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Hux first notices that something is off with Ren in the turbolift after a conference with the Supreme Leader.
Well – that’s not entirely accurate. He’d suspected something might be wrong when Ren didn’t show himself in Hux’s quarters after returning from his latest Jedi-hunting excursion. He’s fond of turning up uninvited, oftentimes letting himself into Hux’s quarters while Hux is still on duty and waiting there in the dark like the overgrown mynock he is. Hux has protested numerous times, but Ren, predictably, has elected to ignore Hux's wishes and do as he pleases. It’s infuriating, although Ren somewhat makes up for it by being especially – vigorous after he’s been away for a while.
Hux had pushed the notion from his mind at the time; it was a relief, really, that Lord Ren’s considerable libido didn’t make itself known for once. Suitably alone, Hux had actually been able to get some real work done.
The conference with Snoke goes surprisingly well. He offers Hux a rare bit of praise for recent progress made on the thermal oscillator; in contrast, he ignores Ren’s existence entirely. In his peripheral vision, Hux notices Ren’s helmeted head hanging slightly, his broad shoulders even more hunched than usual. It’s more than a bit pathetic. Ren must’ve run into another dead end on his mission, then – or worse, failed entirely. It doesn’t matter, really. Hux has more than enough to worry about without adding Ren’s apparently fragile self-esteem to the list.
Once they’ve made it to the lift, Hux expects Ren to say something, if not throw a complete fit. He’s accused Hux of viewing everything as a pissing contest in the past, yet he’s no better. He must be fuming, ready to wring Hux’s neck for taking some of Snoke’s precious attention away. Though he generally finds Ren’s tantrums quite off-putting, Hux has to admit this one should prove entertaining.
Ren says nothing.
Hux waits a beat or two, nothing but the sound of Ren’s breathing and the hum of the lift to break the silence. Finally, Hux says, “Your mission went poorly, I take it.”
“Kriff off,” Ren says eloquently.
“I’m just making conversation, Ren,” Hux snaps. “Surely you’re familiar with the concept.”
“I don’t want to have a conversation, General,” Ren replies stiffly.
Hux frowns, opening his mouth to speak, but is cut off by a very strange noise from Ren, followed by a loud, vaguely robotic groan. “What the devil was that?”
Ren does not respond. The lift reaches its destination and he shoves his way out. Hux follows, frowning. That noise almost sounded like a cough, distorted as it was by that ruddy vocoder. Maybe even a sneeze.
“Lord Ren,” Hux says, following a step behind Ren and taking in his vaguely unsteady gait. “Are you ill?”
“Your powers of observation astound me, General Hux.”
Hux ignores this. “What are you doing wandering about the ship?” he hisses, hurrying to catch up with Ren now. “You should be in medical. In quarantine.”
“No,” Ren says. “I shouldn’t.”
“What is that supposed to mean? You might be dying – or worse, you’re going to infect everybody on the ship with some ridiculous virus you picked up planet-side!”
“I’m going back to my quarters.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m not going to medical,” Ren growls.
“This is the wrong way, you ass,” Hux snaps. They’re heading in the direction of Hux’s quarters, actually, which makes no sense – and beyond that, the bridge, which is a terrible idea if Ren really is tracking deadly germs everywhere he goes.
Ren stops, apparently processing this, then turns and starts stomping in the other direction. Hux follows, somewhat bitter that he’s already likely been exposed to whatever Ren has and therefore can’t return to the bridge himself. He’s going to be stuck dragging Ren down to the sickbay so they can both be quarantined. Joy.
The corridors in the vicinity of Ren’s room are deserted, which is good for two reasons: fewer opportunities to infect the crew and less people around to witness Hux trying and failing to corral Ren. “Do you have any idea what this disease is? I need to contact medical immediately –,”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Ren says, slapping a gloved hand against the keypad outside his rooms. When it doesn’t respond, he snarls under his breath and pulls the door open with the Force, making the alarm squeal in protest before Ren silences it with a wave of his hand. Hux grimaces at the sound but follows Ren inside, undeterred.
Ren moves to take off his helmet and Hux braces himself, prepared for oozing lesions or something of the like. He wouldn’t say he’s overly fond of Ren’s face, but – the loss of it would be disagreeable.
Ren takes the helmet off and sets it aside, revealing a perfectly normal face, aside from some particularly dark under-eye circles, a sallow complexion, and a reddened nose. “It’s a cold,” Ren snaps, voice gone a tad nasally. “Stop being so dramatic.”
“That’s rich,” Hux says. “A cold, really? Well, I certainly trust your medical expertise, Ren.”
“Why did you follow me here? It’s almost like you want to catch it.”
“I already have, for all you know!” Hux exclaims. “That’s it, I’m calling medical. They can quarantine this sector – nobody will miss it much –,”
“If you call a doctor here, I’ll kill them,” Ren warns, squirming gracelessly free of his cowl and then tossing off his robe. “You’re free to go to sickbay, if it’s that important to you.”
“Why won’t you just go?” Hux asks, feeling as though he’s attempting to reason with a particularly willful child – albeit a child who could forcibly remove him from these quarters at any given moment. “If it’s nothing, as you claim, then they’ll give you a few injections, put you in quarantine for a bit, and then let you go. You’ll feel better.”
Ren takes off his belt, letting it fall to the floor with a thud, followed by his gloves. Hux grimaces at the rapidly accumulating pile of clothing, but wisely says nothing. “The Knights of Ren frown upon conventional medicine,” Ren says mysteriously, before ruining the effect entirely with a loud sniffle.
“Does ‘frown upon’ mean forbid?” Hux asks dryly.
“No,” Ren admits. Then, “It doesn’t matter. Go away, Hux.”
“No. Not until we’ve both been seen about,” Hux says, doing what he should’ve done to begin with – reaching into his coat pocket for his comm.
While Hux pages the infirmary and requests a medical droid – Ren can’t exactly kill one of those – Ren takes off his boots and walks from the main room into his bedroom. Once finished, Hux sets aside his comm and looks into Ren’s room. “What are you doing?” he asks upon finding Ren kneeling on the floor rather than lying in bed.
“Meditating,” Ren says. “I’ll heal faster.”
“Like hell."
“Stop distracting me and we’ll see,” Ren says, but it’s without any real heat. His eyes are closed now. He looks even sicklier like that, all pale and clammy-looking with his dark hair curling halfheartedly about his face. He must be feverish.
“No shit.”
“Glad to see your illness hasn’t inhibited your snooping abilities,” Hux says. “I was beginning to worry.”
“You’d never worry about me,” Ren says.
Hux blinks, unsure of how to respond to this. It’s a rather odd thing to say. Ren still hasn’t opened his eyes.
“A droid is on the way from med-bay,” he announces finally.
“I’ll allow it to diagnose me,” Ren decides, sounding as though he’s doing Hux a favor. “Nothing more.”
“What if you’re dying?”
“Then perhaps I’ll reconsider.”
Hux rolls his eyes. “Of course,” he says. “The Knights of Ren can’t be that bloody foolish.”
“We prefer natural remedies,” Ren says. His brow furrows. “Ones that don’t cloud the mind and inhibit communion with the Force.”
“Well, you won’t find anything natural on board this ship,” Hux points out. An exaggeration, but – not much of one. “So you’re going to have to sweat it out if you continue to refuse treatment.”
“Then I’ll sweat it out,” Ren says before promptly breaking into a coughing fit. The noise is deep and a bit disgusting; Hux wrinkles his nose and leaves the room, lest Ren breathe any more death in his direction.
The droid arrives shortly, and Hux lets her in before directing her to Ren’s room. Ren is still sitting on the floor, now slightly sweatier than before. Hux watches from the doorway as he sullenly submits to the droid’s examination.
“It seems to be a virus,” the droid pronounces. “Contagious to humans, but fatality is unlikely. With medication, symptoms should abate within twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”
“And without?” Hux asks tiredly. “He’s refusing treatment.”
“I cannot determine that without further testing,” the droid replies.
“No,” Ren growls. “That’s enough.”
“Sir, I must –,” the droid begins, before squawking in protest as Ren bats her away with a wave of his hand. The droid hits the opposite wall and bounces off with a clanging sound.
Hux sighs. He’s fairly confident that Ren will eventually succumb to a desire for treatment – Force nonsense aside, he’s obviously still human, and nobody actually wants to suffer through an illness, especially when adequate medical care is readily available. Ren’s simply being proud, that’s all. A fat lot of good that will do him if his fever worsens – although it does seem unlikely that Ren is in any serious danger, given his status as a healthy adult. Still, there’s no telling. Stranger things have happened than a grown man injuring or seriously dehydrating himself during a brief illness.
Hux wonders if the Supreme Leader ought to know about this; what if he has some pressing need of Ren in the next few days and Ren is unable to perform his duties as requested? That isn’t Hux’s problem – and yet it totally is, because if Ren can’t fulfill some important task himself then the job might fall to Hux, and he isn’t as safe as Ren is in the event of a failure.
“Come with me,” Hux tells the droid, and she obeys, following him into the main room. Hux removes his greatcoat, gloves, and uniform tunic before gesturing to his neck. “Give me whatever you were going to give him. I’d like to get out in front of this.”
She complies with an air of reluctance, giving him two injections that he sternly does not wince over. “General, sir,” she says. “I cannot recommend continued proximity to Lord Ren. He may be highly contagious.”
“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Hux says. “Dismissed.”
The droid leaves without further comment, and Hux sighs before returning to Ren’s room, lingering in the doorway. “Should I alert the Supreme Leader that you’re incapacitated?”
“I’m not incapacitated,” Ren says irritably. His eyes are closed once more and he’s frowning – grimacing, really, as though he’s in pain.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“He already knows.” Excellent, Hux thinks. More mysticism.
“Is that why he’s disappointed with you?” Hux asks, unable to resist giving into curiosity. Is Ren not allowed to fall ill?
“He isn’t disappointed with me,” Ren snarls, eyes snapping open. Hux feels something warm pass over him, like a gentle gust of desert wind. He half expects to feel an invisible hand at his throat, but no such thing happens. Ren has only ever done that to him once, and that was during – well. It wasn’t out of anger, then.
“If you say so,” Hux says finally. “Well, I suppose it’s up to me to nursemaid you, then.”
Ren’s expression shifts into one of almost labored confusion. “Why would you do that?”
“Because if you walk out of an airlock in the throes of delirium, I’d be better off following you out than facing the Supreme Leader."
“I’m not going to walk out of an airlock,” Ren mutters, closing his eyes once more and coughing.
“You say that now,” Hux says. He may throw Ren out of one himself before the man finally accepts medical care. “What did the droid say your temperature was at already?”
“I don’t remember. Stop talking.”
Hux pauses, crossing his arms over his chest. He’d forgotten to put his tunic back on, but no matter; it’s warmer in Ren’s quarters than elsewhere on the ship. A waste of resources, in Hux’s opinion, when Ren already wears multiple layers of clothing daily. “You don’t have any of those so-called natural remedies lying around, do you?”
“In the ’fresher,” Ren says, but doesn’t move.
“Oh, I suppose I’m to fetch it, then,” Hux snaps, entering Ren’s room and making for the refresher. It’s laid out identically to his own, so he assumes Ren’s medicinal products will be in the cabinet behind the mirror. If Ren’s medicinal products are stored in tiny unlabeled vials, he guessed correctly.
“The green one,” Ren says in the other room. There are three different green vials, so Hux chooses the one that smells the safest, which isn't saying much. It’s also the vial closest to empty, which is unfortunate.
“This one?” Hux says, stepping out of the refresher and holding it aloft.
“It’ll do,” Ren says, blearily opening his eyes. “You’re supposed to make a tea with it.”
Hux sighs. “Fine.”
He heads into the main room, then fetches a plain, standard-issue cup from Ren’s kitchenette. It’s slightly dusty, so Hux wipes it clean with his handkerchief before filling it with hot water and dumping the crumbly leaves from the vial into it. He isn’t sure how much of the substance to use, so he uses all of it. In the bedroom, Ren enters a coughing fit so prolonged and violent that Hux wonders if he’s going to have to rush to Ren's aid.
When Ren’s finally gone quiet, Hux calls, “Is it supposed to look like this?”
“Like what?” Ren responds hoarsely. He typically would’ve read Hux’s mind rather than ask a simple question, so Hux considers this progress.
“Sort of – greenish,” Hux says. “It smells horrible.”
“Yes,” Ren answers tiredly.
Hux carries the cup into the bedroom, mindful not to slop any of the steaming liquid onto himself. “I suppose you take sweetener with it, but I didn’t see any,” Hux says.
Ren looks surprised by this statement, in a muted sort of way. “Not with that, no,” Ren mutters. “Tastes like piss either way.”
“Well, have at it,” Hux says, offering him the concoction. Ren takes it with a hand that shakes ever so slightly.
“You’re trembling,” Hux comments. Ren doesn’t deign to respond – he merely sips from the cup, grimacing at either the flavor, the temperature, or both. Afterwards, he wraps both of his large hands around the small cup as though trying to absorb warmth from it.
“You’d be warmer in bed,” Hux points out, aware that he’s hovering and unable to stop himself. This is just so – bizarre. He’ll leave, he decides, once Ren is safely in bed. Then he’ll call for another medical droid. He’ll simply have to risk Ren ripping it to shreds.
“Not tonight, dear, I have a headache,” Ren says dryly.
“You must be getting delirious,” Hux says. “You’re attempting to be funny.”
“Are you implying that I’m usually funny without trying, General?”
Hux gives a noncommittal hum, not daring to respond as frankly as he desires with Ren in this mercurial mood. “Drink more of your tea, Ren,” Hux says. Ren has the presence of mind to roll his eyes. “What is it supposed to do?”
“For my throat,” Ren says.
“Just your throat?”
“Yes,” Ren snaps. “Are you going to criticize this, too?”
“If it’s deserving of criticism, then yes,” Hux says. “Don’t you think you’d feel better with some real cough medicine? The syrup provides for excellent sleep, I’ve found.”
“Of course you have,” Ren says. “You don’t worry at all about dulling your mind.”
“You aren’t getting anything done like this anyways –,”
“Because you won’t let me be!”
“– so you might as well take some medicine. It will shorten your recovery time and ease your current discomfort.”
Ren sniffles again, then – abhorrently – wipes his face on his shirtsleeve. “Don’t be a child,” Hux sighs, pulling his handkerchief back out of his pocket. He shakes it free of any stray dust from Ren’s cup and then offers it to Ren, who accepts it without comment and blows his nose into it before tossing it aside.
Ren takes another sip of that foul tea, then closes his eyes again. He goes still and silent for a several minutes, then breaks into another round of coughing. Hux, who in the meantime has drifted back into Ren’s front room to check his comm, returns to Ren’s bedroom to observe him. Ren has apparently worsened in the interval; he’s even paler and his posture remains tight once he recovers from the coughing fit. He raises the cup to his lips again, his hand shaking.
“I’m afraid that’s the last of that swill,” Hux says, nodding to indicate the cup that Ren has very nearly drained. “Though I can have some tea brought up from the mess.”
“No,” Ren says. Then, as though reminded, he adds in a piss-poor imitation of Hux’s manner of speech, “Don’t you have work to attend to, General?”
“I do, which is why it’s all the more frustrating that you won’t cooperate,” Hux snaps. “I’m stuck here making sure you don’t faint and die or some such nonsense when I could be accomplishing a great deal. The Supreme Leader –,”
“– is already pleased with your work,” Ren says dully. “There’s no need to yell, Hux.”
“I’m not yelling,” Hux says, affronted. “You’d know it if I was yelling.”
Ren drains the last of the tea and drops the cup with a clatter. Then, with slightly more effort than Hux suspects is normal, he clambers to his feet and stumbles toward the refresher. Hux strongly hopes he won’t trip and crack his skull on the sink or something. He collects the discarded cup and leaves Ren’s bedroom in favor of plundering the kitchenette in search of refreshments – more tea for Ren and something stronger for himself.
Finding nothing of the sort, Hux returns to Ren’s room and finds him lying on the bed, stripped down to nothing but a pair of black training pants. What might have been an arresting sight is tempered by Ren’s hangdog expression and painfully red nose. “I don’t know how you stand it,” Hux says, depositing a cup of water onto Ren’s bedside table. “All your traveling and you haven’t brought back a drop of anything proper to drink.”
“I already told you,” Ren says hoarsely, pushing the sheets further off himself – he’d only been half covered to begin with. “Intoxicants cloud the mind, make me weak.”
Hux elects to ignore this. “I thought you were cold,” he says, frowning down at Ren.
“I was,” Ren mumbles distractedly. “I’m not now.”
Hux reaches down and presses the back of his hand against Ren’s forehead, wondering if this change in temperature perception might be due to Ren’s fever breaking. Ren’s forehead is still scalding hot and damp with sweat. Hux is about to pull his hand back and head for his comm to call for medics – Ren’s silly cult be damned – when Ren groans and reaches up, grabbing Hux’s arm by the wrist and holding him in place.
“Kylo,” Hux says, slightly alarmed by this and unable to tug free without risking hitting Ren in the face, which would be about as wise as punching a rancor in the nose.
“Your hands,” Ren says, closing his eyes again, “are always cold, at first.”
Ren apparently finds relief in this, because he continues to press Hux’s hand to his overheated skin until Hux's skin warms from the contact. He then tugs on Hux’s wrist, unbalancing him and forcing him to sit quickly on the edge of the bed lest he topple over onto Ren. “Let go,” Hux says, annoyed at being manhandled. “Let go, and I’ll fetch you a cold rag.”
Ren obeys, and Hux does as promised, moving to the refresher and dampening a clean washcloth he finds within. When he returns, Ren has scooted over slightly on the double bed, as though making space for Hux to sit down beside him. Hux resolutely does not, though he does place the cloth on Ren’s forehead. Ren clumsily reaches for Hux’s hand again and guides it down to his neck, hissing when Hux’s cool fingers brush his skin.
“Like ice,” he says.
“Poor circulation,” Hux says inanely. “Nothing to be done for it, I'm afraid.”
Ren coughs again, but it’s a bit more subdued than before. Hux can feel his throat working and it’s a bizarrely fascinating sensation, even as he feels completely ridiculous standing over Ren like this and using his hand as Ren’s personal icepack. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take my hand back now.”
Ren releases him, then opens his eyes and stares up at Hux. “I think it’s getting worse,” he says. No shit, Hux thinks, remembering Ren’s words from earlier.
“Would you like me to call for a doctor?” Hux says, overjoyed by the very idea.
“Don’t ask me that again,” Ren growls, then coughs again.
“Very well,” Hux says, unsure as to why he even bothered. “At least you’re in bed. Rest up, and I’ll have medical send a droid by to check in on you –,”
“No.”
“Ren, it’s a matter of safety –,”
“I don’t want a droid,” Ren says sullenly.
“Well, you won’t allow for a doctor –,”
The Force catches Hux swiftly behind the knees, knocking him forward and onto Ren’s bed. He very narrowly avoids doing a face-plant into Ren’s crotch, which would be unpleasant for everyone involved. As it is, he lands hard on Ren’s abdomen, both of them wincing at the impact. “What the hell?” Hux sputters.
“You wanted to stay,” Ren says, closing his eyes like he’s too tired to keep them open. “So stay.”
“I am not,” Hux says, straightening up, “going to sit here and babysit a grown man who refuses to get a few shots because some mystical cult told him not to!”
“Stop yelling,” Ren says again, this time with a legitimate note of pleading in his voice. The sound of it shocks Hux into reconsidering his tone, which – while certainly not at a full yell – has not been very restrained.
“Ren,” Hux tries again. “I can’t stay here. I have business to attend to, and besides, I can’t afford to get infected –,”
“You won’t,” Ren says. “I can sense it.”
“Sure you can,” Hux says dryly. “Did you also sense your own illness coming on?”
“Yes,” Ren admits. “But I was too late to prevent it.”
Hux rolls his eyes and stands up. “I’ve been away from the bridge all shift –,”
“You’re the general,” Ren reminds, cracking his eyes open again. “You can do as you please.”
This, like much of the nonsense Ren spouts, is both true and false. Nobody would dare question Hux’s lengthy absence from the bridge, but it would certainly be noticed. If everything proceeded as normal, nothing would come of it. But if something were to happen, his absence would undoubtedly be blamed for it. Besides, even when not on-duty, he still has work to do. He works near constantly unless he’s sleeping or bathing. The galaxy never sleeps, after all –
Ren makes a vague grumbling noise, squeezing his eyes shut again as though the rapid flow of Hux’s thoughts physically pains him. Hux opens his mouth to speak and then pauses, losing his train of thought as Ren turns his head away, the cloth sliding to rest slipshod across his eyes. He looks – miserable. Pitiable. Hux detests him for it.
“Kriffing damn it, fine,” Hux snaps. “I’ll stay til you fall asleep, you overgrown child. But I’m getting some work done in the meantime. Where’s your datapad?”
He knows Ren has one; he was issued it due to his high status, though whether he’s ever used it for anything of importance is questionable. Ren waves one large hand vaguely in the direction of the bedside table and says nothing. Hux finds the datapad in the drawer and powers it on, then sets it aside long enough to bend down and remove his boots. He’ll feel silly lounging around in his jodhpurs, but surely it won’t be too much longer before Ren succumbs to unconsciousness. Ren stays where he is, sprawled out with his head tilted to one side, as Hux sits stiffly with his back against the headboard.
He doesn’t remain there for long; Hux is reading over some reports when he feels Ren twitch beside him. “What’s the matter now?” Hux asks tiredly. He’d hoped his presence was helping Ren fall asleep or something. Perhaps by boring him to it, as Hux is more than aware of how dreadfully dull Ren finds all work that doesn’t involve hacking something to bits.
“Hurts,” Ren says gruffly. He shifts onto his side, letting the now lukewarm cloth slip from his forehead to rest on the bed. Hux picks it up gingerly and sets it on the bedside table.
“I’m sure it does,” Hux says. “Do you have anything for pain?”
“No,” Ren says, opening his eyes to look at Hux – or perhaps through Hux. “Pain makes me stronger.” The rote, unflinching way that he says this throws Hux, just a bit.
“Not to insult your code or whatever,” Hux says, eyeing Ren, “but that doesn’t seem to be the case, thus far.”
“It’s the way of the Dark Side,” Ren mumbles. He gives another one of those strange twitches, almost like a violent, short-lived shiver. “Pain is a powerful emotion, and I must embrace it.”
“It’s pain,” Hux says. “It’s not meant to be embraced, biologically speaking. That sounds ...” Insane. “Unhealthy.”
“You don’t understand,” Ren says, blinking up at Hux slowly and sniffling. “That’s alright. Only someone like me could. Sometimes not even then.”
Ren sounds vaguely mournful – now he definitely must be delirious. As Hux watches, Ren reaches down for the sheets, tangled about his feet. He pulls them up over himself, leaving only his face visible. “Cold now?” Hux hums, swiping at the datapad to switch screens.
“Yes,” Ren grumbles. “Have you never been sick or something?”
“Of course I have,” Hux snaps. “But not for a long time. I’m hoping this doesn’t break my streak, thank you very much.”
“But how?” Ren mumbles. “You’re so frail.”
“Oh, no need to flatter me, Ren,” Hux snaps.
“It’s true,” Ren says, squirming one hand free of the blankets and catching Hux’s wrist for the umpteenth time. “So thin.”
“I’m in perfect health,” Hux says, miffed. “And I visit medical when I’m feeling poorly, like the grown man that I am.”
“Mm,” Ren hums vaguely, still holding onto Hux’s wrist. Hux allows this, although he isn’t sure why. Ren’s hand is trembling slightly, his body wracked with mild shivers. “You never got sick as a child?”
“Of course I did,” Hux says, unsure where Ren’s going with this. “Frequently. But never seriously.”
The worst he’d ever had was probably a run-of-the-mill flu, and most of the details of that have faded into the ether of childhood. He doesn’t even know if any of it is real or if he’d imagined the entire thing. Everything since has been relatively minor, manageable, and quickly resolved by trips to the sickbay.
“I almost died once,” Ren says, sliding his hand up from Hux’s wrist to grip at his hand. Hux still hasn’t pulled away, though he’s now forced to awkwardly hold the datapad with one hand while Ren clutches at the other. “As a child.”
“From an illness?”
“A parasite,” Ren mumbles. “Something I ate, probably. My father caught it, too.”
This catches Hux’s attention. Ren doesn’t speak about his parents, although he knows that Hux knows who they are. Hux wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he’s endlessly curious about them, particularly Organa. Ren’s childhood brush with death probably isn’t relevant to anything useful, but it’s interesting nonetheless. “But not your mother?”
“No,” Ren says, sniffling again, then coughing weakly. “She was away on business. She came back immediately. I never saw her scared, before then.”
Hux tears his eyes away from Ren’s face, looking at their hands instead. There’s something awful in Ren’s eyes, something fragile and lost. It’s delirium, Hux tells himself, just delirium. Ren will be outraged once he recovers, if he even remembers divulging this information at all. “And after?” Hux prompts, somehow unable to resist.
“Many times,” Ren says. “Once my master found me.”
It takes Hux a moment to process this; for some reason his mind jumps to Skywalker, perhaps because they’re discussing his sister. “Oh. You mean Snoke.”
“Yes,” Ren says. “She didn’t understand. She knew he was there, but she couldn’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“His power. What he meant to me. Anything.”
Ren’s eyes are fever bright when he abruptly looks up at Hux again. He squeezes Hux’s hand tightly, too tightly. “You were right. I have disappointed him – I have disappointed him again. But this sickness will cleanse me, and once I’m free of it –,”
He breaks into a coughing fit, releasing Hux’s hand to cover his mouth. Still, he keeps trying to speak. “– I’ll be stronger. Cleansed of my weakness –,”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hux says, setting the datapad down onto his lap and reaching nervously for Ren, unsure of how to help him breathe properly again. “It’s the fever making you say these things, Ren. It’s getting worse.”
“I know,” Ren says. “I feel it. Trying to kill me, but it can’t.”
Delirious, Hux thinks again. He brushes a thick lock of hair away from Ren’s face – it doesn’t help, but it’s the only thing he can think to do when Ren won’t allow him to call for professional assistance. “No, it can’t,” he says, his tone a tad placating. “You’re much too strong for that.”
“Yes,” Ren wheezes. “I am.”
“I don’t mean with the Force,” Hux warns him. “I mean – you’re healthy, otherwise. You’ll get through this, with or without medicine.”
Ren curls up more tightly under the blankets and makes an incoherent noise, somewhere between a response and a groan of discomfort. Hux touches his forehead again, but he’s every bit as warm as before, if not more. If this gets any worse, Hux decides, he’s calling for a security team first, to tranquilize Ren into submission, and then he’s summoning a doctor –
No, Ren snarls inside his head, and Hux flinches away from him instinctively, nearly falling off the sliver of bed space he occupies. The datapad clatters to the floor, but Hux hardly notices, too busy staring at Ren while the echo of that word reverberates inside his skull.
“Don’t do that,” Hux says, more startled than actually frightened. “You do that again and I swear on my life, I’ll –,”
“Don’t leave,” Ren manages, voice like gravel. “Hux.”
“What?” Hux asks, befuddled.
Ren doesn’t respond this time, he just breathes, a ragged, dreadful sound. Hux rights himself on the bed, and Ren takes this as an invitation to scoot closer, til he’s nearly got his head in Hux’s lap. “Comfortable?” Hux mutters, annoyed and vaguely unnerved by this.
“No,” Ren says. “But you’re warmer now.”
Something about this softens Hux, entirely against his will. Ren, the overlarge, over-dramatic brute, has been reduced to this shivering, sweating mess, lost in the throes of a fever he could’ve avoided. Hux values commitment to one’s ideals, even when the cost is high – especially then, actually – but this is just ludicrous. It serves no purpose, and it’s agonizing – yet Ren still won’t give in. It would be impressive if it wasn’t so bloody ridiculous.
“What do you want me to do, Ren?” Hux asks finally. He tries to inject some loathing into his voice, but he isn’t sure he succeeds. “Sing you a bloody lullaby?”
“Can you sing?” Ren asks hoarsely.
“I’m sure I can. The quality of it is probably debatable.”
Ren makes a humming noise that Hux takes for one of amusement. “Me neither.”
“How unfortunate,” Hux says, and Ren hums again, then falls silent.
“Are you asleep?” Hux asks after a few moments, not daring to hope.
“No.” Another sniffle. If Ren gets any bodily fluids onto Hux’s uniform pants, he’s going to pray the fever kills him first.
“Blast,” Hux says. “I really am going to have to sing you a lullaby, aren’t I?”
“No,” Ren mumbles. “No, just – be here. Hearing you helps.”
“Hearing me?”
“Your thoughts,” Ren mumbles, shifting again so that his head rests on Hux’s narrow thigh. Hux brushes his hair back without thinking, and Ren shivers again. “They’re orderly. Calm.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Hux says, fingers lingering in Ren’s hair for a moment longer. This is ridiculous, he warns himself. He’s wasting valuable time and energy here, and for what – Ren’s comfort? Yet Hux still doesn’t move; he’s not even sure he could with Ren’s head in his lap like this. He’s not sure Ren would let him go if he actually tried to leave.
“You should,” Ren murmurs. “I like it.”
“I’m flattered,” Hux says, and it comes out slightly more sincere than he intended, which ideally would’ve been completely insincere. If Ren notices, he gives no indication of it. Silence falls again, but now Hux can tell that Ren is awake, and it makes him – nervous. It’s too intimate, sitting here sharing breath, knowing that Ren can hear everything he’s thinking.
“How old were you?” Hux asks suddenly. “When you caught that parasite.”
“Very young,” Ren answers. “Four or five, maybe.”
“And you remember it well?”
“Well enough,” Ren says hoarsely.
“I can’t remember most of my childhood,” Hux admits suddenly, as if to explain why he finds it strange that Ren can remember something from so long ago. “I remember my nanny droid. That’s about it for the early days.”
“Not even your parents?”
“I never really knew my mother,” Hux says. “And my father was – busy. Not unlike your mother, I imagine.”
“Your father was nothing like my mother,” Ren says solemnly. Hux wonders if this is meant to be some kind of insult even as he continues stroking Ren’s hair. It doesn’t matter, he decides; he doesn’t like his father very much anyway, never has. Ren must’ve liked his mother, once. Maybe he still does.
Ren coughs again, then groans. Hux keeps running his fingers through Ren’s hair almost mechanically, and it seems to soothe him. Both of them, really; Hux has always liked Ren’s hair. He’s never touched it without pulling it before, although he doesn’t think Ren minds – Ren likes having his hair pulled. Hux can’t exactly fault Ren for this since he does, too.
“Are you thinking about sex?” Ren asks, managing to sound incredulous even while drowsy and still mildly delirious.
“Not exactly,” Hux says. “Sorry, but this isn’t doing much for me.”
Ren gives an actual laugh at that – a hoarse, rough little noise. Hux shushes him. “Don’t get worked up,” he orders. “You need to rest.”
“I am resting,” Ren replies, childishly.
“I mean sleep, Kylo,” Hux says, again feeling as though he’s talking to an incredibly defiant child – almost like he’s talking to Ren as he was years ago, when he’d eaten something off and nearly died. He wasn’t Ren then, of course, but Hux supposes his true nature must remain the same. “You’ll feel better when you wake up.”
“You don’t know that,” Ren mumbles nonsensically.
“No, I don’t,” Hux says, frustrated. “But don’t you? Can’t you feel it, or something?”
Ren offers no response, though Hux waits for one for a long moment. Ren’s eyes are closed again and his brow is still furrowed tightly, but his breathing has gone slow and steady. Asleep at last, perhaps. Hux tests this by brushing his fingers over Ren’s face; his expression relaxes slightly, but he doesn’t stir.
Hux lingers for a little while longer, letting Ren’s sleep deepen before he attempts to extract himself from the bed. Ren’s head still rests in his lap, a comfortable weight, and Hux himself is tired after wrangling Ren, after the day’s events, after months spent working around the chrono. He allows himself to doze, just for a moment. Not to sleep, but – just to rest.
Mercifully, Ren doesn’t wake when Hux carefully eases out from under him; he curls more tightly into the sheets, snuffling, and then goes still again. Hux puts the rest of his uniform back on and leaves him there, hidden like a child under the blankets.
He thinks of Ren later, as he returns to his own quarters, showers, and sits at his desk to play catch-up. Part of him still worries that he should’ve informed the Supreme Leader of all of this, just in case something is actually wrong with Ren. But Ren said that Snoke already knows – and if Snoke knows, then he’s content to let Ren suffer. Hux can’t afford to interfere with their affairs, even if he wanted to. His place is with the First Order, not with Snoke and Ren and their ancient beliefs.
Despite this, he does send a medical droid to check on Ren the following morning. When it turns up in the corridor outside Ren’s room in charred pieces, Hux knows that Ren’s recovery is already underway.