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]

[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.]

[exhuxperation]

[ At the tension, he pulls his hand away. Slowly, so it doesn't look like he's flinching.

This is an out. He could take it back, write it off as a delirious moment. An error in logic that he won't repeat. But it sits in front of him, something he could grasp. Maybe it's finally all the pressure of command giving way to what he's buried. Or maybe it is a whim, something he just wants in the moment and intends to get, ruthless as that may seem.

Except, if Ren were to push him away, he'd take his answer and settle for it. The idea of coercing him into this kind of physical contact is repulsive. A reminder of what too many officers would brag about in seedy bars on shore leave. He was above that. ]

I enjoyed it and want you to as well. [ Never one to face away from a situation, he keeps his gaze steady on Ren's face, expression as neutral as possible even as it feels like his pulse is loud in his ears. ]

[narcissithstic]

You enjoyed that. [Ren scoffs, entirely self-aware in the moment (however rare and fleeting it might be) dropping his hands to his chest as his stare— unsurprisingly critical— follows the line of Hux's arm upwards. Sheltered, spoiled, those facets of his personality do little to alter the fact that he's the child of Han Solo and Princess Leia: he's seen intimacy, he's seen passion and contempt in the faces of those around him at ports and senatorial gatherings alike. Not in the mirror, but...

What he and the General shared moments prior? A fumbling disaster at best.]

How desperate you must be.

[And when all else fails, fall back on dogged, needling habits.]

[exhuxperation]

[ And just like that, they fall back into old habits. It's safer, isn't it? To pretend that neither of them have feelings other than distaste and anger. Knifing comments that cut on the emotional and mental levels. Bring up the walls and never speak of it again.

Hux stares at Ren for a long moment, expression focused and non-reactive. His first urge is to snap right back. Tell Ren that he's an ingrate, that a yes or no answer would've been sufficient. He can practically feel the sneer trying to work its way onto his face at the very thought.

No, this time he won't be drawn into a petty argument. Instead, he slowly arches a brow, still keeping eye contact with Ren. ]

Admittedly, it's more enjoyable if the other person reciprocates, so perhaps I should've known better.

[narcissithstic]

Hmph.

[Dour, tolerant - a beast of burden shrugging off the pinching contact of sharpened claws where they catch. If he was angry, it'd be obvious; if he wanted nothing more to do with this conversation or current company, Hux would know it instantly.

Instead he dips his gaze to fix on the mirrored surface of Anakin's lightsaber. A promise that regardless of what they were once destined for, here, nothing is set in stone. By all accounts, they should both be free of any prior restrictions.

And yet it's that thought that terrifies him most, transparently so.] I wasn't meant for that kind of reciprocation, General.

The Supreme Leader—

[Wouldn't have tolerated it. Wouldn't have fostered what little humanity there is to be found in companionship rather than complacency. Is Cathaway the same, he wonders.]

[exhuxperation]

[ Neither of them were made for this. Not originally. He's spent years of his life concerned only with climbing the ladder. With the expectations set out for him.

Here they don't have those restrictions. It's terrifying as much as exhilarating. He's spent all this time in the nest being unsure, trying to wall himself off. Feeling lost in parts because he didn't know how to rebuild himself without a solid goal.

But right now it didn't seem to matter. A small test of freedom he's getting used to. ]

The Supreme Leader is no longer here. Neither of us are beholden to his decisions anymore, Ren.

[ Just statement of fact. ] So then, is that a yes or a no?

[narcissithstic]

[It feels as though he's over the edge of a precipice again. His back to it this time, rather than the Scavenger's, a decision demanding to be made.

But inaction isn't an option, much as he might lean towards it, and so...]

Yes. [Ren responds, thumb to the hilt, attention distant as though he might be speaking to Hux through the symbiote rather than in person. Only after a beat does he add, stiffly:] —For now.

[They'll return to the Station once this is done, after all. He'll consult Cathaway, ask for her forgiveness and her favor, and if she accepts (she will, she must) he'll seek out her true feelings on his decision to cede part of his strength to someone else. Perhaps she'll be more tolerant. Perhaps she'll approve of it.

Perhaps she won't.]