Work Text:
The work bench is cluttered, bits of leather and metal scattered about, discarded. And Kylo's eyes ache, too long staring down at the pieces of himself that he desperately needs to rebuild. But that's alright, fine, because he's almost done.
And it's been too long.
Too many endless hours staring up at the medbay ceiling, face bared to all that passed by. Too many nurses starting at the soft hush of his voice. Too many doctors peering, as they came by to prod and poke at raw flesh, not quite healed. A breathless rush back to his quarters when he was finally released.
Because Kylo knows the truth. Knows that his face is too soft, mouth full, born lush as it should never have been created. Eyes that do not burn with secret fire, but rather open his soul for each and every person who stares long enough. Nose and ears large enough to, maybe, be comical, but never grotesque, never monstrous. Too pretty by half.
And he hates that.
Cannot stand it, in fact. Every glance in a mirror a reminder of regal beauty, of royalty that is not Kylo Ren's to claim. So he's here, fingers aching from careful twisting of wires and the grip of the soldering iron. But before him, his face has begun to take shape. Curves of chrome, and the mouthpiece already hinged in place.
It's not perfect, of course.
No, Kylo morns the pitted scars that died with Starkiller each time he traces the curve of the faceplate. It is going to be so much work to replace them. A legacy of who he became, written into his very face, and all gone now. But perhaps it's for the best.
Perhaps, it had too much of the beginnings of Kylo Ren in it. Maybe, maybe he needs this to start again. The mask was an attachment too, he supposes.
He tightens a screw that holds the eyeplate in place. This should be the last of it. He has to wait, of course. Wait for the glues to dry, the metal to cool completely. But it is a different sort of pause than he's experienced lately. This time, now he is complete, and he can wait to put himself back together again just a little longer.
***
The next morning, Kylo pulls on his robes with only a slight wince at the twinge in his side. Sealed up, gaping gash nothing more than a smarting line now, it doesn't matter. No, and why should it? He has been broken open in ways that matter so much more than this little one. But he's putting himself back together today, he knows it.
All it will take is the cradle of the helmet around his head. The embrace that he's been missing, warmer and closer than cautious hands at night. He knows it.
He stumbles a little as he makes his way to the workbench. Too many hours standing yesterday, and he's still not completely recovered. But he catches himself quickly enough, feels the pull of his side with a sort of vicious pleasure. He can use this.
The helmet is solid in his hands, smooth as he lifts it from the bench. And then there's a familiar hiss as the faceplate lifts away. He settles it on his head, triggers the latch that will pull him back together again.
For a moment, just a single instant, he's home. A fleeting place of calm, cradled tight inside the helmet. But then...
Then his vision narrows down.
The last time he wore the helmet, Han Solo was alive.
The last time he was here, the blood didn't lie so thick on his hands.
The last time, a part of Ben Solo lived.
The last time...
Kylo can't breathe. He sucks air desperately. His chest starts to hurt, pain flaring through him. Heart beating too fast. Frantic fluttering, and his fingers are trembling. He can't get out. Trapped, there on the bridge, the lights flaring red around him as he stalks across the long expanse. It's as though his entire body is emptying itself out, and he's filled up with something false, something that trembles and shakes.
He's caught, by necessity, need.
Held, and he's back there now.
He pants. Shakes. His kneels buckle and he falls to the floor. He can't escape. Throat closing, and there's no breath left inside him. Fire rages against his ribs, but it's as cold as ice, threatening to burst his chest outward and shatter pieces of him against the walls of his room. He's not going to hold together. He'll tremble and die here, heart beating its way out of his chest. There's no way he can sustain this, is there?
His arms feel like lead as he tries to raise them up. Fumbles at the clasps for the helmet.
What if it doesn't come off? The world fades around him, greying out, him alone inside a cradle that has become a coffin.
What if he's left here, with the bridge around him, with Solo's welcoming face staring at him from the depths of his memory? Trapped with nothing but a false smile and an empty laugh.
Finally, finally, he slams trembling hands to the release. At last, the faceplate lifts away. Kylo hurls the helmet away from himself. Falls back onto the floor to wrap shaking arms around his legs. A curled ball that shudders and trembles. He takes a gasping breath. His hands feel ice cold.
***
Ren still hasn't shown up. And this is the last thing Hux wants to deal with today. The last thing he needs. They've finally gotten the ship underway, started their slow struggle through space to Snoke's planet. And now, the day that Ren is supposed to be back on the bridge, he hasn't bothered to show up.
And he's fine. Hux knows that. Has spent hours pacing outside Ren's room in the medbay, peering through the small window as Ren makes his way back to health. Hours that he should have been overseeing repairs on the ship, but wasted instead on Ren's scarred face and broken open eyes.
He's recovered now, and he should be here. Hux needs him here, needs to show everyone that they stand strong. That the Resistance has not cut down Kylo Ren, has taken Starkiller but not the master of the Knights. He needs a wall of black behind him as he speaks to the ship, a menacing shape looming at his shoulder.
“General?” Hux snaps around, whirls to face Mitaka with his hands clenched tight behind his back. “There are reports of strange noises from Kylo Ren's quarters. I thought you might want to be informed.” Hux sighs. Of course there are.
“I'll deal with it, Lieutenant. You have the con.” And he stalks out, feet thumping on the floor a little harder then they should. A little harsher, but he can't believe this is happening again. He's just put the ship back together. He cannot lose something else, not now.
Hux clenches his fist, nails bite into leather. He does not have time for this. No, not while Starkiller lies in ruins, an empty hole in space. Not today. A huff of breath, throat tight. Fire licking through his heart as he almost runs down the hall. Because maybe this time, maybe he can do something about it, stop the ruin of his home before it collapses around him. Save his ship from the stupidity that swirls around Kylo fucking Ren like a cloud, taints everything that he touches. Maybe he can do something, anything.
The corridor outside Ren's quarters is silent, empty. Ren must be done with his tantrum, silenced. Hux taps open the controls to the room. Steps inside.
No acrid smell of burnt wires. No gleaming metal, still hot from the lick of a saber. Nothing. He scans the room, ready to scream.
A helmet in a corner.
And then he catches sight of Ren. Of Kylo.
Crumpled on the floor, and Hux has never seen him like this before. Not in the darkest night, curled tight on Hux's bed, awake from a nightmare Kylo thinks Hux has missed. Not as Hux quiets a rage, tucks a strand of Kylo's impossible hair behind an ear. Never like this.
And it isn't silent, not really. No, the air is full to bursting. Wrenching sobs, shivering up to Hux, too loud.
“Kylo?” And Hux doesn't know what to do, how to fix this. How to rebuild Kylo, if he can't even remake Starkiller, something that was born from the depths of his own mind.
No reply.
Hux edges forward. Kneels down next to the huddled mass on the floor and reaches a hand out to smooth along Ren's back.
“No! GET OFF! I'm NOT HIM.” Kylo's voice is cracked, broken around the edges, hands coming up to slap at Hux's arm.
“Not who, Kylo?” And Hux tries again, wraps an arm around Kylo's shoulders. But now Kylo is fighting back harder, arms flailing out to hit any part of Hux he can reach. It's as though he doesn't know what to do, how to fight back, a child lashing out, batting a parent away in a fit of rage. And this is not what Hux needs.
He rears back, out of reach of Kylo's wild punches. Takes stock, Kylo still shaking in a heap.
A palm cracks across Kylo's face, and for a moment, Hux can't believe it was his own. But then, abrupt and clear, Kylo stops. Stops everything. He's finally still. And he peers up at Hux from where he's hunched, eyes red. Hair limp around his face, cheeks flushed and damp.
“Hux?” A long exhalation, and Hux scrambles forward again on his knees. This time, this time Kylo relaxes into his arms as Hux wraps them tight around his back. Sinks into Hux's embrace, gulping air as though coming up from a pool of deep water. Hux frees his hands from his gloves as quickly as he can without letting go.
Then he's stroking a finger across Kylo's cheek, exhaustion bleeding into him from Kylo's shivers. When was the last time they slept? He can't remember, can only see the endless days at Kylo's window. He wipes at Kylo's nose ineffectually as, at last, Kylo stops crying. As Kylo finally quiets completely. Nuzzles his face into Kylo's hair, damp with sweat.
“It's ok, Kylo. I'm here. I've got you.” His own voice cracks. He's here, and maybe they have nothing left, gone to dust scattered between uncaring stars, but he's here. “Can you stand?”
Kylo nods, a tiny motion of his head. And Hux heaves them upward, takes a few staggering steps to collapse through the bedroom door. To lay them out on Kylo's hard mattress. And he tries to stay away from this room, usually won't set foot inside. Ash and char too thick in the air, that twisted helmet staring. But now, now he eases Kylo backward, curls about him to lie beside him, pressed tight. Flattens his palm against Kylo's chest to feel the harsh drumbeat of Kylo's heart.
Kylo sighs. Whimpers a little, and it tears something apart. Whatever the threads that have been holding the shattered pieces of Hux's heart together, they're gone now. Destroyed, and if he never picks them up again, this is all that will be left. A dark room, and Kylo beside him. The press of his lips to Kylo's jaw, and the heaving gasp that echoes in response.
And maybe this is all he ever had.
All that was ever his alone.