Chapter Text
“Calculating course to the destination coordinates … estimated time to arrival, sixty-one hours, sir.”
Hux tried not to be obvious about releasing the breath he was trying valiantly not to hold. Sixty-one hours to negotiate the twisting series of jumps that would scrub their trail in case any lingering Resistance fighters were cheeky enough to track the Finalizer since the destruction of the Starkiller had left them limping away.
Sixty-one hours until he had to stand before the Supreme Leader in person and accept what was likely the death of his career, if not his own, with something approximating grace. The headache that had been pounding behind his eyes for two days straight pulsed in time to his heartbeat. He managed to keep his voice level as he answered, “Thank you, Lieutenant Mitaka. Signal stand down after the jump to hyperspace, but keep alpha squadron on call with beta in reserve.”
He doubted that the Resistance had any access to any Interdictor-class cruisers suitable to pull the Finalizer out of hyperspace, but he wouldn’t put it past any of his fellow generals desiring to put the nail in his coffin themselves. There’d been any number who had been waiting, counting the minutes until his golden boy star fell. The first leaps would be straight into the heart of First Order space, ostensibly to discourage the Resistance from following.
Sometimes, Hux wondered which was the frying pan and which was the fire.
He surreptitiously tightened his grip on his opposite wrist held behind his back, a counterpoint of pain to draw his scattered attention back to the problem at hand. No point in dwelling on it. He had his orders, and he would fulfill them. That was all. Speaking of… there was a duty he couldn’t delegate.
Hux nodded to his XO, “I will bring the news to Lord Ren directly. You have the bridge.”
“Yes, sir, I have the bridge.” Despite the crisp salutes and formalities, he could hear the unspoken, “Better you than me.” Hux ignored the sympathetic look as he turned on his heel and began his trek towards the med bay. He had a reputation for not shrinking back from a challenge, and he didn’t intend to start now.
The route between the bridge and med bay was getting dismally familiar. Hux had seen its insides far more in the past fourty-eight hours than he had in in the last four years. (Since that one near-disastrous mission Phasma refused to let him live down. Hux still maintained that his casualty was insignificant as they’d achieved the objective, but she held a … different point of view.) The lift was empty at this late hour mid-shift; Hux allowed his shoulders to relax and studied his reflection in the brushed metal doors.
Spare uniform presentable, hair in place; that much was to standards. Otherwise, his complexion was more grey than its customary pale, lips chapped from an unfortunate nervous habit, deep shadows turning his eyes into hollow pits, the edge of deep red-purple bruises barely hidden by his high collar. He wouldn’t be mistaken for the First Order’s poster boy today.
Hux couldn’t stop the grim smirk he flashed at his reflection before the doors opened. That was one more thing that was dead and gone, along with the superweapon he’d sunk far too many hours into. Exploded into so much shrapnel. Let the shards of his vanity be a navigational hazard to those who would follow in his wake; it was only appropriate.
It took him a moment to overcome inertia and push himself to motion again, stepping out in the instant before the doors closed. The medbay entrance was strategically close to multiple lift tubes; only intelligent design when seconds could be the difference between life and death. At least he couldn’t hear any screaming as he approached this time. Small mercies.
Hux stepped through the door and scanned his eyes across the bay, taking in the rows of filled beds, the haggard-looking aides and whirring med-droids. Two days after the fighting, the worst of the casualties were settled one way or another, but there was still a hum of activity involved in keeping the recovering stable, managing the turn over as the lightly wounded were released and the more heavily wounded rotated out of bacta tanks.
Regrettably they’d only managed to keep Kylo Ren successfully sedated and tanked for the first twenty-six hours. Hux had been drawn straight from his quarters and an ineffectual attempt to sleep to deal with that nonsense. He’d had no patience to deal with Ren himself; the man a bacta-slick drowned rat mess slumped over the edge an exam table, trying to inflict grievous bodily harm on everyone in the vicinity with his glare alone. It would have been more impressive if he wasn’t shaking too hard to stand straight and couldn’t focus his eyes properly.
Hux had had a terse conversation with the head doctor, “Is he endangering his life leaving the tank now?”
“That wound in his side is barely closed. If it splits open, we’re back where we started.” The doctor had folded her arms, somehow managing to give the impression of looking at both of them down her nose when she was easily a head shorter than both men in the room. “With rest and constant medical supervision, it might be stabilized.”
Hux had walked through an over-flowing medbay to reach the bacta recovery room; walked past officers, pilots and troopers fighting for life. The only thing Ren was fighting was himself. Hux had compressed his lips into a line, teeth sinking into the edges before he caught himself. “There’s a waiting list for the tanks. Don’t waste the bacta on someone so determined to find himself an early grave.”
Ren had made an abortive movement at that, attempted to raise his head to snarl– and Hux merely looked at him, somehow simultaneously too angry to be sympathetic and too weary to be baited. “You heard the doctor. Bed rest, and behave until you’re fit to be released. For once in your life, try not to plow ahead and leave blood trails behind you.”
Ren had reeled as if slapped.
Then there had been a call from the bridge and actual business to attend to, and that was that.
It was the visit after that which had been conducted at altogether higher level of volume and vitriol, which left a rather indelible mark on his throat, a nagging urge to cough and a certain huskiness to his tone. The less said about that incident the better.
Hux didn’t blame the medical officers for watching his approach with trepidation. He nodded to the doctors on duty, then diverted neatly into the wing of private rooms. Of course Lord Ren rated a private room, despite the full beds of the infirmary; Hux suspected if he himself were bedridden, he would have been in close quarters, but there was no sense in exposing anyone else to the Force-user’s tender mercies.
As it was the medical droid hovering nervously outside Ren’s door had rather more dents in it than he remembered not even fifteen hours previously. Hux glanced at it sidelong, calculating the repair bill automatically. “Good evening. How is Lord Ren?”
The silver droid bowed, four arms fluttering, “Restive, General. He refuses sedatives and anesthetics.”
Hux did not sigh. “And his injuries?”
“Only marginal improvement since last report, sir.” The droid cut off as the head doctor stepped in behind him.
Steely-eyed and grey-haired, she may as well have been a droid herself. Her voice was scalpel-sharp, dry, “What HMV-049 means is that he’s stroppy. Lord Ren won’t heal properly without rest and medicine.”
Hux frowned, “Thank you for your medical opinion, Dr. Hareed. When can he be moved?”
“If he stays stable?” The woman was famous for taking on the most pigheaded officers and troopers alike, keeping them alive and sending them back to battle only when she was certain they’d won the last one. “Maybe fourty-eight hours, he could be released to quarters if that quarrel wound is sealed properly. He shouldn’t be on his feet for a week.”
“We have sixty hours.” Hux smiled tightly at the doctor’s protest, “Supreme Leader Snoke has requested Ren’s immediate appearance. In person.”
She fell silent for a moment, “It is good to know what we’re up against. But healing a damaged body isn’t like repairing a technical malfunction where you can throw more engineers and spare parts at the problem to meet a deadline.”
“I’m not expecting miracles, Doctor. Just do what you can to keep him upright.” Hux turned away to face the door, automatically steeling himself for the verbal battle sure to ensue.
Dr. Hareed stared at him, unfriendly. “You’re not going to make this any easier, are you, General.”
It wasn’t a question, but Hux found a weary, bitter smile crossing his face as he answered regardless, “No, probably not.”
His chief medical officer likely hated him, but at least she was honest about it. He could respect that, far preferred it to sycophants who’d stab him at their first chance. Hux had never been one to worry about winning over hearts and minds, so long as he could trust the professionalism of their results.
The private room was dark after the bright corridor, lights at one-third strength, with Kylo Ren a dimly-lit shape on the medical cot. Ren must not have been asleep; he shoved up on one elbow to scowl at Hux, “Back for more already?”
Hux stopped a few feet from the bed, taking stock of Ren’s condition. At least this time his eyes focused; skin still sallow, a faint sheen of sweat on his face and curling the hair at his temples. The gash across his face was the angry red of new skin, barely sealed by the time in bacta. The bandages holding the bacta patches against his side and shoulder were visible where the blanket fell to his waist. Hux supposed Ren must have been cooperating somewhat as there were only spots of blood seeping through above his hip.
What was more telling than his physical condition was the red-rimmed eyes and haggardness written on the younger man’s face. Even recumbent, Ren hunched into himself, as if he could fall into a black hole of his own devising and vanish if he tried hard enough. It was a contradiction Hux had never understood about him, that he could stalk through the halls larger than life one moment, then try to shrink into himself the next, as if his over-sized frame would allow it. He said evenly, “Ren. You’re looking … like death warmed over.”
A faint smirk hitched the corners of Ren’s mouth, “You don’t look much better, General.”
Hux swallowed against the soreness of his throat, what was most likely just the memory of the taste of blood lingering in his mouth along with the sulfurous smoke and ozone that had coated him inside and out after Starkiller’s demise. Instead of rubbing at the bruises, Hux lifted a brow back at him, “And who’s fault is that?”
Ren didn’t look repentant, not that Hux expected it of him. “Did you come just to point fingers?”
“No.” Hux indicated the streaking stars of hyperspace through the window, uncertain when they’d actually made the jump. Shame, that; he usually paid better attention. “We’ve received the coordinates for the Supreme Leader’s base. We should rendezvous within sixty-one hours.”
Ren drawled, “In that much of a hurry to get rid of me?”
Ironic, considering which of them was likely to walk away from the encounter. Hux grasped at his waning professionalism with the same feeling as watching his lone escape craft slide over a cliff, “I am following the Supreme Leader's orders, the same as you.” He flicked a gaze over Ren’s bandages, “If there’s anything you can do to piece yourself together faster, I suggest you do so. I’m assuming you have something in mind for yourself if you’re refusing medical attention.”
From the way Ren’s brows knit, perhaps he was giving the idiot too much credit. Ren’s right arm tightened around his ribs, fingers absently clutching at the pad over the deepest wound. Hux refused to speculate if he saw the blood spots darken. “Pain is part of the path to the Dark Side.”
Hux blamed the last three days in general for his response. He snapped, “Please. As if you can’t furnish enough suffering to satisfy your masochism with your body whole. You won’t do yourself any favors if you can’t stand before Snoke.”
“Is that all you care about?” Ren sneered back, “Delivering the goods intact?”
“I have my orders!” Hux found he’d taken the two steps closer to Ren’s bedside; he only had to reach out to yank Ren’s hand away from the bandage. He could feel the warm damp of blood through his glove. “This helps no one.”
“Careful, Hux, you sound like you’re personally invested.” Ren snared Hux’s hand before he could pull away like he’d grasped the searing heat of a blaster barrel. Something caught Ren’s gaze immediately, dark eyes focused intently on their hands. Hux frowned back, trying one futile yank to free himself; even in this state the knight of Ren had enough muscle that his grip was like iron.
Ren breathed out, “Hypocrite.”
Hux finally realized what drew Ren’s attention when the man rubbed his thumb across the exposed inch of skin between his glove and where his uniform sleeve rode up; the touch across the overly-sensitive bruise sent an involuntary shiver through him. Even in the dim light, it was noticeably mottled darkly– Hux hadn’t realized it had progressed that far. There was no point protesting it wasn’t self-inflicted, though he imagined if the crew noticed someone would have started placing bets on a lurid love life before long.
He felt the full weight of Ren’s regard pressing on him now, expression grim and horribly knowing. This time, when Hux twisted his wrist and pulled away, Ren let him go. Hux couldn’t help bringing his hands to his chest, clasping his hand over the offending wrist as if he could somehow shield it from discussion. Erase the ghostly feeling of Ren’s touch.
“It’s not the same, and you know it.” It sounded weaker spoken aloud, and Hux winced to hear it. He pressed on regardless, “Snoke expects you to return for training. You had best be capable.”
Unspoken: Snoke wouldn’t go easy on Kylo Ren, no matter what state he showed up in. It hardly mattered what shape Hux was in, after all.
Ren narrowed his eyes at him, something like a second revelation dawning beside the first. His voice was still that horrible soft tone that shouldn’t belong to a man who murdered as a way of living. “You think you’re going to die.”
The sheer inanity of the statement protected him from reacting to the strange turn this had taken. Hux sighed, “We all die, Lord Ren.”
“But Snoke… why?” There was something terribly young about Kylo Ren’s bafflement, that obscenely open face. Hux felt a sudden inexplicable stab of emotion, both missing and hating Kylo’s ridiculous helmet in that moment.
To regain his composure, Hux turned away and strode to the window, overly aware of Kylo Ren behind him and the passing of stars before him. “The First Order breeds loyalty to the First Order.”
In some cases more literally than others. Hux was objective enough to see his father’s ideals at work in both the stormtrooper training and his own upbringing. They were more alike than not; there were reasons he was able to implement their conditioning with such skill and little remorse. He wasn’t asking his men to endure anything he hadn’t.
A humorless smile creased his face. “It’s not a monarchy, or a dictatorship, like the Knights of Ren. One general is much the same as another.”
He was not a man given to allowing himself delusions, especially delusions of grandeur. It was one of many reasons he had little patience for Kylo Ren’s unrepentant dramatics; Ren must be one of the least self-aware individuals he’d ever encountered. Certainly the most powerful.
Which was its own sting to his pride, seeing this over-wrought, uncontrolled child flinging his authority and power around with no forethought or strategy. Like all children, Kylo Ren thought someone else would bear the consequences. Hux wished the best of luck to the next bearer of that burden.
When he glanced over his shoulder, Ren had shifted painfully to sit up, staring at him like a stranger. “Why would you… You didn’t fail.”
“Being a general means taking responsibility for all your men. For failures as well as successes.” Stars knew he wasn’t able to follow all of the maths and physics that had poured into the design of Starkiller, but he was given credit for the project nonetheless. Because it was his people, his engineers, thus his ingenuity by proxy at work.
Hux forced himself to take a deep breath, welcoming the brief sting of pain in his throat. It was better than the cold lump of weariness taking up residence in his chest. Time for a change of subject. “Snoke will welcome you. You may not have beaten the girl, but you passed your test.”
Of all things, Kylo laughed, a sharp bark torn from his throat. Hux turned back in alarm, in time to see Kylo’s face crumple in devastation. Oh. No, no, he was wrong, his own empty weariness was much better than this.
Kylo knotted his hands in the hospital bedsheets, the broken laughter shaking his broad shoulders. “Of course you knew.”
Hux stayed completely still, lips pressed close as if even a word would tip the balance between spite and devastation. He had no desire to be Kylo Ren’s whipping boy again, and this … The knight of Ren looked more wrecked than he had when Hux had found him bleeding in the snow. The wounds on his body had nothing on the wounds on his psyche. Kylo Ren had passed his test, but he was the furthest thing from unscathed.
Kylo blazed at him suddenly, “You think I lost to the girl and the traitor on purpose?!”
Hux swallowed back the immediate protest that he thought nothing of the sort, because… it made a certain kind of sense. He clenched his hands against the clammy feeling of Kylo’s blood drying on his gloves like a terrible premonition. He kept his voice clear and low, “I think you did what you had to.”
What did it matter if it was orders, from Snoke, from the Force, or some inherent self-destructive tendencies. Kylo’s demons drove him hard before them.
Kylo scrubbed a hand back through his hair, the thick waves of it standing up around his head like a mane. “What I did–” He swallowed, then continued, “It was supposed to release attachments. Remove sentiment.”
Hux couldn’t help the low noise of understanding he made. Of course. Of course something like that would appeal to Kylo. The poor bastard. Kylo was overflowing with emotion, more than any one man could contain. He could cut every tie to every soul he knew, sever it with a blade of blood, and he would still be himself, ablaze with passion and fury.
Kylo stared at him, belligerence battling with something unreadable, “You think it was worthless. That I can’t rid myself of these weaknesses.”
Hux sighed, speaking up if just to keep Kylo from rooting around in his brain to voice his opinions for him. “I think you proved something to yourself. What you learn from it is up to you.”
Hells, Kylo might one day even learn some self-awareness. That might be worth the evidently long list of bridges Kylo felt he had to burn through. There was some petty corner of himself that could see Kylo’s suffering and still envy it. Kylo was an open book; to see his face was to know him. And of the two of them, Hux hardly felt qualified to judge. Stars knew it would hardly have torn Hux up this much to put a blaster bolt between his own father’s eyes.
Kylo recoiled abruptly, and Hux wondered with some detached amusement if that thought had made it through. He finally pulled off his soiled gloves before they dried stiff, noting idly it was hardly the first time he’d had them soaked through with blood. He stated dryly, “You’re not the only monster here, Kylo Ren.”
Better to be a monster than a man, wasn’t it? Though his demons were an entirely different shape than Kylo Ren’s. The void of space, where Kylo’s was the abrupt blaze of a supernova.
Kylo frowned at him, almost visibly shifting moods again. He leaned forward, propping himself up with his elbow on his knee. “You mean that.”
Hux set his gloves aside as he leaned against the window sill, freeing his hands to run over his face. He stopped himself just short of disturbing his hair. “You know perfectly well I rarely say things I don’t mean.”
So few people bothered to notice. Kylo Ren ought to have had the advantage in that, given his proclivities for mentally looming over shoulders much as he did in person. Well. It hardly mattered now.
Kylo’s voice went devastatingly soft and husky again, “You don’t think anyone will miss you.”
It was Hux’s turn to laugh, low and weary rather than high and desperate, “Please, don’t tell me you needed to read me for that. It should be self-evident.”
Not everyone had family who would follow them half-way across the galaxy, through hell and high water and bloodstains. Not everyone made instantaneous connections with just an open glance.
Kylo had gone young and haunted again, but it was better than the broken anger from before. Hux amused himself with noting how the man could somehow go between brooding raptor and hangdog in the space of a breath. An unusually expressive face. “Not even your crew? Your captain?”
“They’re professionals. Captain Phasma prides herself on putting the First Order above any officer.” Hux smiled faintly, “I am perfectly confident in their ability to continue on in my absence.”
That was what good subordinates were for, keeping the wheel turning with or without your input, and he had the best. That would be his legacy; competence, and a smooth transition. If the other newly-minted General, whomever they jumped up in his stead, happened to fumble, it would hardly be his crew’s fault.
Kylo’s breath hitched unexpectedly, his mouth twisting. Of all things, he had the gall to sound disappointed, “You’ve already accepted it.”
Hux stiffened despite himself and abruptly decided he was done with this unprecedented heart to heart He pushed off from the window sill, preparing to make his exit. “Not all of us have the energy to fight every last iota of the universe, Kylo. A good strategist plans every eventuality possible.”
He wasn’t expecting the hand that shot out to grab his as he passed, Kylo’s grasp unexpectedly hot on bare skin as he pulled him up short. Hux froze, caught between shock and indignation as Kylo pinned him with an intense look. His voice was low and commanding, “Hux. Stay.”
There was more than one way to read that and Hux blamed the abrupt skin-on-skin contact for him even considering the alternatives. It wasn’t as if Ren meant it– his heart had no business trip-hammering like that. He blanked his face and mind deliberately, pulling away sharply in a way that would have Ren tipping out of the bed if he tried to follow. “Unlike you, I’m not an invalid, and there’s still a great deal of work to be done cleaning up after the last battle.”
And preparing for any lying in wait. His duty wasn’t done until he turned Kylo Ren over intact to the Supreme Leader, after all, and he’d be damned if he let anyone else steal the knight out from under him while he still had breath.
Kylo Ren watched him go, his expression gone closed and strange. “How long did you say we had?”
Hux hovered with his hand at the door panel, looking back over his shoulder. And now he was concerned? “Roughly sixty hours.” Give or take however long he’d been engaged in this pointless exercise.
Kylo tossed him a sharp, devil may care grin that transformed his face into something wicked and breathtaking. “You get us there. I’ll be ready.”
Hux wasn’t sure he should dignify that outrageous statement with a reply, but he satisfied himself with an arch look to cover his nerves, “I’ll hold you to that.”
Hux left the med bay unaccosted by medical staff this time, with the oddest feeling of having had the ground change under his feet. On Starkiller, he had felt everything destroyed and falling to ash and ruin beneath him. Now… it felt like something growing.