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Hux often found himself thinking of fire. Uncontrollable, volatile, destructive. He’d seen Starkiller Base—his life’s work engulfed in flames, imploding under the power of the sun the vast machine had annihilated. There was a sort of beauty, Hux thought, in that annihilation. Much like a candle snuffed out, the knowledge of the transitory state of things, everything holding in perfection but a little moment, making its existence all the more beautiful and vibrant.
Hux had felt that existential dread, that realization of mortality acutely, when he’d seen Kylo Ren lying in the snow, hair fanned out and far too much blood pooling around him. He’d looked fragile and broken in that moment. It had been a shock to the system to see the unmasked Knight look so vulnerable. Snow catching in his hair, white against midnight black, so dark and fathomless. He had briefly thought being lost in that darkness was not such a horrible fate; not if it were Kylo. He had carried the larger man himself with far more gentleness than he’d ever imagine he was capable of, a strange sort of tenderness taking root and blossoming, a blood drenched flower of his ruin.
Hux had been thinking incessantly about that moment, staring out the window up ahead the flickering stars remind him if snowflakes glimmering against the backdrop of black hair. The image stuck and refused to be ignored. Kylo Ren had still not awoken. It had been four days since the destruction of the planet and Hux had been given express orders from the Supreme Leader himself. Kylo still had not regained conciousness. Four days.
Hux resisted once again the urge to check on him, to rush down to the med-bay like a lovesick fool. He would not be reduced to such a deplorable state; it was unbecoming. He was perfectly capable of keeping his emotions in check. It was exhausting, he was exhausted. He had slept very little, between nightmares of being burned alive—the sibilant hiss of flames in the back of his mind, phantom tendrils licking scorchingly up his spine—and worry over the Knight’s well-being. Hux had barely gotten any sleep in days, and as was his habit when sleep eluded him he wandered his ship, checking in with his staff and offering helpful pieces of advice. No one knew his ship better than him, he had made a point of that.
And it’s as such that the medical droid finds him and informs him Kylo Ren had regained consciousness. He schools his features carefully, dismissing the droid and making his way back to his rooms once again purposefully avoiding the med-bay. In the morning, he would deal with it in the morning.
****
At 8 a.m. sharp Hux makes his way to the med-bay, not quite sure what to expect when he’d walked into Kylo Ren’s separate room. It; however, certainly wasn’t Kylo destroying a medical droid with no more effort than clenching a fist.
Hux clears his throat to direct the Knight’s attention to himself rather than the unfortunate droid. They’d be needing a replacement. Kylo drops the droid unceremoniously on the ground and directs the full force of his stare to Hux; his face a mask of indifference.
"Come to gloat?" Kylo asks dryly; his eyes narrowed, studying the man before him from his perfectly coiffed hair to his gleaming black boots. The General looked tired, put together yet stretched thin over his bones, as though he hadn’t been getting enough sleep.
"Nothing as petty as that, no. Contrary to your frankly self-centered belief, my thoughts revolve around more than just your pathetic self." Hux replies; clipped and harsh.
"And yet, here you stand," Ren drawls, smirk stretching his lips. He did always enjoy goading the General, just to see how far he needed to push before that perfect façade began to crack.
"It certainly isn't by choice." Hux shuffles his feet minutely, loathing any sign betraying his discomfort at the half truth. Kylo merely frowns—pouts really, Hux thinks; he’s pouting…he’s rather beautiful like that, you’d almost be fooled into thinking him tame. Hux quickly pushes that thought away before Kylo could pick up on it.
"Then leave me, General. I have no patience for whatever it is you've seen fit to disturb me with." Kylo replies, his frown smoothing out into a mask of indifference once more; Hux would much rather he continued pouting; it was far more becoming.
"Flattering. Now if you're done with your self-pity, we can proceed with this conversation in a timely fashion, hm?" Hux asks abruptly. Kylo falls silent, regarding him through narrowed eyes, his lips compressing into a thin line, his displeasure written plainly on his face at the obvious dismissal. The scar that ran from his eyebrow over the bridge of his nose and down his cheek was ghastly—puckered and pink, barely healed—only adding more resonance to the fierce scowl that furrowed the Knight's brow. Undeterred, the General continues.
"Very well then. The Supreme Leader has given me explicit orders concerning your recovery as well as the protocol for your safe transport to his citadel for the completion of your training." Hux is silent for a moment. "You have been unconscious for what amounts to 4 days since the destruction of Starkiller. I have spoken with the doctor in charge of your treatment and she has assured me that you would be fit to be moved to your rooms later on today; however, she has recommended bed rest for the duration of out travels to the Supreme Leader." Hux locks eyes with Kylo before continuing. "That is an order, Kylo Ren. I will not have you risking my position as well as your well-being for your childish games."
Hux can see Kylo’s temper beginning to flare at the insult and continues regardless.
“I’m not afraid of you, Ren; you’d do well to remember that. My god, how could I be when you’ve just been beaten by a desert rat and her traitorous side kick,” Hux moves closer to Ren, hand hovering over his side then shoulder where he’d been injured, Hux’s hand finally making its way up to Kylo’s face and this time he does touch—two fingers tracing down the length of the angry looking scar, applying the barest hint of pressure, an emotion that could only be described as rage welling up in his chest. When Kylo flinches away as though he’d been struck, Hux simply smirks.
Hux turns on his heel and strides purposefully through the door, the faint sound of objects crashing to the floor follows his departure and he can’t even bring himself to care much. Later, there would be time later.
*****
Kylo is released as Hux had said later on that same day.
He is exhausted, the physical toll his injuries had taken on his body was immense but more than that, the emotional toll was far greater. His mind was in turmoil, the two sides of the Force pulling at his insides. He felt gutted, exposed on the floor, his guts to be picked and prodded at. His shame and guilt burning brightly at the edge of his consciousness and he wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed for some much needed rest.
He reaches his rooms quickly, the Stormtroopers he passes giving him a wide berth as he stalks through the halls of the Finalizer as though he owned the ship. He uses the force to open his doors, foregoing the tedious passcodes in his haste to rest. Once in, he stumbles directly towards the bed, falling face first onto the mattress and promptly falling asleep.
Later, much later than Kylo had intended, he awakes with a start; for a moment not recognizing the rooms he was in before his eyes begin to focus and his breathing evens out into a more natural pace. He untangles himself from the sheets gingerly, unwilling to reopen his wounds.
He pads barefoot over to his meditation room, he felt off balance, without his mask and his shrine of sorts he felt incomplete. As though the notion, the foundation of Kylo Ren was slightly but irrevocably shaken. He looks around the room, a cursory sweeping gaze to familiarize himself once again with his surroundings, his eyes locking on the pedestal situated to the side of the room. He pauses in disbelief for a moment, a stream of increasingly inventive curses under his breath follows the brief calm. The insufferable insignificant imbecile, he thinks viciously before donning his robes once more. He had work to do.
*****
My rooms. Now.
Hux hears Ren’s voice clearly as if he’d whispered it in Hux’s ear. He’d resisted the urge to check on the Knight, several times over in the days since his release from the med-bay. Hux had made a point of ignoring any mention of the Knight, refusing to even ask after his progress in person—he had the medical droid that was checking on Ren provide him with all the pertinent data he required. Ren’s looming and frankly, brooding presence had been conspicuously absent from the bridge until this moment.
Oh force's sake, what now?
Hux thinks rather loudly and receives no reply; at least not anything immediate.
Hours later, Hux finds himself reluctantly making his way to the Knight’s rooms, keying in his override codes and striding in only to be greeted immediately by Kylo’s characteristic frown.
"This.” Kylo wastes no time, immediately pointing to the now uncovered tray of ashes that Hux had secured to the pedestal himself only 4 days prior, “You brought it from Starkiller."
There was no reason to lie, really, was there? Not when it was a fact that no one else besides himself and Kylo had high enough security clearance to enter Ren's private rooms on any of their many star ships.
"Yes, what of it?" Hux retorts, daring Ren to say anything.
"Why?" Kylo asks instead, curiosity coloring his tone.
Hux merely sighs inaudibly before replying.
"It means something to you. Anchors you further in the Dark side or some such force nonsense you keep prattling on about. You're...proud of it." Hux waves dismissively as Kylo makes to reply, "I am devoted to the First Order and its cause, Kylo. I do what I must to ensure the continued efficiency of the order. Even if it were a task so far beneath me" he shrugs. "So be it."
"I thought you considered sentimentality a weakness, General." Kylo prompts him, still curious.
"I still very much do." Hux nods his head absently as he says it.
"And yet..." Kylo trails off quietly; his eyes flickering between Hux and the tray, as though to use it as a living example of Hux’s hypocrisy. Hux sneers at the obvious implication.
"Don't delude yourself, Kylo. If I must cart around your...trophies to ensure your optimal efficiency, then I can overlook your obvious…deficiencies." Hux replies, not a hint of anger marring his tone.
"How touching." Kylo gushes, tone mocking.
Hux makes a move to leave, sneer still stretching his lips.
"Thank you, Hux."
Hux pauses, back still rigid, inclines his head in acknowledgment and acceptance of the offered thanks and leaves the room, his great coat fluttering as he turns.
The walk to his own quarters is thankfully short; keying in his passcodes, however, takes longer than it should, fatigue starting to tug at his consciousness. It felt like days since he’d last slept and now that Ren was functioning enough to be his insufferable self, Hux found that his carefully cultivated calmness had begun to fray around the edges, spider web fractures of fatigue marring the immaculate edifice. This wouldn’t do; this simply would not do.
Hux quickly strips off his uniform, carefully folding the black fabric and placing it in its usual spot on a shelf in his closet before making his way to the refresher. He tries his best to avoid the mirror as he goes through the motions of his nightly rituals.
On his way to the bedroom a glimmer of something white catches his eye as he passes by the open door of his office; pausing in the doorway he dials the lights up to 30 percent and looks around. There did not seem to be anything remiss in the room at first glance. Finally, his eyes land on a white oddly shaped object on his desk. Upon closer inspection, Hux finds the object to be a gleaming white skull, jaw wired shut, polished and coated with a shiny resin top coat. Just sitting there on his desk like it had been there for years—as though it belonged there, just so beside his datapad. A scrap of paper lay beside the skull, an untidy scrawl across the pristine white page. Hux reads the note, his lips tugging into a facsimile of a smile as he takes in the familiar name.
Hux hadn’t heard the politician’s name in years, he still remembered, however. Hux never forgot nor did he ever forgive any transgressions, and that particular politician had been of a highly distasteful and rude sort. Of course Ren would know—and it was Ren, Hux was sure of that much. The man made a conscious effort—an aesthetic choice—to smell like death and ash, after all. No one else would take this much pride and care in such a morbid task, and certainly no one else would think to thank Hux in this…specific of a manner. No one would be able to.
Hux picks up the skull, turning it this way and that, admiring the care Ren had taken in preserving it. Hux briefly wonders what Ren had done with the rest of the body, and the image of the man’s body—whose head he now held in his hand—being burned, comes to him unbidden. He does allow himself to grin this time, however, as he places the skull where he’d found it and heads off to bed falling asleep almost immediately, content for the first time in a long while.