04. mental link

[exhuxperation]

COMMAND over oneself and others	AMBITION nothing will stand in my way
ORDER chaos will not be tolerated	MANY over the individual

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[narcissithstic]

[His lightsaber's extinguished in an instant, thrown unceremoniously to the floor and replaced by the front of Hux's jaw, locked a menacingly tight grip. Ren drags him closer, grabs Hux's wrist with his opposite hand and bears it down across the scorched wound at his ribs, still flush with cauterizing heat.]

You feel it.

[His fingers tremble for all their tension; expression twisted with a feral scowl. Go on, Hux. Chastise him as you like, berate him for his lust for combat.

—And know that she struck him first.]

[exhuxperation]

[ Ren moves fast. He always has; something to do with the Force maybe. Or just his training over time. Whatever the case, Hux finds himself pulled closer and then held in place. Ren's fingers dig into his jaw, sure to leave bruises. His other hand is curled around Hux's wrist, pulling it towards and then onto the wound along his ribs. He flinches his palm away from residual heat emanating from the cut.

This tells him at least one thing: the scavenger girl has a lightsaber of her own. There are other weapons that leave this kind of mark, but that seems the most likely.

Curling his fingers into a fist, he digs his nails into his palm, hating how weak he feels. How trapped. Staring at Ren dead in the face, his frown disappears, face going impassive aside from the flint in his eyes. ]

Let go.

[narcissithstic]

She meant to kill me. [Had he been slower by a fraction of a second, had he not heeded that sickening whisper of the Force between them, she likely would have. How far off the mark a few inches seem until they're measured against the target of one's own heart.

The words are spat out with palpable vitriol - never has he felt more disturbingly mortal than he does in this instant, roughly obliging when at last he nearly shoves the General from his side.]

[exhuxperation]

[ Ren's hold doesn't last much longer, the grip tightening even further before Hux is shoved away. He stumbles back from the sudden shift, heel connecting with some of the shattered glass on the floor. He lets out a hiss of pain but keeps his focus on the conversation.

She wanted to kill Ren. Of course that excuses him of anything. Of being destructive in the aftermath even if it was unwarranted. ]

She's in the resistance's fold, Ren, in case you'd forgotten. They want both of us eliminated. Its a consequence of being on opposite sides.

[narcissithstic]

And what would you have me do? [Already he's left her alive, still breathing and disarmed against better judgment. Somewhere in the back of his mind there's a whisper of a premonition, a promise that leaving her intact was a decision he'll inevitably come to regret.

But the Nest demands what it demands.]

Should I have run away? Begged for mercy? Would that have satisfied you, General?

[exhuxperation]

[ Ren's anger is palpable. The frustration underneath is also easily picked out—Hux is used to answering in the same fashion. Years of working together with Ren has trained him to respond to violence with violence. Backing down in front of his subordinates had not been an option.

Here it's different. They had an agreement, because the last time they fought, it hadn't ended well for either of them. Hux still felt the residual sting of that when he thought about it. So, instead of lashing out, he takes a deep breathe and exhales in a quiet way. Reaching forward, he grips the front of Ren's shirt and steers him to sit on the bed. ]

Sit, let me look at that wound. [ Strategy point one: change the topic, make them comfortable. Never mind that his own foot was still bleeding, albeit sluggishly. ]

Is she disarmed? [ Not as an inflammatory question as some others he could ask. Hux limps over to the bathroom, coming back with a small bowl of lukewarm water and a rag. ]

[narcissithstic]

[Shockingly enough, the shift in focus works. Still flush from adrenaline and simmering fury (ebbing with each passing second) his attention drops to the saber at his hip, unlatching it and rolling its weight across his palm. Anakin Skywalker's saber— his saber. It feels right. Better than the presence of his grandfather ever had at his side, and the knowledge that it exists alongside its twin (left in Ahsoka's care) leaves the faintest sliver of hope in his restless heart.]

She is.

[Defanged and declawed, as far as both Ren and Hux are concerned.] See to your foot first. I don't need your pain as well.

[exhuxperation]

[ With his free hand, he drags a chair over to the foot of the bed, setting the bowl on it, rag hanging over the edge. Leaning towards the side, he picks up the rubbing alcohol that's still on his side table. The one time not putting something away seems to be in his favor. That's set next to the bowl before he rounds to where Ren is sitting, keeping weight off his injured foot. The symbiote was already making work of the cut, bleeding having slowed almost entirely.

Moving more into Ren's space, he peels away the fabric from the wound, mouth pulling down at the corners. It's unpleasant looking, scorched at the edges and an angry red at the center. ]

Without her saber she should be less in our hair. [ Not that he necessarily agrees with taking her weapon away in this setting, all things considered. But the strategist in him is pleased by it. He dips the rag into the water, wringing it out a little and then going to gently clean the wound on Ren's side. A rehash of the last few days. ]

Thankfully she was fighting you with that and nothing else, though. This would be worse, otherwise. [ He thinks of Ren in the snow, blood seeping down his side from a much nastier injury. Unintentionally, he tenses, pressing the rag hard against the cut. ]

[narcissithstic]

[At that increase in pressure, Ren tenses with a clipped growl, wincing hard enough to buckle his posture. She'd pierced the flesh above his fourth rib— deep, owing to the near immeasurable heat of the blade— short of the mark that was his heart: too shallow to strike it regardless, but only just.]

—you give her too much credit. [Stubbornly gritted out through clenched teeth. Whether he's wrong (he is) or not, the last thing he intends to acknowledge right now is the possibility of her success.]

[exhuxperation]

[ The low growl shakes him from his memory and he immediately eases up, careful as he pulls the rag away to make sure it doesn't catch on the skin. With the rag no longer blocking the wound, he can get a better look at it– the cut goes deep. Any further and he'd be seeing the bone on the other side, something that has him swallowing down an uncomfortable reaction.

Practiced motion has the rag cleaned off and water replaced with damp dabs of alcohol. Absently his free hand sets on Ren's knee, a reassurance and a balance all in one as he leans closer. ]

Easy, I'm not insulting your abilities. Focus on something, this will sting. [ Ren only gets a moment before he presses the cloth to the injury. If he wasn't heeding his warning, that was his problem. ]

[narcissithstic]

[There's a pitched howl for it, his fist slammed down against the edge of the bed, knuckles white where they knit into the covers. From there, it's bearable. Breathes out through his teeth, in through his nose and lets the rest drift away.]

Gchhh— [Press past it. Master the pain.] You said you encountered her.

Did she recognize you?

[exhuxperation]

[ Hux keeps his hand steady as he presses the rag against Kylo's side. He's seen enough of Ren's outbursts to be unaffected by the anger, by the outward lashes. This is more of a reaction to the pain, but it's close enough. There's a loud exhale and he knows that Ren is adjusting. Or ignoring. ]

I did. [ Carefully, he pulls the rag away, just dabbing at the sections he seemed to miss. The rag gets placed back into the bowl. He'll need gauze and patches for the next step so he straightens again, avoiding putting any pressure on his one heel. ]

Not right off. I didn't know her name either; I don't think she appreciated that. [ Picking up the bowl, he disappears to the bathroom, coming back a few minutes later with gauze, patching, tweezers, and a fresh rag with the changed out water. Perching next to Ren on the bed, he crosses one leg over the other, unceremoniously picking glass out of his skin. There's mostly silence on his end as he goes through the same cleaning motions, only sucking in a breath at the sting of alcohol. ]

[narcissithstic]

I doubt it would have made a difference. [Ren, after all, knows much more than just her name, and the livid flame she nurses finds little rest because of it.

He watches Hux work without any direct criticism, one arm tucked against his side to dislodge any lingering pain. It's appreciation— as much as he ever knew how to give it.]

She'll ruin you, if you let her.

[Spoken from experience, even if Ren refuses to admit it.]

[exhuxperation]

Still. Know thine enemy. [ Maybe not something he has to tell Ren, considering the strange bond he and Rey seemed to share through the Force. But it was reassuring to vocalize. A focus point.

Hux falls quiet again, carefully wrapping his foot with the gauze and bandage after he's sufficiently picked the glass out and cleaned the cuts. He tests his weight, satisfied when there's only the twinge of open wounds and no glass. Ren gets a bandage as well, just to keep it clean for the next day or so while the symbiote does its work. ]

Well then. [ Hux stands up more fully, expression taking on a sharpness. ] We'll just have to be sure we don't let her.

[ His smile is thin, shrewd, as he reaches out and pats Ren on the shoulder before moving towards his dresser. ]

[narcissithstic]

[It's a comment that runs parallel to his own train of thought in regards to Rey— and there's something to be said for the fact that hearing it from the General acts as a balm to his own fears, his insecurities. Less like standing on fractured ice, and more importantly, less isolating.

Even his own brood failed him on that front.

At least Hux, mentally brutal and physically tempered, was ever at his side for better or worse without the luxury of petty promises. No validation, no needling demands. Perhaps it's the benefit of prior coexistence at Snoke's heels— or perhaps their newfound bond has simply permeated the surface of their mental armor— it's difficult to guess. Still, all that matters is that it's appreciated beneath all his stubborn ire and contempt. He reaches out as Hux starts to withdraw, broad fingers over the fine bones of Hux's wrist.

Not a demand for attention, but a request.]

Thank you.

[Said with an unfixed stare, Ren's eyes locked on the floor near his feet rather than turned to face the General where he stands.]

im just following my kokoro

[exhuxperation]

[ He's turned away, line of sight focused elsewhere when he feels the curl of fingers along his wrist. Skin to skin contact, the warmth from Ren's fingertips sinking in, the fine hair on his forearms raising at the odd temperature shift. Hux stops immediately, tilts his chin down to glance at the connection point.

There isn't a demand, but the underlying request is more compelling. It feels like they're both holding their breath.

The tension morphs at Kylo's words and for once, he finds himself without an adequate response. This isn't one of his troopers thanking him. None of the commanders, officers, not any of the other hosts. It's Kylo Ren, someone he's struggled with and alongside for years.

He doesn't think he's ever been thanked like this in his whole life.

Something about that tightens in his chest, pushes the air up in his windpipe and catches. Maybe it's the dizziness during that has him reaching out with his free hand, fingers hesitant as they slide along Ren's jawline and tilt his face up. Maybe it's the confusion too, that leads him to lean down to brush his lips along Ren's, as though he'll get his breath back this way. ]

[narcissithstic]

[To Ren, a creature comprised entirely of bone and blood and necessity, compassion is a poison; like a mantra the warning against it burns in his veins. Even galaxies away, without an immediate foothold to find, the damage done by Snoke's training lingers on. He's stiff where Hux's fingertips find him, inflexible against the press of his lips— and when Ren's pulsebeat finally leaps into his throat it's more suited to either rage or action than any amount of kindness.

He wasn't meant for this. For weakness. For the brittleness of affection after years of starvation.

His hold on Hux turns sharp, forceful enough to hurt - it drops off only a short second later, thumb slipping away alongside the set of his fingers, as though he's choking on his own long-standing conflict. An accurate assessment: much of his failing even while in service to the First Order fell on a lack of momentum, an inability to function alongside the balance he was meant to draw strength from. Shameful, that it still haunts him even now.

That he feels so cold, where someone else would be warmed by the heat of Hux's breath. By the earnest longing that lies behind it, parallel to his own. Instead— stare glassy, both hands laid out at his side, back straight as the barrel of a rifle and braced against an imagined threat— he does nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Again.]

[exhuxperation]

[ When he was younger, Brendol Hux had told his son that he would not tolerate a weak will. That if he were going to remain a slip of a boy, he was to use his mind to best others. And that mind would have to be sharp, ruthless. There was no room for sentiment in the beast called war. Military regulation was prim, proper, cordoned off from the personal. One left that at in their quarters once the uniform was on.

But eventually, it would've been expected of him to lead a life much the same as the Commandant. Secure his power, marry, carry on the line.

That expectation had been sitting in his chest, locked away with anything he deemed weak. Over the years he'd gotten sharper and sharper with himself, leaving only ambition and an unstoppable drive. Anything aside from that would not be tolerated. Except he'd felt the devastation while Starkiller fell apart. Felt it all the way to the bone, lancing through.

Ren's lack of response feels the same, only more raw. This time he'd made a decision to show a part of himself he'd felt unnecessary. It'd gotten in the way before; against his better judgment he indulged. But Ren's grip is painfully tight around his wrist and he jerks back immediately, eyes wide. He closes them for a moment, both arms dropping to his sides. When he looks at Ren again, his expression is closed off as it normally was on the bridge of the Finalizer. ]

I apologize, that was uncalled for.

[ And as he'd gained emotional distance, he mirrors it by stepping away from Ren entirely, giving him space to inevitably leave. ]

[narcissithstic]

It's fine. [Is the response that comes, too sharp to be a comfort when they've both been severed from the figurative shoreline.

For so long they've been here at one another's sides, fixed shadows under Snoke's watchful gaze— and now not. Isolated by the very thing that had brought them both together in the first place. He could ask Hux why he chose to reach out for physical contact, but Ren already knows: just as he clings desperately (foolishly) to potential validation, just as Ilde set her heart in his hands, their collectively suffocated cravings find purchase in quiet, narrow spaces.

There's no explanation he can give that could possibly convey how gutted, how empty he feels in the wake of it all. Having to choose time and time again to be anything but human.

A mirrored sentiment Ren finds when he glances upwards towards the General's hard-set jawline. It prompts an urge to say something more— to puncture the tension that comes from blistered skin and alleviate some fraction of pressure— but he was never prone to eloquence or sincerity. ]

Her brood might search for retribution.

[And like this, at least for the moment, they might find it.]

[exhuxperation]

[ Ren's words don't match his tone. It's too hasty, as though he was backpedaling. As though he wanted to leave but his body hadn't caught up with his mind.

Hux feels displaced by it, can't stop the spiral of thought that he'd just upset the balance between them. Nevermind that it'd been precarious to start, but he'd tipped it right over a different edge. Here in the privacy of his room, it's easy to forget about Snoke, about what his responsibilities had been on the Finalizer, as strange as that is to think about. Over the time he's been in the nest, he thinks he's rebuilding himself. Remembering parts that he'd long buried.

Tension continues to hang between them and Ren doesn't yet move. Hux doesn't want to walk away either, frozen on the spot with something tugging in the hollow of his chest. Expression still cautiously neutral, he meets Ren's glance, taking a moment to parse the meaning from the response. ]

I– perhaps it would be intelligent to have backup nearby, just in case.

[ If this is how Ren wants to play it, he'll go with. Carefully, he picks his way toward the dresser, ready to head out of the main room after he pulls clothes out. He pauses by the doorway, looking back over at Ren still sitting on the bed. ]

If you need anything in the meantime, you should retrieve it.

[narcissithstic]

No. [He owns little; cares about little in the way of physical possessions to the point of skirting the edge of his origins. Luke Skywalker might even be proud in his own way— if he knew.

Ren lifts his gaze, steels himself just as he always does. No faltering, no pause for consideration or tender concern.] All that I require is here.

[Aside from his mask, but Rey would never seek to steal that from him.

Would she?]

[exhuxperation]

[ Ren's negative reply is of no particular surprise. He's used to being contradicted by him, after all. So instead of growing frustrated, he waits for the rest that is sure to follow. In time, Ren would pipe up.

And he does, though Hux's initial non-shock is quickly swallowed by a strange wrenching feeling in his chest. It cinches tight in his throat somewhere; he has to look away to regain his train of thought. Later, he'll address the meaning behind those words later. For now they'll do as just an answer. ]

Make yourself comfortable, then.

[ Promptly, he leaves the main bedroom, drawing in a slow inhale as he goes to the bathroom to change. Toweling his damp hair and pulling on clothes should just be a mindless task but instead he's looping Ren's words. He must've meant he didn't possess much, a fact that Hux had known about him previously. Was he just imagining something else underneath it all? Combing his hair back and satisfied with his reflection in the mirror, he goes back into the bedroom, anxiety crawling up along his spine. Hux stops just short of where Ren has settled, the layer of clothing over his skin making him feel less exposed physically and emotionally. The latter half is still in turmoil. ]

Ren.

[narcissithstic]

[He's taken to resting. Shirt stripped to expose the bandage to the cool air, laid out on his back, fingers running lazy circuits across Anakin's saber. It's calming, that tangible promise that he's finally taken back what's rightfully his. Soothes the agony boiling under his skin.

For now, he almost feels at ease—

At least until Hux's tension filters back in, heavy as a blanket as it settles across his skin.] What.

[It isn't sharp or livid, doesn't function as a dismissal, though he's clearly been shaken from his own forced reverie.]

[exhuxperation]

[ It isn't like him to skip over details. Especially when something is right in front of him. As it is now—Ren is laid out on his bed, sans shirt, motions idle. Hux hasn't seen him so relaxed in possibly as long as he's known him. So when Ren tenses out of his more meditative state, he feels a slight twinge of regret at speaking up.

That isn't precisely going to stop him.

Padding over to the bed, he perches at the edge on one side, mattress dipping under his weight. One leg is pulled up as he sits half-Indian style so it's easier to turn to Ren and look at him. There's a moment of hesitation before he commits to the motion more thoroughly, sliding to sit next to Ren's hip. Reaching forward, his fingertips set lightly on the scar on Ren's side. A leftover from Starkiller's destruction. It left physical marks on him, opposed to Hux's mental ones. Stopping the motion, he lightly lays his hand on Ren's abdomen, fingers fanned out. ]

Would you let me do that again?

[narcissithstic]

[Like a hand to still water, Ren's muscles tense beneath Hux's palm, fingertips stalled against cold metal. Old memories.]

Why would you want to?

[Hux was fragile in physical stature alone, but where his mind found purchase, he was iron, steeled to the bone and devoid of emotional vulnerability — ever the counter to Ren's instability. Are they not still unified in their goals? Has so much changed between them in the time it's taken for Ren's own volatile conflicts to subside? Weakness was never the General's aim before, and yet he's laid himself bare to it. Invited the idea with open arms and offers it freely to Ren in the process, as though it's somehow innocuous.

But Ben Solo was raised at his Uncle's side, plagued by the tenets of the Jedi and hounded by obligation where Snoke's ideals took hold: if affection meant anything, it meant poison, blindness.

Betrayal.]