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In hindsight, it should have been obvious that this was going to happen the moment he dozed off before getting the opportunity to kick Ren out of his chambers. Normally, after one of their trysts, Hux wouldn’t hesitate to tell Ren to kriff off, a smug look on his face as Ren reluctantly left, staring Hux down the entire way out the door.
But this time, Hux had been unable to resist the fingers that gently traced up and down his spine and the warmth of the body lying beside him. Eventually, Ren had coaxed him into a spooning position, holding Hux tightly against him. Before succumbing to sleep, his last thoughts centered on how the weight of his responsibilities and a strenuous day had influenced his abnormal behavior, and definitely not the feeling of safety and comfort Ren’s presence had brought.
Now, feeling minorly congested and the twinge in his neck beginning to spread toward his right eye and temple, Hux mentally cursed himself for being so foolish. Of course a slight change in his sleeping position would be a trigger. Add that to the list: too much or too little sleep, skipping meals, consuming less than one cup of caf, Peavey’s cologne, and Ren’s tantrums. The list was much longer than that, but those were the triggers that plagued him most often.
Turning from the viewport, Hux scanned the bridge, taking note of which crew members were present. It wasn’t their strongest nor most competent rotation, but he felt confident enough that they could handle operations in his absence. Hux locked onto his target, Captain Harth, and began to advance.
“Captain,” he greeted, coming to a stop in front of her.
“General,” the Captain responded with a slight nod, a datapad clutched in her hand.
Captain Harth was a younger woman, newly promoted, and from what Hux could recall, she possessed few qualities that made her stand out. Looking at her face, Hux noticed she still had a light in her eyes and color in her cheeks. That will change in the next couple of years, Hux thought with grim amusement.
“I have been summoned by the Supreme Leader. He seemed rather urgent, so I shouldn't keep him waiting. I trust you have the bridge, Captain?” Hux lied easily, hands folded behind his back.
“Of course, sir.” Harth smiled brightly, and if Hux wasn’t mistaken, she appeared to relax just slightly. With a nod, Hux turned toward the door to make a swift exit. The Captain's smile was only contributing to his discomfort.
As he strode down the hall, Hux acknowledged the various crew members who stopped and saluted him with a stiff, slight nod. Even as a dull ache began to form in his head and teeth, Hux prioritized maintaining the image of First Order discipline. It wasn’t until he saw a flicker in his vision that he paused his stride. He hesitated, staring at the floor, waiting for it to happen once more. Moments passed, and eventually, Hux continued on his way, brushing it off as a lighting malfunction that he would follow up on later.
Turning down the hall that housed the officers' chambers, it happened again. This time, Hux paused and glanced up toward the fluorescent lights, wincing at the surge of pain the brightness caused. That didn't deter him from continuing his investigation.
Hux heard footsteps approaching. “General? Sir?”
“Yes, Lieutenant?” Hux asked, his eyes still locked on the ceiling.
“May I speak freely, sir?” Mitaka asked hesitantly. Even without looking at him, Hux knew the Lieutenant was fidgeting, a nervous habit for whenever the topic of conversation strayed from professional duties.
“You may.”
“Er… why are you staring at the lights on the ceiling?” Mitaka asked curiously.
“I am not staring at the lights, Lieutenant. I am staring at an area of the ceiling which is located next to one of the lights,” Hux answered matter-of-factly.
A long pause followed, a puzzled look now fixed on Mitaka’s face. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the General's response only made him more confused.
“I’m sorry, sir, I’m not quite following,” Mitaka replied sheepishly, his gaze now also drifting toward the ceiling.
Finally, Hux looked away and focused on the dark-haired man in front of him. “Lieutenant, I trust this stays between us?”
Mitaka briefly noticed the General’s eyes were bloodshot and hazy. Sleep deprivation, Mitaka deduced. While it was a rare occurrence, there had certainly been moments where the General acted abnormally due to a lack of rest. Best to forget about this encounter and let Hux continue on his way before it got even weirder.
“Of course, sir,” Mitaka saluted, before turning quickly in the opposite direction.
Once the Lieutenant was out of sight, Hux pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed deeply. Not a light malfunction, then. It wasn't until he had made a fool of himself in front of a subordinate that the truth dawned on him: this was one of the rare visual auras that occasionally preceded the pain. While he experienced migraine attacks often, he was usually spared impairments to his vision. Taking a deep breath, Hux straightened his posture and forced his legs forward. Just a little farther. This attack was coming on faster than usual, making him feel as though he were losing control. Normally, he had plenty of warning to step away and medicate before the pain truly began. That was not the case today.
When he arrived at his door, Hux fumbled to remove his glove. His hands shook and he missed the panel multiple times; his vision was spottier than it had been minutes prior and his depth perception was failing. The control panel had become a cruel barrier to relief. He considered trying to input the code via his datapad, but his mind went blank, the digits slipping away. Just as he began to consider sliding to the durasteel floor and settling there for a good cry, and perhaps a nap, his palm finally registered. The door opened with a whoosh, the panel glowing a mocking, bright green.
Hux silently and quickly thanked whatever higher power might be watching over him and stepped into the dwelling, heading straight for his refresher. He knew the layout well enough to keep the lights at their lowest setting. The medications he took during his attacks were stored in a compartment below the sink, and the dimness spared him a glimpse of his own reflection. He already knew he looked like shit. Had he looked, he would have seen a forehead beaded with perspiration, blotchy eyes, and a grimace of discomfort.
In the refresher, Hux opened the compartment and felt around. He pushed aside unsealed vials and packaged syringes, saving those for his more severe migraines or if his oral medications failed him. His hand explored the clutter until he finally felt the edge of a single-dose packet. With trembling hands, Hux grabbed it. Not trusting his fingers, he used his teeth to rip the packaging open and dumped the tablet into his palm.
He mentally thanked the medics for prescribing a dissolvable medication; he didn't think he could manage finding and filling a glass in this state. Leaning his back against the sink, he placed the tablet under his tongue, closed his eyes, and waited. As it dissolved, a slight mint flavor filled his mouth. The first time he’d taken it, the taste had been overpowering, but now it only brought comfort, a reassurance that the pain might soon end. Once it had fully dissolved, he ran his tongue over his teeth, ensuring the gritty remainder didn't stick to his gums.
Kriff, the pressure behind his eye was immense, his head feeling like a lead weight. Hux took a breath through his nose and slowly stretched his neck, tilting his head until his left ear touched his shoulder. The action produced a loud, audible pop, and he almost moaned. Though minor, the temporary release of tension felt extraordinary. He repeated the action to the right and then rolled his shoulders, yielding a few smaller pops. It wasn't a cure, but it eased the stiffness plaguing his frame.
Now came the waiting game. Within the half-hour, the medication would either begin to work or the migraine would continue its relentless progression.
Keeping one hand anchored to the sink to steady himself, Hux used the other to fumble with his high collar. Despite the climate-controlled air, he felt like he was overheating. He managed to strip himself of the upper portion of his uniform, but he stopped there. He was certain that if he attempted to remove his boots and jodhpurs, he would end up sprawled on the floor with a concussion to add to his list of problems.
It was at this moment that Hux reluctantly accepted he would not be able to return to the bridge to finish his shift. Even if the medication dulled the pain, there was a high probability he would experience what the medics referred to in lay terms as a "migraine hangover." Though the pain might vanish, he could still face a full cycle of brain fog, fatigue, gastrointestinal distress, and mood swings. He had already made a fool of himself in front of Lieutenant Mitaka; he refused to let the rest of the crew witness him in such an altered state.
While this withdrawal protected his image as a General of the First Order, it also meant, much to his dismay, that he had to move. He would have to navigate his way to his datapad to notify Captain Harth of his continued absence.
With an inward groan, Hux forced himself out of the refresher, using the walls for support as he stumbled toward the bedroom. With each step, no matter how gentle, the throb in his head and the vertigo intensified. By the time he collapsed onto the bed, he felt profoundly queasy. Had he still been in the refresher, he was certain his reflection would now show a sickly green tinge.
With eyes closed, he took deep breaths to settle his stomach before reaching for the datapad on the nightstand. When he finally dared to look at the screen, a small surge of elation hit him; he was growing drowsy. For him, that was the surest sign the medication was working.
Squinting against the harsh, punishing light of the screen, Hux typed a brief, professional message to Captain Harth, instructing her to conduct the shift change per protocol. After hitting send, he returned the device to its designated spot and tried to make himself comfortable. Under normal circumstances, the idea of lying in bed while still wearing his uniform pants and boots would have filled him with disgust; now, he couldn't bring himself to care.
Curling into a fetal position, Hux tugged the duvet over his shoulders, wrapping himself tightly. The overheating he’d felt earlier had been replaced by a sharp chill. Once satisfied with his cocoon, Hux nuzzled his head into the pillow and quickly succumbed to sleep.
~
“—ux?”
A warm, comforting weight settled on Hux’s shoulder. “Hux?”
Annoyed at being roused from such a deep, restorative sleep, Hux groaned and tried to burrow further into his bedding.
“Armitage.”
Hux pulled one arm from the restraint of his duvet and swatted in the general direction of the irritating noise. “Go away,” he slurred, wanting nothing more than to embrace unconsciousness again.
“Come on, wake up,” the voice rumbled. The weight on Hux’s shoulder began to shake him, a persistent attempt to rouse him further.
Hux reluctantly rolled over, gripping the duvet tight, and opened one eye to peer at the intruder. “What, Supreme Leader?” he grumbled. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, and didn't have the energy or the patience to deal with the Force-user just yet.
“The crew thinks I finally scrambled your brain.”
Hux had already closed his eyes, doing his best to doze off again. “That’s nice, Ren.”
“Hux, this is serious. The crew is panicking,” Kylo said sternly, resuming the shaking.
Knowing the nuisance in the room would not be leaving anytime soon, Hux propped himself up on his elbows and glared at Kylo. “I am exhausted. I don’t feel well. What. Did. You. Do?”
Hux could have sworn a look of satisfaction flickered across the Supreme Leader's face.
“For once, it wasn’t anything I did,” Kylo stated smugly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Perhaps you should take a look at the message you sent to Captain Harth before you decided to neglect your duties and get some beauty sleep, General.”
With a scowl and a rude gesture in Ren’s direction, Hux unraveled himself from the tight confines of the blankets and reached for his datapad.
Inputting the code and opening the device, Hux immediately wished for the galaxy to swallow him whole. A hot flush spread across his face. Right there was the message he had sent before falling asleep. What he thought he had sent was a masterpiece of professionalism; the reality was a disaster. The message simply read:
‘I woT innis y hft.., conduct sh cng e4 protcl mgfffffffff%%%’
Hux looked up from the device, but refused to meet Ren’s eyes. Instead, he stared blankly at the wall, the garbled text on the screen mocking his lifelong commitment to perfection.
“Harth and the mousy lieutenant that idolizes you think I finally went too far and purposely scrambled your brain,” Kylo added, his voice dripping with far too much amusement. “I can sense their fear from all the way here.”
With a heavy sigh, Hux let the datapad thud facedown onto the duvet. He didn't have the strength to save the First Order from a panic of his own making, not yet. He looked at Ren, his gaze bleary but firm.
“The crew will simply have to exist in chaos for two more hours,” Hux declared, sliding back down into the blankets and pulling the darkness of the duvet over his head. “I am taking a nap.”