyes come to the underwear. He bites his lip and carefully removes them... He stares for a moment. Then he has to turn his eyes away. Who... who makes a mannequin that has a... Never mind! He shakes his head again, before finding the bottoms first. He slips them on more easily, his eyes avoiding watching until he is finished for a reason quite beyond logic or comprehension. Those eyes are still staring at him... Armitage finds the singlet. A delicate task, but soon it's over his head. On his body. Armitage meets the doll's large eyes... He sits on the corner of the bed next to him, teeth still chewing at his lip… Once, Ben could have been considered handsome. Charming. Charismatic and devastatingly confident. One might have wanted to remove the clothes from his broad frame. Where these small nimble fingers skate and hurry to rid him of clothes, others could have wanted to linger. There is a painful moment when all is revealed. Bizarre. Repulsive, perhaps. Why bother? Who would craft such an exact likeness when it has no use? Pants are slid up pale, smooth thighs, settled into place. Pajamas that once sat low on his hips, padding through the hallway, book under one arm and a dog bone with Moses hanging off it in the other hand. The singlet is shoved on next. Dark hair dishevelled and hanging into his face, dark eyes unblinking. Now the man sits on the corner of the bed. Seemingly too embarrassed to look at the doll. Yet he's better than others who laughed and mocked... Who grabbed and prodded. Such a swelling feeling of dejection. Sorrow. Apologies. Nobody should have to endure this. A fly caught in the web of a spider.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

There's no shortage, of course, of places to sleep. Though his room is already prepared. The quiet soothes him, as does the dimmed light... but he is not used to it. So different to traffic noise.

He sits on the edge of his bed, his eyes closing. Too much silence and his thoughts will start to wander...

He occupies himself instead with what book he has brought with, one of few possessions from his old life, hoping against hope that it will distract him from those nightmares of the past... the sounds of clattering plates, the sensation of being planted on the floor while blood pools from his lips...

No. No...

He finds his place on the page. The bedcovers are cold but he'll soon warm himself... he's sure. He continues to read, reading until his eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion.

The dim table-side lamp flickers. Perhaps the bulb has not been changed in many years...

He finally gives in, lowering the book, drowning himself in blankets, he shuts off the light.

In his dreams, he sees only those eyes. So large... once so young and full of wit... now... they only stare.

They are large enough to fill the room. So much so, that in his dream, he starts to believe there is indeed, a presence somewhere that-

He awakes before dawn even arrives. A moment to catch his breaths. Then he settles, back in the now-warmed covers and sleeps with no dreams.

~

In the morning, Han and Leia make their way quietly as they can to their son's bedroom.  It seems too early to wake the newcomer. If he managed to find sleep at all, that is.

Leia had insisted on fulfilling the last of the rules that night, a kiss goodnight on that smooth, cool surface.

These moments, this morning, are theirs. Carefully taking their son, bathing him one last time before they are to leave.

Different times. That is what they remember. A small, active boy splashing in bubbles, writing in big looping letters and scribbling harsh lines on the tiles with the giant soap crayons they had bought for him as a birthday gift.  The bubble beards and wizard hats...

Leia is mournful, even as they manage to haul his body from the bathwater. Mumblings of 'I love you's and the sweet begging for him to be good. To behave.

"Leia..." Han puts his hand on her shoulder, she's fallen into the same loop of words, holding that stiff hand with both of her own. As if it might lock in the fading heat of the bath water.

She sniffles, nodding. Yes. They must go and.... And....

"Help me get him back to the bed. You can pick his clothes." Han reasons with her. Together, they manage to carry that heavy body back to the bed. Leia moves away, to the drawers full of his old clothes. Big, baggy sweaters. Soft, worn hoodies.  The many-washed and sometimes worn jeans with holes in the knees.

But, oh, had he loved to dress up, too... A suit? No. No, he should be comfortable.

While his wife contemplates a wardrobe selection, Han reluctantly lowers himself to the bed, sitting on the edge.  His son's dark eyes, staring up at the ceiling. A sad snort of wry, black amusement. At least this hasn't changed.

He remembers.... Well. He supposes it doesn't much matter now. Ben doesn't seem to be in a talking mood. Probably not one for listening, either.

"He gets that from you, you know." Leia's words drift across the room to him and startles him. Han blinks over at her and then down to Ben.  Their connection... Or maybe, after sixty years, they just know each other well enough.
"You should put some music on for him." Leia says, approaching the bed with a bundle of fabric. A big, deep blue pullover sweater. His favorite pair of jeans, even though there is a big splash of black ink over the knee. Some socks. Underwear.

Han grumbles, getting to his feet while Leia tugs socks onto giant feet. He had certainly outgrown his parents who seem to have only diminished with time. Shrinking. Fading...

Moments later, the swell of music greets their ears. Leia looks over her shoulder, scolding as R.E.M.'s Shiny Happy People begins to play.

Han shrugs. Frankly, if he were Ben, he'd have gone insane with all the classical music Leia insists on playing for him.

"Han... Really?"

He's looking down at the album cover. Out Of Time... Ironic. He sets it down, moving to assist Leia as the tug briefs and jeans up his long thick legs.

"He's the one who bought it." Han retorts, his hands, less arthritic, do up the zip and button.

"Schubert keeps him calmer. And we have... Important things to discuss."

"It also makes him melancholic. And Gershwin makes him playful." Han recites from recollection.  Leia had sat with this shape of their son for hours and hours, playing songs for him, to see.... If it had any effect. She had faithfully reported anything she thought had held a pattern. He had liked to dance, too, but now there is none to dance with him.

Han wrestles with getting Ben's stiffly jointed arms into the long arms of the sweater while Leia moves away to search for a comb to try to tame his locks.

"So," Han begins, gruffly without much preamble. "What do you think of Armitage?"

Leia glances up, having found a comb. She settles on the bed, gently lifting her hands to his dark, soft hair. Still damp, slightly tangled. She draws the comb through that dark, thick hair.

Their eyes settle on Ben's shape, watching closely.

~

Armitage rubs the sleep from his eyes. Little specks that have gathered there. Despite his weariness in the morning and him having woken earlier in the night, he now feels as if he has slept a hundred years... somehow. An odd, indescribable feeling... perhaps to do with his disorientation. It is to be expected of a new place, he supposes.

He thinks perhaps he was awakened by the music in the room across from his. Ben's parents must be playing him...

Gods... he has to remind himself again that this is what is happening. This is the situation. Once again he remembers how bizarre it all is. He thinks of the pair of eyes in his dream, drawing on his clothes and taking extra care with neatening his hair of course.

He is comfortable again. A more pale sweater, still in a shade of blue. He has been told it matches his eyes... a pair of jeans...

Less proper. Hopefully the lady and gentleman of the house don't mind. Their son...

He shakes his head. A small, breathless sound of disbelief, a whisper to himself, and he finally pushes open his door, closing it behind him as he moves over...

Already he hears their voices. Are they... talking to the doll, again?

"He doesn't believe." Leia says, matter-of-factly.

"No one would." Han reminds her gently.  They look to their son.

Neither of them speak for a long moment. Then Leia smiles, patting his leg.

"You're certain?" Leia asks, hopeful. Han hasn't the heart to tell her that it's Armitage or.... Or nothing, at this point.  She seems so pleased.

A creak in the hallway. They turn, the doll slips, his head turns to face the door.  Armitage.

"Come in, dear." Leia bids, waving him in.

He approaches carefully. Somehow it feels wrong, even with music playing, to enter loudly. Still, at Leia's request, he comes to stand in the doorway, his hands behind his back. Those eyes...

He tries not to stare too much. He swallows. It's all just... dreams and troubled thoughts. He smiles gently at the heads of the house. A small nod.

"Good morning." He treats softly to all in the room, even Ben, remembering how it eases them when Armitage does so…

"Sleep well?" Han asks, as Leia finishes her task of combing Ben's hair, she seems... At peace.

Armitage blinks, taking too long to answer Han's question.

"Yes!" He finally exclaims. A lie... "oh yes... thank you..."

Han gives him a look that suggests he doesn't entirely believe him. How... does he know? Armitage tries to keep a straight face, even at Han's expression. At the doll's cold eyes, once warm and inviting. Once... what is he talking about? Flesh and blood did not change into resin! That's ridiculous.

"Well...  Ben has... He's chosen you, Armitage.  If... If you'll have him." Leia offers, her kindly brown eyes shining as she gazes on the redhead. Her own eyes, a similar colour, are so inviting. Armitage takes in too large and too shaky a breath. He smiles back at her. Calm down... he begs himself. This is simply what disturbed sleep does.

Something about her words, aside from the utter absurdity of them, sets his heart in a faster rhythm.

"Of course I will." Armitage answers gently and enthusiastically.

He's in. He's got the job! Why shouldn't he be happy?

Leia lifts her hands to her lips, smiling widely behind aged hands. Han gets to his feet. He makes his way over to Armitage, offering his hand to shake. Armitage smiles broadly, shaking his hand instantly. It's sealed. He's always surprised at the little signs of warmth in Han's words since he's known him.

"Thank you." Armitage replies genuinely.

"Congratulations, kid." He says with a tone of warmth. Leia has turned, throwing her arms around her son's broad shoulders, a soft shaky sob of relief, and perhaps sorrow. He is startled by Leia's sob... the way she hugs that... lifeless being. He tries to hide the pity in his own eyes at the sight.

"Come on, I could use some help shifting the suitcases." Han says, leading him away. His wife will wish to say her farewells.

Armitage comes swiftly at Han's request. A final glance at Leia...

His heart twinges for her. Deluded, yes... but he is empathetic still. To lose once she must have loved with all her heart…

Han leads him through a different way, to the main kitchen. Outside there is a port, some sort long pathway.

"Snoke will be here in a couple of days. You're a strapping lad, so I suggest... Having him unload it just outside. You can bring it all in at your own pace."  These are the more mundane matters.

Snoke is the final missing piece, Armitage thinks. Does he believe the mannequin is alive, too? Han mentions that Armitage is young... how old is Snoke? How long has he known Leia and Han? Perhaps he knew Ben! While he was still alive. Suddenly, he is almost excited, if a little apprehensive, to meet this stranger. That's if he meets him at all.

Han pushes open a pantry door, it's reasonably well stocked. The food looks delicious and plentiful, of course. Luckily, Armitage is a resourceful man. Even if there was to be far less, he would make it last efficiently, he is sure.

He would be happy to take both suitcases but feels it is better to be instructed. Following closely after him, he listens carefully. Garden sheds... fresh air would do Armitage good, he thinks, despite the temptation to remain locked inside. Inside where it's warm and safe...

"You should be able to find what you need for your and Ben's breakfast in here."  He draws open another door. A closet of sorts, two big deep chest freezers.

"Other food, because it will likely be too much for the two of you, can go in here. There are some meals ready to eat as it is."

He takes him through to another section, the base of a simpler set of stairs. He's already managed to get the two roller suitcases down the stairs. He takes the handle of one and lifts the other to Armitage.

"You should find everything you could need here in the house. But if you wish - there are a couple garden sheds on the property if you feel like getting some dirt under your nails."  He leads him through another series of doors and hallways until they are in a garage.

A collection of antique cars.  Most of them... Would fetch a fortune.

Armitage tries not to gawk at the cars as they come there. They are sleek and elegant... appealing to the eye.

"These are wonderful." Armitage comments softly. He tries not to sound too praising again. Too naive.

Han pauses, glancing around them.  A sadness passes over his face. Yes. Wonderful things. Beautiful and... Wasted. He regrets them now. The dirt roads of the surrounds of Chandrila are hardly suited to these luxury cars.

Like a great deal of other things.

"Listen..." He draws a deep breath. There is so much he wants to say. He seems to decide better of it, shrugging as he pulls up to the most modest of the collection, opening the trunk, waiting for Armitage to hoist the suitcases in.

Armitage pauses. For a moment, he thinks he sees something pass behind Han's eyes. He can't define what it is, but it makes him stop. Motionless... but then he is shrugging, he comes to the trunk and the spell, whatever spell it was, is broken.

He follows Han, the suitcases pull a little at his arms...

All good practice, he tells himself. Carrying Ben is at least easier in some ways. He tries to fit them in neatly.

"So much goes to waste. I'd... Hate to think that these might, too."  Does he mean for them to sell them on? Han doesn't know anymore. He can't articulate it into words. Not even to encourage him to drive them himself, after all. To leave Ben alone or to take him from the property is.... Forbidden.

He stops when he's finished, turning to look at Han, trying to catch his eye again. Armitage chews the edge of his lower lip for a moment. Eyes scanning the cars. Does Han mean...

Han sighs, shaking his head.  "Anyway, I can't take them with me, so..."

Armitage lifts a brow.

"You... want me to..." his words are slow.  He isn't sure what Han could want... except...

He clears his throat. Standing tall.

"I'll admire them. I'll make sure they stay polished..." Armitage promises.

The least he can do. Probably, it's all that he can do.

Mortality is such a strange and confronting thing to consider. What happens when one leaves the world. Much as a child might contemplate what their toys do when they close their bedroom door. Maybe it’s better that one cannot take their possessions on to whatever waits on the other side.

Han is hardly the philosophical type. More pragmatic.

"Whatever you want. I suspect it won't matter to me, overly much."  More practical.

"Now, we don't have internet but in case you fall into strife - the landline works. Usually, if it hasn't been raining too hard. I suspect water gets into the switch box, wherever that is and nobody gives a damn to drive all the way out here to fix it, so... If you need emergency support - that's how you'll get it. If it's not raining." He grips his shoulder for a moment, looking at his face.

Whatever Ben saw... Or sees... He hopes…

Armitage is... sceptical. They clearly do matter to him. The way he talks. The weight of some of his words... Armitage frowns for a moment, but he is distracted by what Han tells him next.

"Look after him and he'll look after you." He straightens, releasing his shoulder and steps away.

Armitage waits until he is released before his brow furrows again. For a few minutes, he's just stood there, staring into space and trying to process what exactly he's just been told. Was... that wasn't... this gentle old man wouldn't...

Was that a threat?!

No. No, he can't even begin to think such a thing of this kind man... but then... why can't he move?

He blinks. Trying not to think of it. It won't happen. Everything is going to be calm. Soothing. Nothing can disrupt that. It's all gone. It's just him and a doll soon. That's all there will be. A comforting thought to him- to be alone. If it's not raining...

He lowers his eyes. There is no need for him to feel anxious. This will be a lovely place. A haven... but then Han's hand is on his shoulder. He lifts his eyes to meet those severe orbs looking back at him. The softness hidden deep within them. He tries to be calm, to keep his breaths steady.

"Now... To collect my darling wife. Or we'll be late and miss our train."  He begins to amble towards the house interior, once again, searching for his wife, who no doubt will still be in the room with Ben.

No, Armitage is mistaken. He softens and smiles politely.

"Of course..." he replies.

~

Having nowhere else to go or wait, he follows Han back into the house, back the way they came. His pace is slower, his eyes scanning over the wide openings around the majestic staircase. This beautiful home will never fail to amaze...

He hears distance exclamations. He stares in the direction Han disappeared in, his look questioning. Troubled... what if she's hurt?!

It's chaos.  Leia is distraught. They can hear her cries. Han’s steps become heavy, racing down the hallways so much as he able to.

Ben's form is slumped on the side of the bed, his head hanging low, arms limp at his sides, near to falling from the bed.

"Ben.... Ben! Look what you've done!" Leia holds herself, hugging, tears slipping down her cheeks - the record that was playing has slipped, playing the same eerily distorted chords in a loop as the needle sticks and drags.  Books have fallen from the shelving, clothes strewn about.

As though a cyclone has hit the room.

"Leia!" Han sees the first of the thrown items and is pushing the door open immediately, racing inside. "Are you alright?!"

Hux runs after. He tries to remain light footed but it's not the priority. Especially not if she's not all there... if she's hurt herself, now blaming it on the mannequin...

His frown deepens, his feet pulling to a harsh stop outside the room. Armitage creeps forward. It still feels so wrong to intrude, but he has to. Has to make sure they're okay...

The record...

R.E.M. Is stuttering and Armitage realises the song. It's the End of the World...

And those three words. Recurring over and over and over.

It's the end... it's the end... it's the end... the end... end.. end…

Armitage almost slips on the littered books. He's a rabbit in the headlights. Something prevents him taking another step, his eyes are latched on the puppet's hunched form.

"We're leaving. Now!" Han states, whether to his son or his distressed wife, it's unclear. Only that he is placing his hands on Leia's shoulders and begins to guide her from the room.

Armitage's heart sinks and he can't fathom why. It just... it feels wrong. He knows it's illogical. Perhaps he's just shaken. The hysteria of the couple. How distraught Leia is. The mess of the room and Han's urgency... it's a storm that's impossible to rationalise and it just gets worse.

She catches sight of Armitage, clinging to his sleeve, squeezing his arm. His arm is caught in her hands and he is stone as her eyes, a matching colour to the doll's glisten with tears, her grip is a plea that Armitage doesn't understand.

"H-he's not a bad boy! He's not... He's just..."

Armitage tries to nod, but instead he's just standing there, as still as the doll is, his lips hanging open stupidly, the record still stumbling and scratching.

"Leia..." Han says more sternly, though not unkindly. Armitage wants to tell her it's going to be okay. He's certain it will be! But...

He offers her a pleasant but weak expression.

"Don't.... Don't forget breakfast!" She pleads as Han begins to lead her away. Back down towards the stairs.

"I... won't..." Armitage assures as they are ushered away... and so soon. "Thank you and goodbye! Have a safe journey!" He calls to them. He isn't sure if they hear.

He turns back to the doll. Wandering, his feet padding softly in the direction of the record, he finally lifts the needle, plunging all into silence.

He bends down, gathering the books and clothes, folding and putting away.

When he finishes... he makes himself walk to the mannequin. He takes him under his arms and moves him up the bed, laying him down more securely.

Has the front door closed? Are they gone? Is it finally time?

What is he to do?

He peers into those eyes. What is he searching for? He sighs. His head hanging. He... he can't entertain this notion. Leia's tears, her desperate voice won't leave his mind. He'll make breakfast, he decides. For two, today. He'll do it for the couple, not for a fantasy.

He moves away. Each step slower than the last. A lingering look at that long form...

He'll bring the plate up to him.

Hux closes the door.

~

“Leia, please.” Han urges her, ushering her to the car.

“But what if he…”

“There is nothing for it.” Han assures her, helping her to climb in, a deep breath of relief as he closes the car door.

“Han, you didn’t say goodbye.” Leia sobs as the garage door open rolls open. He shakes his head, maneuvering the vehicle towards the grim sliver of sky revealed to them. Outside. Gods…

Leaving…

They’re really doing this.

“Well… He never listens to me, anyway.” Han says, trying to make light of the situation.

“You’re his

father

.” Leia scolds gently, turning her head to look out the window - the grounds… Alderaan… She heaves a heavy sigh. Han leans forward to turn on the radio. Static, garbled. Poor reception, he figures.

It’s the end of the world as we know it. And I feel fine…

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

A home without its heart.It doesn't seem to take very long at all for the warmth and love that Leia brought every room she graced, to fade away along with the somber crunch of gravel and the distant rumble of the car engine.Cold uncertainty fills the empty spaces in the room, now. One creature leaned into a chair while a stranger moves through familiar places. Performing tasks in an unfamiliar way.When will they return?Eggs... bread... toast...There's so much. More food than he likely needs. Though, half of it, at least, must be... for...Armitage turns around, looking to the inanimate, staring man. His straggly, black hair. He sighs softly.It's the end...He swallows, fast to prepare the tea, for himself. Does Ben like…?Ridiculous of him, to ask what Ben likes. He still finds himself making breakfast for two. Egg and bacon on toast. It smells divine. It really has been so long since he's indulged like this. He realises he's only doing it for this doll. No, not the doll, -the couple. The poor woman. He sighs, finishing with pans, carefully arranging the warm comfort of the food on two plates. He doesn't know what he's expecting. It won't... it's not going to disappear.He comes to the table with the plates, setting one in front of the dark form. He... the way he hangs like that. Eyes so glassy. A shadow. A corpse.It being so quiet. Maybe music is a coping mechanism for the couple rather than that mannequin. Armitage hums instead, hoping it will ease himself as he sips on his tea.Early Saturday mornings... This kitchen would be filled with the sound of sizzling and popping bacon, the gurgle of the coffeemaker at work, dripping dark liquid into a pot of which Ben, as a child, had no interest. The soft scent of vanilla drizzled into pancake batter and the sticky sweet of maple syrup.A small boy, rocking on a stool at the counter, given the task to stir while Han pushed greasy bacon around the frying pan and Leia moved like a honey bee, settling here only to draw out cups and plates, drifting to the table to set it and then away again for cutlery and syrups and condiments.Ben had been fond of tomato sauce, woefully drowning his scrambled eggs, much to Leia’s dismay.Those days were filled with love. The subtle nudge of Han's hips to the side of Leia's while washing up and Ben happily regaling them of some dream he had had. Or something he had learned. Cheerful prattle that filled the voids. That made the house a home.Now there is a heavy silence, like the woolen blanket with loosened stitching on satin binding. Stifling. The soft tick of the clock hanging by the window over the sink.Is this what it will be?Armitage Hux, stuck in this house like an insect trapped in amber? Beautifully preserved and yet lost to the world for years and years?A soft hum. Music of sorts. Better than silence and the incessantly ticking clock. Counting away seconds. And moments. Passing moments…He eats slowly. It... maybe it's too much. He sits opposite the mannequin.Why he chose to, is beyond him. It might be easier to keep a watch of him, he convinces himself. Somehow, if Ben is not in his direct line of sight, it is worse. He'll not be a superstitious man.He sips more tea, makes himself eat just a little more. No newspapers to read. No politics, though it might be just as well. He only has books. Books he is supposed to read aloud.He looks up into those eyes. They never blink.The food untouched. Armitage leaves his plate, clearing his own. He'll... save it up in the fridge later. Follow the rules.Never leave Ben alone. He stands, staring back at him, his hand raised and pressed to his lips. If he just leaves, for a few minutes...A record player in the corner might suffice. He sets it playing. Bach? Likely...He runs his hands through his hair. Now if he can only remember the room with the landline…These hallways once echoed with childish laughter. Giggles as Ben chased bubbles, huffing sloppy puffs of air into neon green loops, sending the transparent orbs floating down the corridors, or playing imaginary creatures down the smooth, polished wood. Socks on. That was his own rule, skidding around corners. Sometimes he was a ninja, skittering to a stop, crouched low and breathing heavily, waiting... Primed for the attack. Only he never realized that the curly halo of his dark hair gave him away. That his parents could always spot it and their surprise or fright was always feigned.He liked to play tag with Han. Or more dutifully, help Leia carry bundles of laundry to their rightful rooms to be stowed away and more to the spirit of himself - running along long halls with Moses faithfully trotting beside him, tugging every so often on the length of rope that served as a chew toy.Now, there is no movement. Only a sense of growing irritation. Left alone. Ticking, even with the soft song playing, the grainy sound of an old record. Maybe it would not be so bad if there was a time of return. If only everything didn't cease to exist when it crossed out of the line of sight! If only the world now was not so small!A spatula slips from the counter's edge, clattering harmlessly. Nylon utensil on tile.Hux steps out of the room. Hearing a... did something just-?He returns. A spatula. He looks back to that black, willow-head of hair, then places it back on the counter. He leaves the room. Shutting the door. He can't decide if it's worse to be in the same room or not in the same room now that Han and Leia are gone.He climbs a flight of stairs, navigating where he had put his toothbrush, he brushes his teeth, washes his face, tidies the bedsheets. He will realise quickly, he is sure, that there is so little to do. Much to read... but he must find other ways to occupy himself. He comes back to the rules. Again and again.He must make himself return to the kitchen. The landline. He passes the room on his way. So little light when the sun does not shine. Electricity doesn't seem properly built for so old and vast a property. Sunlight is the best source, but it only highlights the clouds of dust in various rooms. The lines of cobwebs. He must keep it shining.He finds his way back to the kitchen. He doesn't expect the food to be gone.It's enough to bring movement back into the room. The man returns, disappearing behind the counter to retrieve the fallen utensil.The clouds gather outside, a silver shroud placed over the sun. Out the window, shadows creep across the lawn as the sun moves higher in the sky, cast through the bared limbs of ancient trees. Shadows like blackened veins across the unkempt lawns. A disease? A sickness? It's hard to say which. Had it always been this way or had it been infected?When he leaves, it's as though he draws the oxygen from the room. A pulse that vanished, a halted breath.Come back!Anyone?Just.... Come back.Armitage hears his own breathing. The distant tick of many clocks in many rooms. A whirring of the Bach record. It's so old. Everything is so old. He closes his eyes. Perhaps he can use this immense time he has to himself to improve his skills as well as his mind. He might explore the grounds, though not today. The clouds of the sky look dim. There is a darkness along their rough surfaces, surfaces like broken skin, the darkness like ink. It looks like rain, the sun is too feeble to keep those clouds at bay.He comes back to the door of the kitchen. He isn't sure why he needs to stop for a moment and take in a breath. He enters.Nothing. Everything is the same. Of course it is. Of COURSE it is! What is wrong with him?! Only hours and already he fears the absurd?!He comes to lift the needle from the spinning record. His eyes never leave Ben when he is in a room with him. For Leia, he packs the bacon in a plastic box, filing it in the fridge. The toast won't survive long, but he puts it in the freezer. The egg, he has to throw away. Also, for Leia…The man busies himself with mundane tasks. Putting away food, preserving it until later. Later for himself. Deeds that were caring and loving when performed by Leia now seem forced. Disliked.He turns back to Ben. He... he will move him to a living room. Change the setting. That... at least that's something? It will make him feel more at ease. Suddenly, he doesn't want to touch him. He doesn't want to feel that coldness, that fragile resin. Suddenly, he doesn't want the weight of his head on his shoulder. To touch this silent, cold being without direct permission from someone living and present, suddenly feels wrong and unnatural. He doesn't like him. He's reluctant to come close. But he does. Come closer, that is. The doll slips, sliding as those hands come to reach for the stiff body. Evasion. Distraught. Leave, then! Only there's nothing but the awkward shift of resin, caught in those living hands, hauling that heavy body from the seat at the table and carrying him beyond the doors of the kitchen.He shakes his own head. He must be practical. He simply and gently lifts Ben and takes him towards the piano room. Down hallways. There's no laughter and amusement now. Not even the restless energy of the young man who had come home to his aged parents, trying to help with the overload of tasks of keeping the manor at some level of functionality.It's sullen, instead. If there had been a pulse and muscle beneath that smooth solid skin, Armitage may have found himself pushed away.Soon enough, the wish to be free from touch is granted.He... he doesn't like the idea of having Ben watching him play now they are alone. Now that any sounds he hears or movements he sees will have no explanation except for that of his own imagination. He'll just... play and turn Ben to face the wall, he decides, as he sits Ben down in an armchair, making sure he won't slip out. Placed in a chair, Ben's likeness sits. The piano! The soft trill of a lone bird out in the courtyard chirps.Hopeful.Then suddenly, his head is twisted away. Away from the piano. Not to even look?! Only at the wall.Armitage approaches the piano stool. Maybe he can learn something new. There are music books... he finds a random page.Or... he'll just... improvise, like when he first came. He sits down, drawing in a breath. Ben is behind him. Armitage's teeth work over his lower lip."Okay..." he mutters under his breath. There's no reason for any emotions except for that of tranquility. "Okay... okay..."His fingertips slide down the keys. It comes out more melancholy than intended. The weather? Being alone? Finally able to have the silence to stop and reflect? He reflects too much, too easily. His fingers are swift, but he feels laden. He'll be alone for so long. He thought this might be a paradise, maybe it still can be. It's just... it's settling in. All of it... is settling in.His playing speed falters. One of his fingers slips, making a discord and he comes to a clumsy and inadequate stop. He was so much better earlier. He was more cheerful. There... there's no reason to be down, he assures himself. This house is so beautiful... can he not be pleased that he lives here? He's spoiled! He's in peace.His head hangs. His breaths sound softly, but then he is gathered. A small nod. Perhaps... piano won't do, violin is too personal...He needs some comfort. Something to read or... or... maybe he'll bake…The music feels different now.Morose. Sad. Lonely. Nothing but the line of the floor and the bookcases along the wall before Ben's glassy eyes. The music stops. NO!Not yet! Please, not yet! A chord is struck - high, a singular note.Armitage closes his eyes... he...A ringing. A high pitch. A shock flies through him. He leaps from the stool, almost sending it on its side. He... he was sure he didn't touch-!Is he really startled so easily? Like when Han first appeared in that room? He played that note by mistake, there is no denying it, nor any other explanation. He faces Ben. Ben has stayed put.His finger quivers as it reaches for that same note that was played. He plays it himself. Letting it sound in the room. B note...B... note.He looks again to Ben. It... he smiles. How funny the mind is, to play these kinds of tricks. He'll get used to Ben, he's sure.It's almost comical, the man seems ready to leap from his skin in a instant.If only another note might be played! How desperately Ben had once wished for a companion he might have played music with.Leia had tried, but her attentions easily swept along elsewhere, duties taking her from his side. Han had no taste for it, preferring to dance with Ben balanced on his toes, scooting about to Louie Louie. No, it was the old man who let him sit on his lap that had played the piano, allowing a small finger to reach out and depress and ivory or ebony key at his pleasure.Anakin."I..." Armitage murmurs to himself.That makes no sense. No... he definitely played it! He might have just played it with his elbow, or something fell on it. He just hadn't noticed. All this fuss over one little note. He shakes his head. He trails over to the bookshelves. So many titles! He whispers them aloud. Some look old enough to deteriorate with one touch.Of course, the room remains silent. One man convincing himself he had imagined it or had been the source.Moving to the bookcase instead.Many tomes there, perhaps being more enticing than a motionless doll....At a glance, it's always so easy to be overwhelmed. He decides he must observe more closely. He feels as if he is looking for something. He isn't sure what.The older books are both close to the ceiling and near to the floor. Ones at head height and easier to reach were no doubt more recently replaced or bought.He reaches lower. Old volumes always hold the most secrets. There's a row of thick, dusty spines. A couple of them are full of post-it notes.Anatomy. He wonders who was intrigued by these pages as he is, now? he wonders if this has a correlation, and his thoughts turn yet again to Ben. Who made him?The other describes animal species, it must be an encyclopaedia of some kind. Wildlife around the area? Maybe it will be illustrated! He smiles softly at the thought. He was always a fan of nature. His fingertips gingerly trace the spine before he pulls it from the shelf.A book slips from the shelf above.The flap of slightly yellowed pages like the wings of a bird. A well worn paperback, a cover of teal paper. A play.Plays... Anakin indulged Ben as a young boy. In between correspondence schooling, he had to find some way to pass the time - one of the old ballrooms he had converted into a theatre. One in which he put on many performances, usually to one faithful dog and one sleepy grandfather.Armitage blinks. He stares down at the fallen book before looking back up to the shelves. Where did it fall from?! Nothing seems to be precarious. He looks back down to the floor. A thinner set of pages, it's a play! He picks it up, his brow knitting together. A comedy in three acts. Harvey... he remembers how peculiar it seemed. The imaginary, the illusion itself, thrown into question. Various eccentricities to laugh at...Eccentricities... the imaginary...His brow furrows further. He places the encyclopaedia and the play together on a coffee table. He comes back to Ben's armchair, turning him to face into the room again. It's all alright when Armitage can see him. He places the play to the side, opening the wildlife encyclopaedia, his eyes trace an illustration of a white-tailed deer. There are notes. Pen notes.Last spotted! Armitage peers closer before turning the page.There's a man here. A photograph grainy with age and captured in stillness, never to speak or move again. Someone with lighter hair, a rifle posed over one hip. He looks deadpan into the camera. A hunter.Armitage's eyes lift, only to be struck with the mounted head of such a white-tailed deer. He closes the book with a definitive thud, realising his breaths are coming just that bit shorter.There's a sound that cuts through the quiet. A hum of a motor engine coming up the drive.The crunch of gravel, a knock. Only a knock rarely is answered. The sound of a bell. Ringing.Armitage straightens. Who could-?Snoke! How could he have forgotten?! The missing piece... he finds he's practically racing to the door. His curiosity has only grown. Someone has to know the answers! Or... or he's a part of this peculiarity himself? Armitage is only too curious.He finds the doors, clearing his throat, ready to address the stranger in the most rational and calm way possible. The doors can be so large, he thinks, as he releases the various bolts, drawing them open, though they creak as a protest.An aged man, half stooped. It’s hard to miss the gnarled, deformed face.He blinks at the young man that answers the door. He sighs softly, wheezing quietly as he puts down the crate of produce."New caretaker, eh? I'm Snoke." he reaches out his hand.He supposes he had suspected Snoke to be old. Han's comment about Armitage being young, able to take the produce inside. He smiles softly, though this man's sigh might indicate a more sombre personality. Perhaps he is tired. He looks like he's seen much.Armitage reaches out his own hand and shakes his."Good morning!" He greets lightly. "It's... it's nice to meet you."It's nice to meet anyone, since he supposes it will be a long time afterwards that he'll see nobody except the mannequin.A firm shake.Snoke grins, twisting the ruined flesh stretched over his cheek."Yes... Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Hux."Armitage realises a few seconds late that he has not properly introduced himself."I'm Armitage Hux."How to approach anything of what he's seen? Is it even polite to ask Snoke about this house?Does Snoke count as a guest when the rules tells him no guests are allowed? Surely he can just..."Would you like some tea?" Armitage offers, "Or...?""Oh!” He sounds surprised. “Oh, that’d be wonderful.”Armitage smiles back at him. It's so wrong to judge or be frightened by appearance. He still can't help but wonder if there might have been some incident of trauma or...It would be far too insensitive and too cruel of him to ask. Let alone the fact it is none of his business. He's relieved by how friendly this Snoke seems to be."Oh, please..." Armitage reaches down for him, collecting the crate in his own arms. "Allow me."He gestures to Snoke to come through the doorway, though a strange and unexplainable doubt gnaws at the back of his mind."That's very kind if you. I just have a cooler left."He steps inside though, walking away from the parked van.He shuffles inside, taking off his cap, holding it in his wrinkled heads, his head is void of hair, the scarring on his face continues up over the curve of his skull.Snoke's pale glassy eyes state around him in wonder.For someone so old, it must be difficult, Armitage decides. The crate is hardly impossible, but it isn't light. He follows after Snoke, placing the crate down temporarily inside before returning for the cooler and bringing that in too before closing the doors.He notes Snoke's cap has been removed. He finds he... he almost pities him... and he isn't even sure why. It might just be his frailty. Armitage wonders, if he has a second name? If Snoke IS his second name? So many questions...He manages to navigate the cooler and crate to the store cupboard, Snoke remaining in the corner of his eye until he's done."What kind of tea do you like?" He calls to Snoke, gesturing for him to follow.He follows after Armitage. Remembering times when he had been young and strapping, too."Just black tea, son." he sits down at the table, looking around like one might view an old friend after many years. Diminished somehow and never quite as glorious as one recalled in old, faded photos. Armitage begins straight away, his hands busy, though his eyes wander... the way Snoke sees this place. Did... what is his relation to the family?"Ahhhh...." he exhales loudly, slipping into one of the seats."So Han and Leia finally left, huh?" His lips smack, deep in thought. "Their son?"Armitage nods. He's about to... to discuss their son when Snoke moves on."You got the job, eh?" his thick fingers tap at the table top. "That's... Really quite something..." he mutters, mostly to himself."Yes, Sir." Sir? Snoke? He isn't sure... he supposes everyone's addressed him by his name so far. A family friend? How long has he provided them with food?"How are you finding it?" Snoke offers him a half smile, made grotesque by the way his scarred flesh doesn't quite move as fluidly as it ought to.Armitage's teeth catch on his lower lip. How to reply? He takes the safe and vague option."It's rather lovely to live here." Armitage begins, of course not yet directly addressing the subject of Ben. "I think the work suits me quite well."He observes the boy's uncertainty. He can't blame him, really."Very diplomatic. I'm not paid by the Organa-Solos, sonnie. You can be honest with me." he chuckles.He clears his throat, pouring Snoke's tea, followed by his own."Forgive me," he starts, but he can't help himself. There are some things he must know. "I can't help my curiosity," he speaks aloud. "I was just wondering... how long have you known the family?"Snoke's brows lift at the question."Gosh..." he considers for several long moments. The tick of the kitchen clock marking the passing seconds."Well... Quite some time now. Long before you would have even been a twinkle in your father's eye." his eyes glaze slightly, a faraway look, giving the impression that he is seeing something else in this kitchen."Well, let's just say I'm practically a part of the furniture." he chuckles. "Speaking of... The Son... Ben... May I see him?"Yet there is a nagging sensation. Something begging to be understood. Something Armitage isn't seeing. A history he knows nothing of. He... on the surface, he is with a kind old man in an old house with a mannequin. So why does he feel as if he must tread carefully? Why does he get the sensation similar to knowing some large beetle or cockroach is crawling along your clothes, yet not being able to find it?A sensation that makes him uncomfortable in his skin when he ought to be relieved that he has another to talk to. Someone who must understand! Someone who... who is apparently as old as the furniture!Armitage pauses. He's brought the teas to the table. For the life of him, he cannot understand his own reluctance."Ah, thank you. Tea is the solution for all things." he says, blinking up at Armitage as he settles his mug before him."It's..." Armitage smiles softly. Surely this man must know. "Uhm." Armitage swallows. A small, awkward laugh. "There isn't too much to see..."He... something stops him from just... showing this man. He cannot fathom it.He considers Armitages response and shrugs."I suppose. Plenty else to see, I expect. Leia's parents were quite eclectic collectors of many fine things. The old Walkers..." Digging, searching."But, the same four walls, even with many walls within, are likely to drive you stir crazy. If you ever need a break. I'm happy to hold the fort for a couple hours. If you need to run to town to collect anything that doesn't come as a grocery item."Armitage smiles at his offer... but...Just that strangest feeling. He isn't even in control. Someone else... something else... that is not rational, persuades him. Hux would never just use his heart or his instinct to think and make logical decisions and yet...He is a puppet on strings and the strings are being pulled, pulling him away from Snoke. He stands for a long moment. His smile fading. Is he... so soon, is he beginning to act on absurd emotions?"Thank you." Armitage answers, his voice comes from his lips far lower and even a little colder than he would ever have intended. "But... I'm sure I'll be just fine."He draws away a step, lifting his own tea to his lips. He wanted to ask so many questions, now he can't pick out a single one. The clarity of his mind seems to have faded into various unidentifiable thoughts, all leading to that feeling of discomfort."Mm." Snoke looks at him, measuring. Weighing. He takes a long sip from his teacup before standing, setting the cup down with a heavy thud."I hope so." he reaches to pat him on the shoulder."Thanks for the tea, lad." he shifts, turning slowly in an awkward shuffle."I'll be back real soon." he calls over his shoulder.He should ask him to stay. He should question him, if he can even find those questions and a delicate and clever way to place them. Instead, he's stood in one place. He's staring at a spot on the wall. "Have..."Have a nice day.The rest of the words don't leave his lips. He's paralysed, he's numb. He closes his eyes."Thank you!" He finally manages. Snoke is probably already gone. His lower lip trembles. Maybe he can make lunch and then maybe... maybe he just needs to lie down...He collapses in a large armchair. A rest before breakfast? Has he gotten lazier? His uneasy dreams the previous night might be the route of his tiredness. He closes his eyes, not entirely expecting to drift off, but not fighting it, either.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hux has to occupy himself in the coming days. So, he cleans. Ridding this strange little world of the layer of dust as thin and fine as silk stockings that has slipped over the bones of this house. Smothering picture frames of a smiling family, pinning in the spines of books on their shelves, shrouding the many fine collectibles left behind in places of exhibition - side tables, pedestals, cabinets…

He is eager to clear away the cobwebs - something about the dried remains of dead insects caught within them, even the webs abandoned by the spiders is far too much on the nose, though he’d not readily admit it.

Ben, the doll, has  retreated further and further from his attention in only a few days. Without the poor, old couple here, it doesn't seem as urgent as it used to. On the contrary, the doll is where he thinks perhaps it should be: at the back of his mind.

Instead he has lent himself to uncovering every inch of the lovely house. The estate is a large mind, in which the drifting Armitage is only a single thought. He isn't sure why he goes so far to make sure he doesn't disturb the estate's emptiness and peculiar tidiness… He could easily settle himself anywhere within it without complaint from anyone. Still, he is sure to fold his own clothes in neat piles as he finishes slotting them in draws. He had laid claim to a room down the corridor from Ben's.

Perhaps because this isn't his home, however it might feel, even just by how the next few mornings have passed, he still sleeps in a stranger's bed. Covered in sheets and blankets used for people that may have been friends or family. He wonders what became of them. Driven off, by the couple’s madness?

He has kept to the rule of playing music. Perhaps the only one he's made sure to follow, he forgets sometimes. He has his own bits and pieces to write. Strands of poetry can help him survive. Yet, he lets music play often… Choosing the happier songs. Often the somber silence of this place can only be drowned, Armitage thinks, with very human joy. And by him occupying himself with reading anything he might get his hands on.

He had left Ben on his bed. A doll, Armitage thinks, cannot surely need to be changed it just...

He turns his mind from the subject whenever it comes to him. That doll is something... Sad and unusual. It doesn't mean Armitage should be put under that spell, he thinks to himself. That kind of hysteria had made the couple miserable - Armitage could see it.

The world continues on. Observed from beyond a slender curve of glass. Surely how a fish might feel if it were to observe the world beyond its own small sphere, if it was capable of such imaginings. Thought. Listless and vague.

There is a passing of time, of course. A change of music. Tunes that play just far away enough to be heard but not understood. Secrets whispered, harsher sounds of consonants heard with the press of an ear to a bedroom wall but it is a puzzle missing most of its pieces. A smudge of charcoal on a sheet of paper. Undefined but for its darkness set upon a pale page.

The room is suffocating. The sun moving slowly across the room, inching towards the bed, enough to set a dapple of bright beams across the foot of the bed but not enough to touch cold, motionless feet stuffed into the same shoes and socks from the day Mr and Mrs Organa left.

While this one part of the house is neglected, this entire room, it seems life is breathed into every other part. No words, no books... No pictures or music to break the monotony. Trapped. A moment in time emblazoned on the canvas of this lonely room and drawn out with such exquisite suffering.

Boredom. Mischief...

Two things that the young master of the house had been plagued with as a child. Climbing trees, chasing ducks, running away from the geese which had no fear of the boy whatsoever, racing down hallways with a bed sheet tied to his shoulders as a cape. These had been the actions of a young boy with legs to roam and hands to grasp. A mind that soon found ways of entertaining one's self.

Theft, was among his many petty crimes. Primarily in the kitchens. Stealing a snack on his way through either from the outside on his way into the house or the other way reversed. Food, it seems, is unlikely to ever pass the finely sculpted lips of the doll propped on the bed, slipped to an uneven angle, head hanging and dark hair dangling.

Armitage had identified his favorite bathroom, a place of shining white, like marble, yet not too cold, there's a warm cast from the lamplight. He has not entered Ben's room. Han's words pester his thoughts every once in a while.

No one would believe it.

"Exactly." Armitage breathes to himself, having currently no other voice to hear. "Because there's nothing there."

Nothing behind the glassy eyes. He sees the dip of the bathtub. An image of that lifeless being inside. Of all the details that were...

Armitage scoffs to himself. It's illogical. He's determined to put these thoughts aside. This house is divine and Armitage now lives here. He's always done well with his own company, when the bad thoughts don't come. When something doesn't crash or splatter, he's content.

He should live for pleasure when he doesn't work for this house. Why shouldn't he? Does he not deserve to gift himself with a delicious meal? A night snuggled up, in peace and...

Well. Maybe he would appreciate hearing another voice in some way.

He smiles fondly at the thought of her. The only one he'll miss. She ought not to miss him. She was always more certain. More social.

Armitage lets out a long breath. Time to be clean. He removed each garment in turn; woollen socks, trousers in grey and a thin, white shirt. A shirt that caresses his skin as he slips it away, draping it carefully over the rack.

The dial is turned, he waits for an appropriate temperature before slipping inside and drawing the curtain.

He loves running water. The act of cleansing makes him feel like he could even try to wipe his mind clean too. This new life he lives - a silent resident of this ornate place... That life is one he could not trade, even for a pair of hands to hold.

He closes his eyes, his skin touches on the wall and he inhales the steam deeply before starting to hum. A little humming goes a long way. It's soothing. It's human…

It's not enough!

Dissatisfaction. Anger. Bitterness. Neglect.

The sprinkle of water. The steam clinging and beading to cool, smooth surfaces. The soft hum. A voice denied to straining ears.

It's not fair!

A moment spent lingering. A bare form silhouetted by the drape of the shower curtain. A small shift in the air, the faintest of metallic clinks of a metal ring on rod.

Armitage reaches blindly for the towel. He wasn't sure why he closed the curtain. It's not like anyone would be at risk of seeing him. Habit, no doubt.

He steps out, - sure to dry himself down; he doesn't wish to get these floorboards wet.

Finally he fits back on his socks, picking up his pants. His...

His arm reaches to find nothing, hand closing over nothing. He frowns, setting the trousers down, beginning to search the floor. Down the back of the bath...

His shirt is... Gone.

He wraps the towel around his waist, having searched every corner of the tiles...

Did he leave it in his room, somehow? But he wore it... He was wearing it on the way! He knows this! His mind is wandering to a place he doesn't want to consider...

That something or someone... Hides now, in the endless corridors of this home. Like a fool, he hurries to somewhat dry his lower half, slipping on a pair of jeans, despite how they cling... Before he takes a poker, of all things, from the fireplace. There are guns in the house! He just can't remember where the hunting room is...

He begins to search the corridors, this time. The poker is tight in his hand as he systematically peers into rooms, cautiously pushing each door open with his foot. Are thieves common in the countryside? It would be an easy opportunity for them…

Yet, there is something worse than a thief...

He's gone... Armitage assures himself. He left him behind…

A house has many secrets. Deeds done in privacy always have a witness of walls or doors... A ceiling, watchful and silent over all. The cover pulled over little transgressions.

It's easier to feel resentment - denied. Not allowed to go out and play, today.

Chores, instead. Help put the ornaments away. Tucking tinsel into an old cardboard box that smells of camphor. The old kind, sturdy - Leia’s neat lettering on the side marking these as Christmas Decorations. Up the old ladder, into the attic.

It feels silly and clichéd... But while Armitage would like to be unnoticed by an intruder, he can't let a robber think they are alone in the establishment, and wouldn't face justice. This house has been entrusted to him, regardless of how he might feel about one of its contents.

"Hello?!"

Nothing but utter silence... Until...

He flinches at the sound of another corridor. Something heavy sliding down...

He rushes to that place!  A ladder. He didn't even see or know there was an attic! Head down, Armie, never seeing the world above the page of a book - he hears the age old scolding. He grips the poker tighter.

"Come down!!" He demands.

There's certainly a burglar of some kind...

Armitage isn't sure he's prepared to face them. Why would they steal his shirt?! But he begins to climb, nonetheless.

Should he call the police? He's not sure they would come in time. His pulse has quickened, his eyes wide as each step creaks under his weight. From this position... The Attic appears to be as black as pitch. The late afternoon light has ceased to touch the old dirty window set in the far wall like a false eye into an a taxidermist’s prize... Where is the light switch?

He hesitates, short of fully entering.One hand braced against the swinging hatch door - lest it be kicked down atop of him.

"Now this isn't funny!" He snaps.

He talks to silence… Just dust motes and the artifacts of another life.

"Maybe we can figure something out..." He adds, more softly.

It's probably just an adventurous teen... Playing tricks…

You can't just do whatever you want, Ben! There are rules!

These rules are stupid!

They're for your own safety!

I don't care!

The ladder drops a little more before the mechanism triggers - old metal on metal, a screech as though the building itself has uttered an exclamation of pain or surprise as the ladder begins to draw back up. The soft thud of foot fall down the hallway.

Armitage is propelled, his feet almost catch, almost caught in the door, he lunges, managing to save his legs, sprawled in the dust on what feels like ancient timber. A shameful cry of fright escapes him. What?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!

He takes a long breath in.

Two. There are two thieves... Or he's missed the one...

He shudders, gathering his breaths.

"HEY!" he calls down.

He can't figure out how to lower the ladder. It's too dark!  He's blind! The poker trembles in his hand.

He stumbles over the ribs of roofing support, making for the wall, tracing it for a light switch.

Systematic… He ducks just in time, a roofing bream skims the top of his head.

He takes long, shaky breaths. He's been through worse.

But someone is down there!  His hand searches...

There's a damp smell, here. Rotten wood... And splinters. His sock catches on an object and he collapses backwards, thudding on his behind. His wet hair still dripping like beads of icy sweat on the bare skin of his torso.

He has to stop panicking!

His searching hand falls into a spider's web and he makes a sound of disgust, trying to wipe it away...

Something knocks to the floor.

"HELLO?!"

Admittedly, it's now a desperate cry. He's not alone here! But he wishes he was...He scrambles to his feet, something knocking him in the face. A fine chain!

Finally!!

He tugs on it.

The old, electric bulb flickers to life. A struggle of dim light against the darkness prevailing at the far corners of the attic.

Armitage sees something move.

A figure!

He brandishes the poker.

No. Not a figure. Just and old set of clothes on an old, collapsing metal rack... And the movement? Armitage glimpses the tail of a rat.

He lifts a hand to his head, catching his breath. Almost cowering.

Just illusions created by the dark. Banished, now.

He chuckles to himself. Relieved... Almost.  A turn as he prepares to leave, something catching his eye. He draws nearer.

The object he tripped over, he realizes, was a trunk of some kind. His hand coming to seal the lid of the trunk... Where his hand brushes soft, familiar material.

His eyes are wide, snatching it, into his hand. His shirt!

It doesn't belong to this house. Neither does the man trapped in the attic.

Serves him right.... Stay there, then. One room. See how it feels…

He...

Someone put it here. Someone might still be in the house! He carefully sets down the poker, shrugging on his shirt, hastily buttoning it up with shaking fingertips.

His foolish mind reminds him of Ben. Of what Han told him...

No. No...

Curiosity lends his fingers to opening the latch of the trunk.

More photographs. A toy mouse... Ben and a man... Who is older than Han. Armitage frowns at it. There are other photos too... But they're old. Damaged. The faint smell of mould, he realizes, there must be a leak in the roof.

Ben looks hollow... And pale. It might just be that the photos are monochrome. The man beside him has a gun slung over his shoulder. Pale eyes... But his expression makes Armitage peer at him for too long. There's something deeply unnerving here. Something wrong... In the background? Shadows and dark clouds...

Armitage has to put them down. The rat, scampering, makes him jolt in fright again. He needs to leave this place…

He fiddles with the hatch door. There's a lever... but it's rusted. Armitage pulls on it... But it's stiff… He sighs, rubbing his eyes. Trying to come more awake from this short-lived nightmare.

He doesn't intend to spend the night in this dark, and drafty attic, nevertheless, with a rat.

So, he uses the poker... It finally pulls the lever, letting down the stairs. Armitage doesn't waste time. He shuts off the light, then practically collapses down the stairs.

Reality seems further away than ever.

And with the intruder...

Armitage decides then and there - he has to call Phasma.

He dials the number on the only phone he has seen in the house. Old, still connected to the wall. His finger twists in the old coated loops of the cord. Let there be a connection... An answer! Armitage can't deny how tense he is.

Maybe he should be calling the police. He promises himself he will... though his experiences with the police have never been good or entirely all that helpful.

He swallows hard. Listening to that persistent ring.

Come on, Phasma…

"Arms?" She sits up, - looking for the red glow of her clock. 12:30? The number on the phone’s display is unknown, but it is the only assumption she can make.

It's already a reassurance to hear her voice. He sighs, softly.

"Are you okay?" Her voice is groggy. She runs a hand through her short blonde hair and tries to blink the world into focus.

He doesn't even know or realise how late it is, or he would have apologised for his timing.

"I'm alright." He promises. "I just..." Does

he

know...?

"Are you alright?" He asks her before answering her own question.

She rubs her face, stifling a yawn.

"I'm fine, Armitage." She mumbles. "How's the new job?" She asks, not wanting to get grumpy. He is, after all, her best friend and given everything....  She's always told him he's welcome to talk to her, anytime.

He nods to himself... Still shaky... Still listening for sounds in the house. He chews his lip.

"Phasma I need to ask about Tritt." He confesses. "You have no idea what he's doing?"

That he's not... Hidden in the house?

"Armitage..."  Her voice is instantly concerned.

"You're not... You can't..." He can't go back to him. Not after... Everything.

He shakes his head.

"I'm not." He assures. "I just..."  He sighs, heavily. "Someone or something has snuck into this big old house." He explains. "I... Got paranoid." He confesses. "I thought he might have found me."

His fingertips fiddle with the cord of the phone.

She creeps closer to the edge of her bed, legs slipped over the edge.

"What do you mean?" She shakes her head, even if he can't see it. "Tritt's been kicking up a fuss in the usual haunts... So, I don't... Think it's him." She rubs the bridge of her nose.

"Have you called the police? Maybe it's... An animal, or something?"

Armitage chews his lip so much that he tastes the iron of blood. His hand trembles at the cord.

"It's so strange here, Phas..." He whispers, his voice sounds more tearful than he intended. "I'm supposed to look after a... Some kind of mannequin..."

It feels so good to hear her voice…

She frowns.

"A mannequin?"  She stands up, pacing. "Armitage, if you need to come back...  Do you want me to come to you?"

He shakes his head. No... He's being... Stupid.

"No..." He sighs once more. "No... It's..." He shakes his head. "It's just nerves I..." That's what he has to believe. "I'm still settling in." He wipes a tear from his cheek.

He's so exhausted... And he only feels it, now.

"Arms..." He's always been stubborn. "I love you." She says softly, her tone is warm in spite of her concern that would have otherwise made her voice brittle.

"I love you, too." He smiles, gently. Oh... Phas…

"Want to tell me about the place? Talk to me til you fall asleep?"  If she'd ever had a brother, she would have wanted him to have been Armitage.

He wanders to his bed… So he can still talk with her.  Or, the nearest bed, the phone cord will only allow him to go so far.

"I don't want to keep you up." He replies softly. "Though I've no shortage of weird tales, already." He grins. It is... Somewhat morbidly amusing.

She snorts, flopping back down on the bed.

"Tell me.  I have a late start tomorrow." She lies, hugging a pillow to her chest.

He tries to ease himself, more, into the pillows. Tritt isn't here... It was just an animal. He closes his eyes for a moment... And tells her about the bizarre and poor, old couple... Who owns the house, who believe their son to be made of resin.

Phasma exhales, a long slow breath. Sweet baby peas and rice...

"Geez, Armie..." what has he gotten into? That poor couple. He laughs nervously.

"Yep." He wriggles more deeply under the covers, managing to kick off his jeans.

"How am I meant to care for what doesn't live?" He snorts. "They were so..." His eyes grow sorrowful. "So desperate and sad." He mutters.

"Well, it's a big house, right? What else are you going to do?”

"I've left him in his room." Armitage confesses. "The mannequin."  He clarifies.

He thinks he left him there...

"Well, if anyone

is

snooping around... You have a giant hunk of resin to beat them with." she tries to make light of it, but it is concerning...

Armitage chuckles.

"I only heard some noises." He elaborates. "But when I was in the shower... Someone or something stole my shirt and put it in the attic."

He gets chills, thinking about it. He draws the covers further around himself. He tries to laugh it off.

"I didn't even know there was an attic..." he adds, after a moment.

She doesn't know of an animal smart enough to…

Something

... In a big house with her best friend... She feels nervous.

"Just... Be careful. I have the weekend off in about two weeks time... I can come see you, if you want. Bring you whatever you like?"

No... he can't. He's broken enough rules... yet he doesn't know why he should be attached to them, still, when he doesn't believe...

"And take you away from town? From your work? I'm okay, Phas." He promises, firmly.

He just needs to be logical. Stay... grounded. He promised himself he wouldn't be so easily led, so superstitious!

"Fine.. Just.. If it helps, call me. Okay?" she is worried, in spite of his assurances all is well. He's hours away... If... No. Nothing will happen to him, she tells herself sternly. Calling her would be more easily said than done. This is probably the only room with a coherent signal if it’s not raining and any phone…

"I will." He vows to her, nonetheless.

"So what does the mannequin look like?" That seems a better choice of conversation. She can only imagine some store clothing mannequin. Bald, and with no face…

He blinks at the ceiling.

"He looks like the photographs." He murmurs, suddenly deep in thought. "And the paintings." He swallows. "I'm certain he... that he did exist, Phas."

Those giant, sorrowful, hollow, dark eyes...

That poor, poor man...

Or maybe he's somewhere better now. Maybe he lives in the city.

His response is a little confusing to her.

"So, they just keep an effigy to...?" she shakes her head. "It was... Organa, right? I'll do some digging."

"Organa is the mom." Armitage's fingertips bunch at the covers. "And Solo is the dad. Their kid was called Ben." His brows knit together.

Phasma rolls over, groping her nightstand, scribbling down the names.

"The mannequin is... it looks..." he's more disturbed the more he thinks of... he tries not to think too hard. "It looks lifelike." Armitage admits.

"Lifelike, huh?" there's a mischievous quality to her tone. "So... Is he hot? How lifelike?" she grins.

Hot?! What?

"Phasma!" Armitage scolds. "He's not a..."

He's not a bloody sex doll! He finds himself laughing. She does make him feel so much more at ease…

She chortles, finding herself more relaxed to hear his laughter.

"Where there's a will, there's a way." She giggles, flopping over once more, the phone resting carefully on the cheek and wedged with her shoulder.

"Phasma, that's..." he snorts.

Ridiculous...

"Could be the perfect arrangement... Could you ask if he likes dudes or ladies?" she could do with a quiet and compliant partner, herself…

His cheeks heat to red.

"Don't be...So!!" He hits the pillow, as if he's lightly hitting her shoulder. Always finding the funny side…

"Oh, I see... You got dibs." She jokingly writes his propriety off as a desire to keep this weird doll to himself.

"Well, don't forget about me okay? And invite me to the wedding!"

He scoffs.

"Gods damn it, Phas..." he's giggling, nonetheless, his bed now warmed up, by his body. He feels so much lighter. She adores his giggles. At least his tone is changed. Less halting, not so clipped and afraid…

"Stay safe..."

She's the one, nearer to Tritt.

"And good luck..." he adds, gently.
His only friend... practically his sister…

"You, too." she says softly. "Let me know if you need me to send you some condoms." she snickers.

"Piss off!!!" He exclaims through small fits of laughter. She giggles at his outrage.

"Love you, kid." she adds, more seriously.

He stops laughing. He softens at her voice.

"I love you, too." He whispers. The only fucking one in this world he cares about and who cares about him. He closes his eyes.

He becomes quiet.

She pulls her blanket up over her shoulders. Feeling the onset of slumber reaching for her again.

"You just be careful, little ginger snap, okay?"

Ginger snap...

He used to hate her teasing when they were younger, but now? Now he just... he adores her. He snuggles against his pillow. Tears are in his eyes. When will he next see her?

"You too..."

Armitage should be safe... because he should be alone. He's heard nothing in the house since the attic.

He can't bring the police here...
Raving to them like a hysterical... nutcase. He relaxes against the mattress.

In spite of her best efforts, she sinks into her pillow, steady breathing audible through the phone.

He hears it...

She's asleep...

"Goodnight..." he whispers.

He thinks he might finally be able to sleep... and sleep without fear now that he’s returned the phone to its place and makes certain his door is securely closed... he had to lock it... to be sure.

There's silence. No need for fear.

His eyes sealed shut. The light is still on, but he's too exhausted to notice.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Day and night... Day and night... A creeping passage of time, light spilling across old floors. Floors with a rich history. Many generations of Organas have found their feet planted on the thick, ornate Persian rugs. Secrets and trysts have unfolded in the study. Many long conversations by the fireplace, shared drinks between work colleagues and friends.One set of feet had once belonged to a young boy, playing hopscotch of sorts on the long, polished boards. Careful not to hop on the nails, trying to keep his foot within the lines of the floorboards and not to make noise while his mother and father leaned over the sturdy desk, heads bowed in concentration. Sheaves of papers about them like a flock of incessant birds. Business of grownups. He hardly had cared. A mop of dark curls that bobbed with each hop. ‘Ben!’ His head jerks up, dark eyes so large and round in question. ‘Go outside!’ But he can't. He can only watch as the sun fades yet again, bringing with it the dark and the cool. A sky lit with stars he cannot see. Just those same floorboards, whispering secrets. A quiet and infuriating stream, steps of those who have walked these floors before, only to walk them again with growing restlessness and no direction. Or maybe it's just him. Still sat here.It is a landscape that changes one morning. The steps are heavy on the floor, now. The sounds of those who came before vanish. Hushed. Something else is in this room. Over the last week, Armitage has been far more attentive to the sounds of the house, despite his desire to forget what had happened that day in the attic. Growing almost familiar with the house, at least, parts of it- he tends to avoid the rooms he doesn’t need to use: the hunting room, Ben’s playroom and anywhere near the attic, especially. It helps to be busy, finding himself in good spirits when he’s tidying what he can. Growing more enthusiastic, more determined. He has hoovered most of the floor, cleaned every sink he could, begun washing walls and indeed, put out rat traps, to stop any more vermin from encroaching into the old manor. It’s these activities of cleaning and ordering that have come to give him some much needed routine. Fashioning himself a schedule to keep, not to mention making his accommodation far more pleasant and comfortable. Since there’s been no further occurrences to frighten him, when he cleans, he even feels bold enough to enter into the study, where he has left Ben, and attend to the dusty books and tables around him. His sanity found through the acts of tidying. A natural order. He finds himself more calm, even with the thought of occupying the same room as that unnatural body sitting still and watching him from behind, with unblinking eyes. That young man, so distant and so cruel. Nearly a faded dream altogether. Crossing into view, dusting at old shelves, disturbing these tiny soft anchors that bind these memories to this place. Armitage smiles idly. The different titles! All the knowledge they might hold. He’s relieved that this room has captured weak warmth from the sun. Most of the time, he’s cold, but doing this cleaning has helped him grow warmer. On one shelf: a row of knickknacks. His duster hovers, his fingertip coming to trace the breast of a beautiful wren bird, crafted in porcelain.What are you doing?He gasps, his eyes wide as he turns and nearly knocks the bird from the shelf. “Dusting,” he answers automatically and shrilly, he— His eyes are drawn to the mannequin. The voice was low and i-it sounded as if... Armitage is rooted to the floor. His pulse throbs in his neck. No. No! That’s... that’s impossible! The wren.Ben's bird. Small hands tossing seed, bright laughter in the cool, clear days. Standing in a patch of sun with muddy rubber boots, bundled in a coat. Leia had been with him, then, holding the bag of feed. The wrens had seemed drawn to the boy, possibly because he made a point to go feed them regularly. Such whimsical memories often grow less magical in the passage of time. Larger hands had held its shape. Nourished the porcelain with color, breathing life into cold white spaces. Tongue hanging between his lips, a small brush in hand, cross legged on the front porch on a nest of old newspaper with a jar of dirty water. ‘What are you doing out here, Ben?’‘Nothing!’ He'd replied. A gift, for Mother’s Day—now a fancy display for dust now swirled into motes, glimmering in the squares of sunlight cast through dirty windows. Be careful! A sharp warning as the bird comes closer to the edge of the shelf. One last flight? No, it's stopped, mercifully left unshattered.THERE! The voice! There it is again! Is it in his own head? Is it in his heart, somehow? It seemed to vibrate in his chest and now he’s out of breath.What’s he doing-? Of course, it’s in his own head! And yet—Oh no. He’s going crazy! Just like the old couple. That’s not natural, he’s not meant to be hearing voices! Oh! He stands for a few minutes longer, waiting. For what? For the voice to come again?! The thought makes him dizzy. He steps closer to his heavy body, still propped in the chair. Oh God... oh no... The shape comes closer. This interloper. Disturbing things. Breaking rules. Armitage searches the glassy eyes. His hand lifting to... to Ben’s hand.“D...” he can hardly speak, himself. “Did you just..?”Armitage shakes his head. How can he do this to himself? Foolish tears of fear make his own azure eyes glassy. Yet he stands before him, peering closely. What is he looking for? The doll stares back, unblinking - a contest the redhead will never win. Perhaps it is the shadows of the ambient light or maybe the sculpt of the face was always severe, but the proud brow, the deep arc of the structure, the jutting nose and large shapely lips seem to scowl. Hmph. Maybe the man is as vacant as this room, to forget how everything had been spelled out quite clearly. Still, those eyes, like shards of the sky seem to fill with tears. His voice is a muted, stuttering thing. Uncertainty.  ‘Ben! Did you put the keys back?’ ‘Did you?’ Now far taller, broader. An obnoxious smile on his face, spreading far apart his lips, crooked teeth gleaming with a mischievous warmth to eyes now warm like coffee. ‘You're not—' A lowered voice, a sheepish glance around. Han, trying to do his best at scolding when clearly, he's far too proud. A display, for the boy's mother, of course. ‘You're not supposed to take the car without asking!’‘I got ‘er running, didn't I?’ Nothing... He-how can there be anything, when Armitage knows what is logic and reason and what is madness and hysteria. His breath hitches nonetheless. Ben’s eyes are like a pistol levelled at him. His pout makes him take a small step back. He blinks, trying to make sense of this! Of anything! Did you? A surly retort.His hand lifts to his mouth. He backs away, stifling a scream. He shakes his head. No... no...No, no, no! This isn’t happening! He comes to a stop. His eyes squeeze shut. Silence, place, time. These are all things that make sense... but this-?!“Oh God! Oh God, no!” He struggles to draw breath. Oh no! Please no! He thinks of this large, fragile structure waiting on bent and slipping legs, the rattle of resin on floorboards while he showered! Moving, disjointedly-! A puppet on fraying strings. Armitage stays so very still... his heart racing.Maybe the clouds have shifted, a shroud lowered over the sun. The study feels gloomier, mourning. The same face so severe a moment ago now seems slackened. Forlorn. Now the ticking of the clock fills the room. A guardian, tallying the seconds. Counting down...Armitage is backing out of the room. He doesn’t think he can stay in there. He wants to scream, but nothing escapes his lips. Maybe—maybe he could call Phasma again-?! And he's gone... Alone again. With only the flurry of dust to remind him for a moment he had existed in a time and space with another being. How long will it be this time? Before he is remembered? Or forgotten... Armitage is in the corridor for only another minute¬—God help him—he’s opening the door to the study again. Not so long, it would appear. The door thrust open - a thunderous sound to the relative silence.An almost fierce, savage curiosity. A frantic determination, perhaps. He can’t just run scared, however terrified he is! He turns Ben’s chair to face him, coming to sit in his own chair in front of him. Heavy feet dragging on wood. Leia would grind her teeth so hard to know her flo-What is he doing?! Armitage sees his large the hands of the mannequin are, picturing them somehow bound around his throat. Cold and hard. Lifeless. He takes in another shallow breath. “Okay...” he whispers aloud, “so... either I’m hallucinating, or...” Or somehow, it is all true. He swallows. “Okay... Ben...” Armitage’s eyes are on his. “Y... you don’t want to hu... hurt me... right?” Because after all, isn’t that his worst fear?A whisper, like wind chimes in a slight breeze. Soft, and inconsistent. Hurt him? Maybe a little. Just a shove, perhaps - for leaving him alone! For breaking every rule! After a long silence—Armitage tries to rationalise, to understand-it’s possible Ben will not speak. In fact, it’s probable he has simply imagined the whole thing, in which case, there’s really is nothing to fear. Still, this pause makes the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Finally: No. Armitage flinches, always caught off guard by that disembodied voice, but he nods. Okay... Even though it is insane, it’s... a start. Because if this is reality, then he will want to get on the good side of Ben. He can’t believe he’s considering, even daring to believe—He nods. “Thank you.” He tries not to let his voice tremble. “I’m sorry...” for... abandoning him. For so long! How many days has it been? His hands draw through his hair. “If I obey the rules, do you promise?” Please... say yes...Promise what? The doll only stares, expectantly and silent.Armitage’s pulse still races. “O-okay.” No promises then. Ben, if he isn’t hallucinating, certainly isn’t fond of Armitage, not that Armitage can blame him. Blame him?! Oh God this is too surreal and weird! He hears a sound, coming to stand with a frown. Is there someone—? “Hang on, Ben,” Armitage whispers to him. “I promise I’ll follow the rules but... I think I heard...” Something. Someone. He’s making his way back towards the corridor.A pale face in the hallway. NO! Armitage turns, only to see a corpse-like and twisted face! Snoke looks up, his expression wan as he observes Armitage, a glance to the side. A doll in a chair. His pale, listless eyes move back to Armitage. Armitage does cry out this time, in alarm before silencing himself."Hello! I knocked—but I didn't hear a response." “Oh-I-I’m-“ his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I’m s-so sorry... I...” His brows lift as he looks around as if trying to remember—“G-grocery day already?” He laughs, trying to ease the tension. “I’m so sorry, I...” He struggles to form sentences, to finish his thoughts."It is grocery day, indeed. How have you been finding the place?”“I didn’t hear you,” he finally manages.Snoke has the grace to look somewhat sheepish. "There, there, young man. I didn't mean to cause a fright." He reaches to pat his shoulder, glancing back at the mannequin. “I... you didn’t—“Armitage protests, “it’s just... when I first got to the house, they told me I probably shouldn’t let... others in, I...” he shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, I’ll come to you, next time.” It’s illogical, but he finds himself standing in front of Ben, as if to protect him, but then, nothing has seemed logical recently.“The lad's not causing strife, is he?" Snoke chuckles good naturedly. He peers at the mannequin.Armitage laughs a little faintly at the joke, despite having paled. “Um...” his jaw works, trying to articulate, “I was a bit worried, just because... the other week, I... well, my shirt went missing and I heard noises, and...” he must sound like a rambling madman. Not to mention, he’s forgotten all of his manners. "Missing shirt?" Those pale eyes are back on Armitage's face, suddenly keen. Armitage is taken aback by his interest. Then his brow lowers. He can’t help but be suspicious. “Y-yes,” he admits. “Made me a little worried, to be honest with you...” he keeps his eyes on Snoke. “I thought someone might have snuck in... Like... an animal, or a person... had- had stolen my shirt.”"Best be locking your doors then. Been more tourist traffic out in these parts of late. Urban explorers, I think they call themselves, with their fancy cameras and trespassing. Or they're looking for ghosts. Trouble, I think is what they'll find." Snoke shakes his head. "If it's all the same to you, it'd be nice to get the truck unloaded and I'll leave you to your... Work."Urban explorers... Armitage looks down to the floorboards. It makes sense. An idea that’s comforting. Looking for ghosts. Armitage grins. Yes, silly, isn’t it? And yet. His eyes wander back to Ben. “I keep thinking I’ve locked all the doors...” Armitage confesses, with a shrug. “Of course.” Armitage agrees, quietly. “Let’s get to it.”"There are so many doors." Snoke offers kindly, making his way down the hall. Coming here so many years ago, before the young master of the house had been born. Summer soirees when the lawns had been lush and verdant, decorated with paper lanterns with lightning bugs winking in and out like stars in the farthest parts of the yard in a pleasantly balmy evening. Leia had been so young, enchanting - engaging the guests in all manner of conversation. He remembers the strands of pearls at her neck, dainty lace gloves. She'd worn white. He remembers the fine crystal punch bowl, glasses hanging from its edge. Scarlet punch with bright slices of fruit. He remembers Han, a recent addition to the social roster had spiked it.... "Are you finding the selection alright? Not too much, or too little?" Snoke inquires. "There's a limitation, of course, our stores are only restocked on a rotational basis. Not a big town, you see."Armitage helps to carry in the rest, he answers the question first with a faint smile of reassurance before he speaks: “I’m... good at planning and scheduling. It’s been perfect so far.” Well, it should be. Armitage still needs to eat more than he’s used to, but he’s grown so thin."Glad to hear it. Well..." Snoke looks at the fruit boxes, filled with paper bags on the counter space. "Have a good week. Armitage, wasn't it?"“Yes.” Armitage confirms his name. “Thank you, ever so much.” His brow is furrowed again. “You didn’t hear anything when you first...?” Came in... did he? No. Armitage shakes his head.Snoke's thin brows lift. "No... No, I can't say as I did." His expression is one of concern. “Nevermind.” He grins, opening the door for him. “Travel safely!”"You be careful, then. Lock up." He offers a wave before retreating back out to his truck, whistling softly.Armitage’s shoulders slope. A voice only he can hear? That’s not... a good sign. He says his goodbyes with a kind smile before he closes his door... Then he’s rushing back to the study. “Ben...?” he calls. Is he alright? Is he even real?!That pale face has tilted down. A shifting, perhaps from the haste in which Armitage had fled and having moved the chair and not bothered to resettle the bulky frame. Ben....? The room feels cold. A quiet hearth.Armitage made him a promise. Even if it makes no sense to him and he’s afraid, he made a promise to the couple who lived here and a promise to Ben. “I’m sorry...” Armitage repeats in a breath. He collects Ben carefully, lifting his heavy weight, tenderly from the chair. “Are you alright?” Will he reply again...? Armitage begins to carry him up the stairs. He intends to get him clean and dressed, then make him food. He sighs. If he’s out of his mind, he might as well accept it. But he can’t. Not yet. He’s always been clever. He’ll find a way to discover the truth.  ‘Ben, please... Just... Talk to me, please?’ Leia, kneeling beside the bed. A little boy trapped in the grip of blankets. It's dark, but for the soft glow of illuminated stars stuck to his ceiling. Constellations of glowing plastic stuck to the ceiling. Planets... Stars... Comets... He had wept, then. So small, so frightened by his own mind. A nightmare.‘M-mom!’ Small arms thrown around her shoulders, sniffling loudly, that tiny rib cage heaving. But he hadn't been able to speak, then, either... “I didn’t invite him inside,” Armitage promises, as if that might offer consolation. He tries to break through the barrier of how crazy he is or sounds. As strange as it is, going along with the madness might be the only way to keep going. He needs to find the rules again and commit them to memory.“Let’s try this again,” he whispers as he undresses him and cleans Ben down with a wet cloth. The resin seems to warm with the contact, soaking in the warmth of Armitage's hand where it rests across the broad, smooth pane of the sculpted chest. The motions of his hands are different. Hesitant, maybe. Or possibly just reluctant. How very awful it must be for this stranger...And why should it matter? It's been awful for, him, too! No music, no reading. Nothing to pass the time ticking on and on. At least now there is a change of scenery. Soon Armitage has him dried off and looks for a new set of pyjamas, since it will soon be time to put… Put the doll to bed. Armitage snorts softly, dressing the large form in well-worn clothes that are soft and warm in comparison to the body they cover ‘You sure these will be enough?’ Han had looked at the suitcase in bewilderment. ‘Dad, it's fine.’ A young man, now. So handsome, finally having grown into his long legs and arms. His hair grown out to cover his ears - one of many features he possesses that are well endowed. ‘It makes your mother so happy when you come to visit.’‘I know, I'm sorry...’ Not as frequently as he'd like. The city has its trap - an inescapable regime. Work, eat, sleep... Study... Busy. ‘But, once we get this place up for sale, you'll both be so much closer!’ Hopeful. Armitage will make two platefuls off dinner. He truly hopes it somehow won’t go to waste. Still, he can keep the leftovers in the fridge. Even though he logically knows Ben can’t eat, his logic has been challenged. It’s not about trying to live like a normal human being, anymore. It’s about getting to the bottom of either his own delusions, or the somewhat terrifying reality of this supernatural entity.Armitage collects Ben as carefully as ever, he moves down to the kitchen, laying him down in a chair and making sure he’s upright, before he finds the old record player. Perfect. He blows the dust off, before letting it play. Elvis? He lifts a brow, but sets himself to work, sizzling vegetables, boiling rice...Another room....  The kitchen. With its solid table. Sometimes they had skipped the procession to the dining room. When Ben had been small, he'd proudly carry silverware to the table. Napkins. Cups (empty, of course, he was far too eager and far too clumsy to manage to carry full cups). Later, he had graduated to bowls of peas and salad. But the kitchen table... It had its own memories, too. Frosted bottles of beer, pale like wheat. The condensation rolling down the cold glass. Long discussions. About many things... ‘If you live closer, the doctors will be able to make house calls. And I can come see you more regularly!’ He'd been trying and failing to sell Leia on the benefits of leaving this massive mansion. Something smaller, more manageable. Downsizing but... Not....  It seems Armitage has made a curry. Spinach and potato, tomato and pea and onion... it’s wholesome food. It will do himself good, at least, he thinks. He has no idea what it will do for Ben, if anything. He’s added spices, garlic, waited to time everything perfectly, before he places the servings. He brings the dishes to the dining room before collecting Ben, taking him there too. Because... because somehow, he must. He sits at the table, close by to his long, flopping shape. The Elvis continues in the other room, but Armitage can’t help feeling haunted. “D... dig in?” He doesn’t know what he’s saying or doing. He stares down at his plate, before he begins to eat. The gentle tap of his cutlery and the solemnity of his eyes. He can't of course. But it's the reminder. It's the routine. The gentlest of cages, the softest of chains. Tethers... Instead, he can simply imagine. Does it taste nice?Armitage lifts another forkful. It falls short of his lips. He stares mournfully at this giant puppet. He felt the voice again. It’s so low... intimate... like a rumble of thunder in the distance that calls to him. Ben can’t... eat it... Armitage meets his dead, charcoal eyes. “Yes.” His own voice sounds fragile. “It’s... warming.”Hm. He misses warmth. Baths used to be good for that. Made him less stiff. There were many baths in this place. Some were less fun than those of childhood. Dissolved Epsom salts after a rather an intense sporting day or out hiking or hunting. The scent of lavender and the heat had soaked into Ben's body, soothing aching muscles.Armitage closes his eyes. Listening... he doesn’t hear anything again. He continues to eat, trying not to let the fork shake between his fingers. He stares down at the plate. He measures out the remains and tries to take it mouthful by mouthful. Subtle, unshed tears. “Are you really Ben’s spirit?” He asks, boldly. Or is he some kind of demon?Incredulous. Are you serious? Spirit?! Ridiculous. Did he lie to his parents? Played nice while they talked but he's really just... A-a slacker! Armitage gives him a look of puzzlement. “Yes.” Of course I'm Ben! Indignation.Armitage peers closer. “Do you know what you are?” He has so many questions. What happened to him? How?! And why?!Oh, that's rich. Do you know you are? Petulant. Bad at your damn job. That's what you are. Do you even remember the rules?!Armitage falls still. The fork lands on the table. Armitage cringes, tears lining his lashes. That was so many words... the voice speaking to him... His lips work but he can’t speak for another minute. “I...” Armitage trembles. He’s gripping his own hands in the effort to keep still. A tear falls free from his eyes. His fingernails dig into his own wrists. Pain... helps remember reality, right?! “I left the rules upstairs.” Armitage stutters out. “I’m sorry.” he can’t breathe... A lapsed silence. He didn't mean to make the man cry. But... Don't... Leave me alone for so long. The tone seems softer. Almost a plea.Armitage looks to him. To his inanimate porcelain face. Armitage is going to go crazy and die here, that’s what he thinks. He can’t help himself. His palms lift to his eyes, his shoulders shaking. A long, silent sob while Elvis continues to croon in the background. “I’m sorry.” His entire body shakes.Silence. Soft tears, a subtle vibration on the table. No more, then... It's too much for this man. Armitage’s sobs subside. Long, hoarse breaths. “I’m sorry Ben.” He swallows. “It’s... just a lot to take in.” He offers a weak smile, though for Ben’s sake, or his own, he isn’t sure. “I’ll leave leftovers in the fridge.” He assured him, moving to the kitchen to do so. He turns off the record. Somehow the silence is worse. Then he’s returning. A moment of hesitation before he’s lifting Ben again, taking him upstairs to his room. “Time for bed...” he tucks Ben under the covers. The list of rules is in the draw. Armitage retrieves and pockets them. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’m going to try to do better... now.” Further tears find his eyes. “Goodnight... Ben.” He turns off the light. He doesn’t bother to brush his teeth or change his clothes. What’s the point? He’s going mad. He weeps on his bed, thoughts racing, too scared to sleep.But sleep does come for him, despite his efforts.