Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Armitage's steady boyfriend of three years, Ben Solo, had moved out five months, three weeks, two days, 6 hours, and twenty seven minutes ago. Shitty did not even begin to describe how he was feeling. Like a fool, he'd lost his car keys. (That was such a Ben thing to do, too! What was Armitage thinking, losing track of important items?) Accidentally he'd stumbled upon the large Tupperware bin under his bed. He'd opened it, even though it clearly wasn't his...

Well it turned out that Ben Solo was the sentimental type, and at least half the photos they'd take together as a couple (on phones no less! Even the crappy selfies) were stacked neatly into this bin. Or rather the ones underneath were stacked neatly. The ones on top just kind of seemed to be tossed in as an afterthought, as if perhaps Ben had been occasionally adding more photos to his collection. (For collection it clearly was.)

Besides the sappy reminders of the happy promising couple they'd been before Armitage had fucked everything up, (as he always did), there was the slap in the face that there was no way Ben could have left this behind on accident. Which meant...well nothing that he didn't already know. But it still hurt.

He sat back on his heels and glanced over at his phone across the room. Ben had by all apparent claims not blocked his number...and there had been no evidence to the contrary as of yet. However, that theory had never been tested. It wouldn't be so hard, just call him up, and tell him that he wanted to talk, (that they should go meet over coffee that they should-). Armitage put his head in his hands. I fucking miss you. I miss you so bad. Just give me another chance, I promise I won't fuck it up again.

Ben would likely not believe him, not that Armitage would really blame him for it. He'd yelled at him. Called him an idiot. Stormed out of the house. Ignored his phone calls for hours. Then given him the silent treatment for a week, until one day he'd come home from work only to discover that Ben had gathered up all his things and left. But the pictures he'd left behind, because Armitage didn't mean enough to take the memories with him. Along with the photos Ben had left a pair of beat up convers and some steel toed boots, a bunch of random t-shirts mixed in with Armitage's clothes, his big leather jacket (Armitage didn't know why Ben had never come back for it, because the man had always been especially fond of it), and one of the daggers from his knife collection.

It occured to Armitage, in that exact moment, that never one time since he'd come home to discover that Ben was gone had he texted or called him. After all, the message was clear I'm done with you. And what else was there to be said? Ben hadn't ever texted either. Suddenly he was on his feet and his phone was in his trembling fingers, tapping out a message to Ben's contact, who still had the adorable puppy dog eyes photo of him in his phone.

i miss u

Chapter Text

Ben shouldered the rifle and steadied it, leaning in and shifting his hips. Slowly he settled the crosshairs, setting his cheek against the stock of the gun just right, far enough away that the kick of the gun wouldn't break his cheekbone with the barrel of the scope. His finger rested on the gun beside the trigger instead of on the trigger itself. He aimed for the center of the human silhouette's head.

Putting a bullet in a man's forehead was hit or miss, the planes of the skull made it actually fairly difficult to get a killshot, unless you were perfect. There was only about a one inch spot as a target between and just above a person's eyes. And real people moved a hell of a lot more than silhouette targets did. Even if a shot to the center of somebody's face failed to instantly kill them, having half your face blown off significantly dampened your interest in fighting. Letting out a controlled exhale he squeezed the trigger once then moved his finger back to rest on the gun beside the trigger.

The gun kicked, but he was braced for it, and had the gun snugly against his shoulder, so his upper body just moved back a bit, like a flinch, then went back into position. Through the scope he could see that he'd hit his mark. A small round hole dead center of the target ensured that. It was such a different shape from when you actually shot someone in the head. Targets just looked like you'd put a hole puncher through them, like you were gonna put them neatly away in your binder or something. A real person generally looked mangled from the same shot. Unrecognizably so. Gore, blood, and bits of bones.

There was clapping behind them, and several encouraging whoops. Though Ben had gone to the gun range himself, he'd inevitably gathered an audience over the past hour. Many of them had left their own guns on the tables in favor of watching him. They'd especially liked it when he'd fired his M16 on fully automatic, the deafening roar of it's bullets swarming the air. Honestly it was a good change of pace to come here and laugh with them and watch full grown men get all giddy and excited over guns, babbling over all the specs like they were race cars or something.

Ben felt at home here. He was exactly the sort of man that belonged in this place; two boots firmly on the ground, protective headphones over his ears, protective clear shooting glasses over his eyes, motorcycle keys in the pockets of his tactical pants, all his guns laid out on the table in front of him or in the heavy black duffel back underneath it.

Even with the price of bullets going up recently, it was more than worth it to come here and feel that. Feel like you were light as air, that the world was disappearing through the scope of a gun, and the only thing left was targets and breathing, the kick of the gun against his body. His phone vibrated in his back pocket. Ben frowned.

It wasn't the standard basic vibration pattern that indicated any random message from just anyone. No, it was the odd alternating vibration pattern that he'd put in his phone for just one person, as a compromise so that he'd neve miss a text from him.

It was without a doubt Armie on the the other end. Carefully he unloaded the gun, set it down on the table, and stepped back. One of the guys stepped forward, "Hey man, can I try it out?"

Ben shrugged, "Be careful, and don't use all my bullets."

The young man laughed, mirth dancing in his eyes. He shook his head. "Course, just wanna shoot it once. She's a beauty. You name her?"

Ben fished for his phone in his pocket. "Nah, but the handgun is Roger, and the deer rifle is AP."

"Huh? What kind of name is that? You gotta tell me the story." Several of the other men gave their agreement.

There was only a small line of text from Armie, flashing under the last text that the man had sent to him months earlier, one about picking up milk and ibuprofen when Ben went by the store to get his candy. Milk for Armie's coffee, and painkillers for his stress and fatigue induced headaches.

ARMIE: i miss u 

It left a strangely unsettled feeling in Ben's chest. After they'd broken up, Armitage had not sent him a single text in these last five months. "Hey guys, I might need to go."

"What happened?"

"Might have to go pick someone up, cryptic message."

"Need help? Who is it?"

Ben shook his head. "Ex boyfriend, has too much pride to text unless he were really in trouble. I should be good on my own though."

"Boyfriend?"

Ben lifted his gaze up from the phone and met his eyes steadily. "Problem?"

The man shook his head quickly. "No, of course not. It's just a little..."

The corner of Ben's mouth quirked up. "Gay?" he supplied. "Hell no, having a boyfriend isn't gay at all. I don't know what you're talking about."

Several of the others laughed, and it seemed the easy mood had been restored. There was little that anything, even a potential or past boyfriend could do to mar their respect for his masculinity and ability to kill any man in this room if that's what he wanted.

He tapped out the message quickly, and hit send. He felt a little queasy, hoping that he'd interpreted the message wrong. If Armie was in danger...

Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need me to come pick you up?