Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at

http://download.archiveofourown.org/works/9181471.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-
Con
Category: M/M
Fandom: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Relationship: Galen Erso/Orson Krennic, Orson Krennic/Original Male Character
Character: Galen Erso, Orson Krennic, Original Characters, Wilhuff Tarkin
Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Possessive Behavior, Adultery,
Character Death, just generally not a fun time for most people
involved
Series: Part 4 of Lies
Stats: Published: 2017-01-03 Words: 5166

A Room with a View

by kinkwriter

Summary

He gritted his teeth. “Erso is a pacifist. Even if you date him, nothing is going to change
that.”

Orson raised a brow at the declaration, but he leaned in towards Reeves, his fingers gently
moving up Reeve’s fluttering pulse before cupping his jaw. “Galen Erso merely needs a
guiding hand to move him in the right direction. He has been hesitant, yes, but his home
world is now controlled by the separatists, and he’s lost contact with his parents. He has no
one now. I will simply be acting as a support system to oversee and motivate him to
complete his designs.”

Twenty years of Galen and Orson's relationship as seen by Orson's lover.

Notes

If you have not read the other fics in this series, this won't make a whole lot of sense.
Please go back and start with A Lie and make your way back here. :)
See the end of the work for more notes

Reeves Demesne sat in the darkness of his small apartment, staring out the window into the
glowing lights of the city. The skyline on the city-planet of Coruscant was beautiful no matter
where one viewed it from, but there was an underlying message that was sent by one’s view. The
buildings around him were well constructed and appealing aesthetically, but that’s all they were.
In an unending city filled with people and places that shaped the galaxy . . . Reeves could see
none of it.

No, his was an ordinary view that, while pretty to the average citizen, was without power to those
that knew. This shouldn’t have been his life, and yet there was no going back—no rewriting his
history, despite his attempt to reclaim what he’d thought was once his.

Footsteps echoed outside his front door—clipped, careful, and distinctly familiar. Reeves allowed
his eyes to slip shut as he remembered the moment that he’d lost Orson Krennic.

“Stars, why is this shit so hard?” Reeves asked angrily as he worked through his proofs. He had
an exam tomorrow that he was borderline certain to fail. He’d have to ask his father to donate
money to the professor’s grant again. That would be the second time this semester, he thought
with a sigh.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have begged your father to get you into this school,” Orson said from
behind him. The lieutenant was lying naked in Reeves’s bed, looking over a datapad. His long,
lean body was covered only sparingly by the thin sheet draped over his lap. Reeves allowed his
eyes to move over the relaxed form of his lover and a smile curved his lips. Unlike many officers,
who spent most of their time in space and turned paler for it, Orson was tanned in a way that was
certainly artificial—and entirely cosmetic—but it also seemed to simply work for the man.

He had an arm curled behind his head, showing off his trimmed biceps as he propped his head up
to read. Orson didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, which made Reeves’s heart flutter just the
slightest bit. It had been happening less and less of late, as he became busier and busier.

Orson Krennic had been an experiment—at least, in the beginning. The rim-world officer had
been handsome when Reeves had seen him at a gala last year, but no one had given the man the
time of day . . . not until Reeves had introduced him to his father, General Verwin Demesne. His
father had humored Reeves, at first, by taking his son’s lover around and allowing him to create
connections of his own.

What Reeves hadn’t counted on was his father being so impressed with the young officer that he’d
begun working with Orson—not because his son had asked—but because he saw potential. And
Orson . . . he’d been so deferential to Reeves in the beginning, but as time had gone on it seemed
as though it were Orson who was humoring General Demesne by continuing to fuck his son.

The thought made the flutter disappear and poked at his temper. Their relationship was not what it
once was. The imbalance of power had been replaced with an almost equality of status, which
Reeves wasn’t entirely sure he liked—but it also meant that their conversations these days were far
more honest as they traded barbs.
“What the hell else was I going to do if I didn’t get into this school? Go be a turnip farmer?” he
asked. It was a low blow and one that had lost its sting after being used far too often. Krennic
didn’t even bat an eye, rather he kept his gaze on the text of his datapad.

“Your father is well connected. You could still go into politics rather than science,” the officer said
placidly.

Reeves scoffed at the tired argument. He didn’t have the ability to hide his more malicious
tendencies, and they both knew it. Reeves’s father knew it, as well, which was why he’d never
pushed the idea.

He snorted. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said as his eyes slid back down the proofs. They might as well
have been written in Huttese. “And damn Erso anyway for being such a fucking know-it-all.”

“Erso?” Krennic asked boredly, as though he were latching on to anything in order to make at
least a cursory attempt to sound interested in whatever it was that Reeves was saying.

Reeves normally wouldn’t have wasted the time he had with Orson talking about someone else,
but that little bastard Erso’s scores on the last exam had been high enough that the instructor had
decided to forgo a curve for the rest of the class.

He made a tsking noise in irritation. “Galen Erso has the top marks in school. He’s brilliant, but
not smart enough to know when to shut up.”

Krennic finally looked up at this. If there was one thing Orson liked more than power, it was
knowledge. Reeves raised a brow as though asking what Orson would do in exchange for more of
the juicy gossip. The officer rolled his eyes as he turned back to his datapad.

Reeves swallowed at having lost Orson’s attention and he nearly blurted out his next words. “He
proved Waznes’s theory on energy containment incorrect in his first semester here.”

At this, his lover did look up, blinking. He said nothing, though, so Reeves continued. “Waznes
has had it out for him since, and keeps finding ways to humiliate him in class. No one will even
talk to him anymore for fear of Waznes’s wrath.”

“Energy containment?” Orson echoed thoughtfully.

Reeves nodded quickly. “Waznes said that we would only ever be capable of containing enough
power to blow up something the size of a city—That there was no way to accommodate anything
greater than that without the energy vaporizing the vessel. Erso not only showed that it was
possible, but he had fucking engineering plans that he’d created to back him up.”

“Did he now?” Orson asked with a raised brow.

Reeves nodded again. “The only thing Waznes could get him on was his inability to produce a
method of actually generating the power . . . but rumor has it that he’s going to present something
at the end of the semester. Something to shut Waznes up once and for all.”

He’d thought then that the look on Orson’s face—the interest was in the gossip, not in Erso,
himself. After all, no one gave a damn about Galen Erso. He didn’t know how to speak to people
in the upper echelons of society—didn’t know how to use subtle strategy to move up and into the
right circles, and so he’d never get above being an ordinary engineer after he graduated.

Everyone knew that.

When Waznes completely humiliated Erso during his presentation on kyber crystals, of all things,
at the semester’s end, Reeves had been half-convinced that Erso wouldn’t even show up to class
again. An outer-rim upstart had no business talking back to his betters, so it was no surprise when
the young man was smacked back down into his place.

And so there he sat, alone in the middle of the courtyard where everyone could see him, but no
one would acknowledge him. It’s not that Reeves hated the poor people of the outer-rim in
particular, but every year, the Science Academy accepted scholarship students, and every year
most of them left before graduating. They couldn’t handle the way things were done on
Coruscant, and when the inevitable wake-up call occurred, most of them never saw it coming and
couldn’t take it when it happened.

Erso would surely be another.

That had been his thought as he’d turned away, but then something caught his attention. He’d
looked back to see a familiar uniform materialize by Erso’s side.

“Orson?” he’d whispered in confusion as the man sat down and began speaking to Erso.

Why was he . . .?

“You’re dumping me? After everything I’ve done for you?” he yelled angrily.

Orson grimaced as though he were dealing with the tantrum of a small child—and he hated
children. “I’m not dumping you. Far from it. Erso is a temporary situation—”

“How temporary?” Reeves demanded.

The lieutenant shrugged. “I don’t know, yet. You know as well as I do that this committee that
your father has entrusted me to lead is important—it’s the end of this war with the separatists and
the future of the Republic.”

Reeves shook his head, disgusted. “I know all that,” he said, “I'm the one who made it all
possible,” he said, and he wouldn’t ever allow Orson to forget. “But what does that have to do
with Erso?”

Orson’s face twitched slightly around the nose before he sighed. “I had our engineers look over
his schematics. They’re basic, but flawless. While his ideas are currently geared towards
sustainability, they can easily be converted to weaponization.”

And wasn’t that what every officer wanted? To be linked to the next great weapon of the
Republic? Reeves though of his own research—more specifically about those same engineers
telling his father that his designs for more accurate targeting systems weren’t feasible.

He gritted his teeth. “Erso is a pacifist. Even if you date him, nothing is going to change that.”
Orson raised a brow at the declaration, but he leaned in towards Reeves, his fingers gently moving
up Reeve’s fluttering pulse before cupping his jaw. “Galen Erso merely needs a guiding hand to
move him in the right direction. He has been hesitant, yes, but his home world is now controlled
by the separatists, and he’s lost contact with his parents. He has no one now. I will simply be
acting as a support system to oversee and motivate him to complete his designs.”

Orson leaned in further and brushed a kiss over Reeves’s lips. “Your father knows about this—he
knows that Erso is important.”

“But what about me?” he finally asked, unable to disguise his hurt.

Orson pursed his lips. “What about you? You any I will continue as we have been—”

Reeves pulled away angrily. “I’m not some side piece, Orson! I’m Reeves Demesne!”

The lieutenant snorted as though he’d said something funny, but the man knew better than to say
anything outright. “As soon as he’s completed the plans, I’ll get rid of him, and then it’ll be you
and me again.”

Reeves had believed him. Orson Krennic was selfish to a fault. He didn’t really care about
Reeves, but he most assuredly didn’t care about Galen Erso, either.

Years slipped by, and Reeves waited. It was only now, in this gutter room on Coruscant, that he
could see how pathetic he’d been. He’d barely managed to graduate from the academy, and his
father had gotten him a position within his own organization working as a junior tech. Him, the
son of a general, working at the bottom of the totem pole in an unknown science division.

Orson was assigned to a lip-service position elsewhere that was important but hardly time-
consuming. No . . . his time was spent almost entirely on Galen Erso and his designs. His father
ignored him at work entirely, but at home, Reeves could not help but ask after Orson occasionally.

“Father, how much longer does Orson have to put up with him?”

Verwin Demesne would shoot him a look that he did not identify as pity until far later. “Orson and
Galen are doing important work for the Chancellor—for the Republic. Leave them alone,
Reeves.”

Orson and Galen . . . That’s how people referred to them. They were a well known couple in
political circles these days, even if most didn’t know exactly what they were working on. People
that Reeves had shared a laugh with at Galen Erso’s expense back in school didn’t laugh
anymore; instead, they shot Reeves concerned looks whenever he tried to stir up any lingering
feelings of superiority or resentment. He’d known, of course, that his father was concerned that
Reeves would go to Erso and tell him what Orson had done—would ruin his father’s plans.

He’d been tempted time and again, but to do so would undermine everything that both his father
and Orson had worked for. He would stay his hand . . . for now.

~
“You . . . you’re marrying him?”

Orson tilted his head before his face turned indulgent as he stepped forward, crowding Reeves
into the wall. “Are you jealous?” he asked as his gloved hand slid up under Reeve’s shirt to brush
against the skin of his stomach.

“Of course not! Why would I be jealous of the man that you lie to everyday?” he asked snidely.
Something flicked in Orson’s eyes before the hands that ran down his sides suddenly turned hard
and unyielding. He turned Reeves around and slammed him into the wall, his jaw aching as his
teeth rattled with the impact.

It wasn’t unusual for Orson to get . . . aggressive in his sexual proclivities, and Reeves loved
egging him on. Galen Erso was such a gentle person that there was no way the he’d put up with
anything even resembling violence from Orson. Reeves had always reveled in being the one to
release a side of Orson Krennic that not even the pure and untouchable Galen Erso got to see.

Orson gripped his hair and yanked his head back as the officer’s mouth worked his throat and his
hands unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down. Reeves laughed through the pain of
Krennic’s entrance into his body. He tasted blood welling up in his mouth as the man bit down
hard on his shoulder and shoved himself inside Reeves.

Reeve’s fingernails had bent back as he clawed at the wall in pain. But he hadn’t cried out or
asked the other man to stop. “Do you fuck your bride-to-be like this?” he gritted out cruelly in a
choked voice instead.

Orson let out a snort of a laugh. “No, Reeves. I don’t fuck Galen at all,” he said and Reeves let out
a shatteringly relieved breath, but then Orson continued. “I kiss every inch of his skin and spend
hours drawing out his pleasure until he’s crying for me to finally slide inside of him. And when I
finally push him over the edge, the only thing he can even think of is how much he loves me.”

Reeves had felt his eyes slide shut as Orson continued to use him, and his face had fallen forward
until his forehead rested against the wall and a stray tear fell down his cheek.

When Orson had been made Director over the Stardust Project with General Demesne’s support,
Reeves had hoped that perhaps things would turn around . . . that he’d have Orson’s attention
again, after all, they would be working on the same project.

But then Galen came, as well. It was the first time Reeves had seen the man since they’d
graduated from the Academy. Erso had become more handsome with age. His look was unusual
but striking, and he cut a trim and attractive figure in his engineering uniform—not like Reeves in
the bulky white jumpsuit that the techs wore.

There were hundreds of people in the audience. Generals, admirals, senate committee members
and even the Chancellor, himself, were counted amongst those privileged enough to hear and see
the future of the Republic—and it was being created by Galen Erso.

He’d known about Erso’s work, but until he’d seen the—still incomplete—schematics up on the
holo-screen, he’d never truly comprehended the true genius of Galen Erso. His former
classmate was clearly not the same man that he’d been in school. He spoke clearly and concisely
as he described his work to the audience of the most powerful people in the Republic.

And Orson . . . the man looked so proud as Galen gave his presentation on the very subject that
had made his life a living hell over a decade before in school. Palpatine had congratulated the
couple on their joint work on the project. Orson, as per usual, preened under the praise while
Galen smiled gracefully and thanked everyone for their support in getting the project off the
ground.

Reeves had never thought the project would even make it this far. Galen had been a consummate
pacifist back in school, but the years spent with Orson Krennic had clearly changed him in many
ways. Orson had told Reeves all those years ago that Galen needed a support system to steer him
in the right direction, and clearly the director had taken his task quite seriously.

To the benefit of them both . . . and the detriment of Reeves. Was this really all there was for
Reeves Demesne? The occasional side fuck of Director Krennic because the man knew that
Reeves would never say no, no matter how painful it was the next day to even get out of bed?

It was as if Krennic was punishing him for calling him—for still wanting him—for taking him
away from his husband.

Jyn Erso-Krennic was born in 3255 LY during the height of the spring season on Coruscant. Or,
he should say, that was the day that Galen and Orson brought her back from Kamino where she’d
been created and gestated.

Hadn’t Orson said for years that he hated children? That he despised them? Hadn’t he complained
in bed as the decades wore on that Galen still badgered him about having even just one child?
Reeves had always smiled at the way Orson would make sounds of disgust at the idea.

So then why? Why was this tiny baby girl being held so delicately by Orson Krennic as she was
introduced to the Chancellor during a public event? Why was Galen looking happier than he’d
ever seen the other man when the little girl grabbed hold of Palpatine’s finger? Why was General
Demesne clapping Orson on the shoulder and congratulating the happy couple on the new
addition to their blossoming family?

And why was Reeves walking away to shut himself up in his tiny apartment and cry his eyes out?

Reeves hesitated before hitting the chime on the door. He’d been summoned to the capital for the
first time since his father’s passing. With the general’s death, most of his connections within the
newly formed Galactic Empire had dried up. He was still able to work in the science division of
the military, but he was no longer granted any special favors or perks. Reeves had never even
thought to see the inside of the new Imperial Military Complex. Palpatine had made himself
emperor only a short time ago and things had so drastically changed—beneath the surface,
anyway.

Most people did not notice anything different apart from the ever swelling ranks of the
stormtroopers. But Reeves saw. He saw the expansion of the Imperial Fleet and the rise of the
rebellion in response. Rarely a few reports of insurgency would make it to the holonet, but in
reality it was only a matter of time until the disjointed ‘Rebel Alliance’ came together and really
put a thorn in Palpatine’s side.

Governor Tarkin was overseeing the suppression of the Rebellion, so why had he summoned
Reeves? Tarkin was not a man to waste his time on inconsequential things. For him to specifically
order a junior tech to attend to him . . . Reeves steeled his nerves and hit the button.

The door opened soon after and Reeve stepped inside the office. The governor was a man of
status and means and his office reflected that. Plush carpet and a carved wooden desk perfectly
framed the elegant artwork and the seat of a man with power. Tarkin stood behind his desk facing
his viewport rather than his guest and Reeves was able to take in the perfect view of the Senate
building from the high vantage point.

The doors shut behind him and he stood there for a second before speaking. “You asked to see
me?” he said, grateful that his voice did not tremble.

The governor was quiet for a moment more before he finally turned around and faced the younger
man. Tarkin had a gaunt appearance and severe eyes that spoke of barely contained maliciousness.

Reeves swallowed.

The governor’s small eyes followed the movement before he spoke. “Two weeks ago you
searched through a classified database for something. What was it?”

Alarms sounded in Reeves’s mind. “I . . . I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tarkin didn’t seem surprised by the denial. Instead he pointed a remote towards a holo projector
and an image of Reeves searching on his work computer materialized—as did his search history.

Reeves slid wide eyes back to the governor. “I have access to those files,” he said. “I’ve done
nothing wrong.”

A slow smile curved Tarkin’s lips. “Of course not. I never said that you had. What I asked is what
were you looking for?”

No . . . he couldn’t give that information to a man that hated Orson. “I’m afraid I can’t—”

Tarkin snorted. “Oh, I’m sure, though I can only assume you didn’t find what you were looking
for . . . after all, the Emperor had most of those files destroyed at the request of Director Krennic.”

He’d realized that himself when his search had turned up nothing, but hearing it . . . it was still
painful to have his worst fears confirmed. Orson had no intention of ever leaving Galen Erso, and
he wanted all proof of his duplicity destroyed.

Tarkin has been silent as he allowed Reeves to process, but the junior tech could not help asking,
“What is it that you want?”

The governor smiled and his eyes moved to a datapad that sat innocuously on the edge of his
desk. “You’ll find what you need there,” he said lightly.

Reeves didn’t reach out and take the pad. He didn’t move at all. “Why would you give this to
me?” he asked, even though his stomach was sinking lower and lower.

Tarkin raised a brow. “You’re a smart man. You know the reason why.”

Of course he did. The rivalry between Orson and the governor over control of Project Stardust
was legendary in the right circles. “I won’t be party to you going after Director Krennic.”

Tarkin snorted. “Krennic can take care of himself. He doesn’t need the protections of a washed-up
junior tech.” The man moved closer, his spindly legs covering ground quickly. “You love Director
Krennic. You have for twenty years. You would do anything for him. You will do this for him.”

“No,” he said with more conviction than he’d had in over a decade.

Tarkin smiled benignly. “Orson Krennic is an upstart who used a desperate genius to make a
name for himself, but now his time is over. He will fall apart at the seams without Erso. Now, I
can either eliminate the engineer— permanently. Or you can take that datapad and ensure he
leaves all by himself.”

“You can’t—” Reeves began desperately.

The smile turned nasty. “I can. I will. Your entire life revolves around Orson Krennic. You’ve
never revealed his secret despite your feelings because it would hurt him. So now . . . what will
hurt him more? A divorce or the deaths of his husband and child?”

Reeves backed away, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. He took the datapad from the
desk and left without another word.

Even despite what was to come, Reeves couldn’t regret what he’d done. Galen Erso and his
daughter were still alive, and while it wasn’t much, it was enough to put his mind and heart at ease
as the end drew near. There was a knock at his door, and Reeves contemplated not answering it,
but escape had never been an option. Not for him.

Reeves took one last look at the city beyond before getting up from his seat on the floor and
trudging to the entrance. His door slid open and he didn’t greet Orson—didn’t say anything at all
as he turned and walked back into his living room, leaving the door open. The tiny apartment was
quiet as he sat down on the sofa, his eyes still on the night sky just outside the viewport.

“You know why I’m here,” the director said quietly, and Reeves allowed his gaze to slide back to
the other man. Orson Krennic was in his full splendor. His white uniform stood in stark contrast to
the darkness of the apartment and his cape brushed the ground. His expression was flat with
disdain—Just as it had been two years ago when Reeves had approached him after Galen’s
disappearance. He hadn’t been welcome then, and Krennic was no more attainable now.

But then, he hadn’t wanted Orson, not really—not for a long time anyway. There was little point
in pursuing a man who was so thoroughly infatuated with his spouse and the life he’d taken great
care to build. Reeves still loved him—would love him even when it all ended, but after more than
twenty years of watching, he was ready to end his pain.

“You forced my hand,” Reeves said softly and he would never utter the word—the name—that
would save him. Orson wasn’t ready to face that obstacle head-on . . . not yet.

Krennic made a sound of disgust. “You went behind my back—behind your father’s back and
told Galen things he never needed to know.”

Reeves shrugged indifferently and kept his voice flippant. “You managed to get him pardoned.
He’s no longer a fugitive, so what does it matter? Your family is back to being under your
thumb.”

Reeves should have expected the blow, but he was caught off guard nonetheless when Orson
backhanded him. The man’s wedding ring collided with one of his teeth, causing his cheek to slice
open, and he spit the blood onto the floor carelessly.

“You nearly ruined everything I’ve built,” Orson hissed out. “Twenty years of dedicated work
and I was back to being a laughingstock, unable to show my face at any gathering or in front of
the Emperor.”

Reeves laughed. “You had the fortitude to go to Palpatine and ask for the man to remove the
immediate kill order, though, didn’t you? You . . . you loved Galen and his spawn enough to
prostrate yourself—to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness for your husband.”

Orson looked like he wanted to choke on the reminder. “I should have gotten rid of you years ago.
I kept myself from removing you out of respect for your father. He hated you, you know. By the
time he finally died, he despised you.”

As if Reeves hadn’t been aware of what a disappointment he’d turned out to be. The general had
not left anything to his son when he’d been killed in battle, and Reeves hadn’t expected anything
either. His father had hated him just as Orson hated him, but Reeves would take that hate with him
and he could only hope that Orson never thought of him again—never thought of any deeper
reasoning for what he’d done.

“I suppose you told the Emperor that everything was all my fault,” he asked snidely instead.

The director snorted. “Isn’t it? Galen is the only person who fully understands the refining process
of the kyber crystals and how to properly utilize them in the reactors. His disappearance stalled the
work.”

Reeves laughed again. “You and I both know who stalled the work, but blame me for your
problems. People usually do,” he said with cocked brow.

Orson shook his head in disgust. “As usual, you take no responsibility for your failures. I made the
mistake of trusting you to value your life over your petty jealousy, but you’ve been dogging my
footsteps for twenty years like a needy child, desperate for attention. You could never take a hint
that things were over, no matter what I did to you.”

It hurt to hear his own person hell being laid bare before him by the man that he loved more than
his own life, but he wouldn’t allow that to show—wouldn’t allow any of it to show. No, he’d
continue to egg Orson on. The director would do what he’d come here to do and then he would
return to his family . . . and he would leave Tarkin alone.

“Ha!” Reeves said with a false laugh. “As if you didn’t enjoy it. You can play at the happy family
man with Erso, but I see you. Your precious Galen would never understand what you truly are.”

Orson’s appetite for pure destruction had been what lead him to this point. Reeves truly did
wonder what was going on inside Galen Erso’s head right now. Was he fully aware of just how
much he’d been changed—molded into Orson Krennic’s perfect husband and father of the greatest
engine for death that the galaxy had ever seen?

“Thanks to you, he has a better idea, you stupid man,” Orson said bitterly.
 Reeves smiled. “I wonder how long he’ll pretend that he’s forgiven you . . . how long until you
drive him away? Permanently.”

Orson’s jaw tightened in anger and a vein made itself visible on his forehead. The anger was what
Reeves sought. Petty, easily forgotten anger.

“My husband is no longer your concern,” Orson said stiffly

Reeves laughed scornfully. “I suppose nothing is my concern anymore, is it? Tell me, did you
even bother to get Palpatine’s permission before coming here?”

The director’s head tilted. “Of course, I did. I went to him today . . . I told him what happened and
he knew—knew what I wanted. He called me to his side and whispered for me to take my revenge
and take back my family.”

Reeves sighed. Palpatine and Vader no doubt already knew what Tarkin had done. They were
both masters of the mind arts. Orson would eventually figure it out as well, though hopefully a
few years from now. He wasn’t strong enough politically to take on the governor, but someday he
would be, and Palpatine had just given him permission to destroy Tarkin when that happened.

The emperor liked to breed competition and jealousy amongst his ranks in order to divert attention,
but having Tarkin and Krennic engaged in their own personal war rather than plotting against him
was the ultimate goal.

“Galen knows what you are now. Killing me won’t change that,” he said because that was what
was expected of a dead man.

The director smiled. “Perhaps not. But knowing that I will never have to look at you—listen to
your prattling voice—think of you again . . . well, that is its own reward,” he said, pulling the
blaster from its holder on his hip.

Reeves, at first, followed the line of the weapon as it aimed towards him, but then, his gaze moved
up and he kept his eyes on the director’s face so that Orson would be the last thing he saw.

End Notes

Wow, that ended up being much longer than I'd planned for any of these fics to be, but I
hope you guys enjoyed it none the less. :) I'd like to add a few more fics to this series, but
the order of them depends entirely on you guys. For now, you have two choices on which
one comes next.

1) What comes after Orson takes Galen and Jyn back(Galen's POV).
2) The moment Orson realized that he'd fallen in love with Galen(Orson's POV)

Let me know which one you guys want and I'll try to get that written up before school
starts next week.

I want to give a special shout out thanks to Copper_Nails. She looked this over multiple
times for me over the holidays and was instrumental in making this fic the way it is now.
She's also a hell of a writer, herself so if you haven't checked out her writing, be sure to
 head over to her author page and take a look!

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!