exhuxperation | xx. musebox

[ What occurred to Kylo Ren is still a mystery. Of course, he can take a few educated guesses. There had clearly been a fight of some sort. A struggle. Perhaps that girl had been involved (something tells him this is true). He's tempted to ask, to hear it all from beginning to end. Because knowing is better than not. If he needs to plan around something, knowledge is the first step.

Even though the mere thought of plotting anything makes him feel strangely unhinged. Stretched too thin and shock digging deep. As he sits in this chair, not even noting how uncomfortable it is, Hux stares off towards the ground. All over it feels like his limbs are leaden, that the air is stifling. Out of the corner of his eye, he can tell Ren is staring. Studying. What does he see? Hux almost doesn't want to imagine, because he's having difficulty swallowing his own presence at the moment.

Something broke when Starkiller fell to pieces, only he's much too tired to acknowledge it. His crew needs more orders, he should be on the bridge, should be figuring out their next course, should– ]

No. [ And then: ] Why?

[ Hux is a raw, open wound; he might not be injured but his thoughts bleed through so much pain that it's impossible for Kylo to pick up on. He's hurt in ways that doctors cannot mend, and while Kylo will never (even under pain of death) admit to any measure of sentimentality he has for the man, while he's largely rationalized it to himself as a practical course of action, he struggles to sit up, fighting bone-deep exhaustion.

He's unfazed by the instinctive rejection, decides that this is the most efficient course of action; softness has no place between them. ]

That chair looks uncomfortable. [ An observation, that's all. Kylo refuses to contemplate deeper ramifications. Rejects the notion that he wants to hold him. ] And your mind [ -- rattled, battered, angry, desperate -- ] is making an inordinate amount of noise.

[ He still keeps his promise to stay out; but this, he can't possibly ignore. ]

[ At the sound of motion, Hux picks up his gaze, pale eyes settling on the injured man. A frown pulls at the corners of his mouth, disapproval showing clearly. Of course Ren would struggle to sit up even after taking a bolt to the side.

How stupid. ]

Must you be so stubborn, lay back down. [ If he focuses on that instead, maybe he can make it out of this conversation with everything intact. ] It's only uncomfortable because I've been here for several hours. You threw a fit if it were even hinted that I'd leave.

[ This is your fault. ] I'm tired, Lord Ren. I'd rather not hear about how much noise I'm supposedly making.

Edited (html!!!!) 2016-02-14 08:44 (UTC)

[ He hears it loud and clear, the words Hux thinks but leaves unspoken. But there is more to the defensiveness, the stubborn clinging to his pride. Kylo is not the only obstinate individual in this room. ]

Must you be so stubborn? [ He asks pointedly, refusing to lie back down. It takes all his will to sit up, the pain a terrible, burning thing that he struggles to keep under control. They are both hurting, and Hux lashes out at him because it's convenient. Easy. ]

There is enough space on this bed for us both. [ This is merely an exercise in practicality, that's all. That has to be all. Kylo still feels weakened, diminished in the wake of Han Solo's death, the touch of a warm hand on his face, and he pushes the thought away. Hux is a welcome distraction, and he gestures at the door, the locks clicking into place. ] No one will enter.

Edited 2016-02-14 09:02 (UTC)

[ This isn't stubbornness for the sake of it, he reassured himself. He's simply exhausted and wrung out. More to the point: he isn't the one injured and Ren is, so he's allowed to sit in the uncomfortable chair as long as he likes.

Even if the temptation to lie down on the other man's bed is strong. ]

I'm being practical and attempting to keep you from bleeding all over yourself. [ Again. Hux does not want to see so much blood running from him ever again. Mentally, he tells himself it's because the sight was nauseating. But perhaps there's something else there. ]

I should be on the bridge. [ His switch in topics is abrupt, though related. Because he doesn't want to face this. Wants some sort of distraction and work is the best place to funnel that. Using the chair arms as grounding, he plants his hands there and pushes himself up.

Which has him swaying on his feet a moment later. It's possible he's more tired than he thought, if his balance is being compromised. Dizzily, he sinks down to sit on the edge of the bed, back to Ren. This feels like weakness and he hates it. Hates himself for giving in even more. ]

[ His injuries are ultimately inconsequential in the face of Hux's nearly overwhelming exhaustion. He's distracted by what he picks up from the General -- perhaps the older man is too tired to shield himself against him, or perhaps he just doesn't care.

Doesn't matter.

When Hux perches on the edge of the bed, his back to Kylo, close but still a touch unwilling, he hesitates for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder. Keeping him from bleeding all over himself? Kylo likes to think it's stone-cold practicality speaking -- it sits better with the both of them. Even so, there is time for them to recover, to lick their wounds and move forward -- the path is still ahead of them (even if the beginnings of doubt are starting to stir), and there is much still to be done.

Kylo presses his forehead briefly to the General's back at the abrupt change in topic, a silent concession before he moves away, affords the other man the space he needs to lie down. ] Your men are well-trained to be without you for a few hours.

[ He says simply, lying back and staring at the ceiling, his thoughts a whirl in his head. He thought he would be stronger after killing Solo. He's not sure if it's worked. ]

Edited 2016-02-14 10:21 (UTC)

[ Hux would disagree. Kylo Ren's injuries are severe, near fatal. If he'd been later, only just– well, he's not going to think about theoreticals. That didn't happen and now they're both alive to tell the tale.

Feet firmly on the ground, he leans his elbows on his knees, bending to formulated gravity and the weight on his mind. There's a warm touch on his back, the heat seeping through the layers of his clothes. He can tell without looking it's the press of Ren's hand. Open-palmed, loose fingered. Meant to be reassuring. It's soon replaced by something even more affectionate, however brief. That, he doesn't want to think about too closely. ]

Perhaps they are. [ If he can convince his paranoia that everything will be fine, maybe it will be. Ultimately, he surrenders, simply because holding up his own body is becoming more and more difficult. Carefully, he reaches down and pulls his boots off, setting them next to each other by the foot of the chair. His belt and coat go next, meticulously folded and placed on the seat of the chair. Just because he's tired doesn't mean he'll abide by mess. Turning, he stretches his legs out on the bed, still sitting up. From here, he's close enough to the other man without encroaching on his space entirely.

Hux glances down and then decides he doesn't want to see Ren's face after all.

(But mostly he doesn't want the other to see his expression as he lays back and lets the walls down). ]

What happened? [ He doesn't clarify what he means, just lets the question hang there, a note of resignation echoing in it. ]

[ 'Alive' is a term he chooses to use loosely. Kylo feels him shift and move, the familiar rustling of divested clothing items a familiar sound in the near-deafening silence. He's aware of Hux's habits, the unwavering dedication to neatness and order no matter the situation; which lent itself to several interesting moments in their times together.

Now, however, it serves as a strange sort of comfort. Another rustle, and Hux lies beside him. Kylo doesn't turn his head, well aware of Hux's thoughts, the fact that he's barely holding himself together. Perhaps it is kindness that he does not seek to look at him -- although he would deny such a failing. Perhaps it's something else entirely. He hears those words, soft and tired, and he feels something in him twist just a little.

He must have strength, and courage to continue. He had done what was asked of him, he had passed the test. Han Solo is no more; and with that bane removed, with --

-- he swallows the inexplicable lump in his throat. No, these emotions belonged to a younger, more foolish him. It's time he buried them with the man he killed. Even if the seeds of doubt had been sown with Snoke's intentions for Kylo, he fights to continue. A great destiny still awaits, for him and for Hux. He senses the resignation in the question leveled at him, the weariness. He knows what Starkiller meant to the general, how a part of him must have died at its destruction. ]

Han Solo is dead. [ Hux doesn't need to clarify for Kylo to know exactly what he means. The words are even, forced to be neutral. ] But the girl and her band of thieves and traitors escaped. [ His healing wound throbs dully, and he glances at Hux very briefly. He resists the strange desire to put his hand over his, but he lets their fingers brush, wordlessly close.

This is not something either of them should think too deeply about, either. ] We have not yet lost. [ He hesitates, before he asks, low and quiet. ] Were you hurt?

[ If he can't have order anywhere else in his life, he can at least attempt to have it over his own clothing. Perhaps it's a silly gesture, but Hux needs this to keep what little sanity and thought processes he has left.

And thankfully, Kylo Ren makes no move to look at him. Instead, the two of them lay there in the silence, even after he's asked his question. It doesn't bother him that he's not getting an answer from the other man. Though he can basically feel him struggling with some kind of response. No matter if it never comes– he wouldn't blame him. And it would just turn the query into a rhetorical. Nothing is lost.

Except the Force-user is speaking up, words sounding odd. As though he's attempting to apply the filter of his mask to his regular speaking voice. That alone makes his gut twist, uncomfortable with the emotion that's being presented.

Han Solo is dead. This news does not hit him heavily, rather, sinks in his stomach like a slow weight. Hux doesn't have much in the way of knowing Kylo Ren's history, but he does know enough. Would he have been able to kill Brendol Hux? His own father? Every part of him says yes, but familial ties are more difficult to slice than anything else. Closing his eyes, he tries to block out how Ren must've felt. Is still feeling. He doesn't want it echoing around in his own mixed up feelings. ]

A shame. [ Unfortunately, he doesn't know what else to say. Would offering condolences hurt more? He opts to comment on the detail about the scavenger girl and that traitor. Another failing, though this one is shared by them both. ]

Haven't we? [ Uncharacteristically, his voice cracks on the words, reality sharp like a knife between his ribs. It's hard to breathe. Something like a sob catches at the back of his throat and he reaches up, palms pressed in on his eyes.

No, he won't. He can't. This is weakness. ]

[ The sound of Hux's words betrays something painfully raw, achingly so; and it's so unfamiliar to Kylo that he's distracted from his own clamoring thoughts. He knows how hard the general fights to betray no weakness, but in this unguarded moment they are allowed a moment of reprieve.

Kylo listens to him, the question that catches in his chest. Haven't they lost? Kylo has cut off so much today, has done the unforgivable, and there is nowhere else to go but forward, into the darkness. He doesn't look at Hux still, giving him the illusion and the space that he needs. The man just had his life's work torn away from him -- a measure of emotion, perhaps, is not weakness. He's silent for a few moments, taking Hux in before his hand comes to cover Hux's. This is not what they are going to talk about, either; not all that lies unspoken between them.

They have failed, lost far too much today, but they are still here, and there is always a chance to regroup and return with a vengeance, better than they were before. But even with these thoughts, Kylo still can't shake off the lingering grief, the look on Han's face when he ultimately kills him. He made it fast, as painless as can be, considering the circumstances, and he swallows hard.

It doesn't help the struggle, the pain of being torn in two. Hux's own pain, so powerful and so strong in the room between them, helps. It pulls him out of his head and into the General's. In their most private, shared moment, this is important. His hand continues to rest on Hux's own. ]

For now. [ He concedes quietly, the words bitter as heart-blood in his mouth. He's silent for a long moment, letting it hang between them before he asks a question, a seeming non-sequitur, a question that surely betrays Kylo's own thoughts. ]

Would you have done it? [ Killed his own father. ]

[ Hux fights it, fights himself and hates every second. How every shuddering breath makes it feel like he's collapsing in. Like he's no better off than Kylo Ren had been earlier in the snow–white stained red, cuts on the fragile parts of his body. He suffers from mental injuries, managing to get off of Starkiller without so much as a scratch.

And yet it digs so deep.

Swallowing, he lets Kylo's hand cover his own and after a moment, he curls his fingers around the other's palm. Neither of them put a name to this but right now it's a lifeline and he'll gladly hold onto it.

(This is for the faint of heart and it's appropriate because it seems like his is gone). ]

Would I have.... [ Hux repeats the question quietly, voice rougher than usual. ] Yes, probably. Yes.

If it were expected of me, it would've been failure not to.

[ It would have been failure not to. In this, perhaps, Kylo has passed. It feels hollow, this victory. He feels diminished and emptied, and when Hux's fingers tighten around his palm, he exhales.

Hux is right, of course. They do what is necessary, and all others must fall to the wayside. It is weakness, this emotion, but he listens quietly to those rough words, the polished exterior of the general dissipated in these private moments. There is understanding here, an awareness that they are both striving towards the same thing, shedding their humanity as they move forward.

Necessary.

He shifts then, pulls up the blanket for them both and turns down the lights. He keeps his hand in his, murmuring quietly. ]

There will be another plan. A grander one. You're not finished.

[ The rush of air from the other man seems to tell him how he feels about his response. It's mixed. There's tension in his fingers, in his touch. As though he isn't totally convinced.

But then, their circumstances are so different. Hux has realized over time that his relationship with his father was an exceptional kind. Not nearly close to normal. The dedication to the First Order demanded that of both of them.

It was, as he knows, necessary. Sacrifices are made so that other things can be achieved. So he can go after his ambitions, even if he's slicing his humanity to ribbons. There's no room for sentimentality at the top or the path to it.

(He can't bring himself to let go of Ren's hand, even through this). ]

We're not finished. [ A quiet correction, voice low and oddly sure. ]

[ Kylo says nothing at that correction, but his hand tightens briefly around Hux's. He doesn't let go of it either, this piece of unspoken sentiment that goes unacknowledged, absent from their vocabulary. To put a word to this is to risk breaking the brittle armistice between them.

With Hux here, he feels anchored, just a little less alone. After all, they walk the path that others have no heart or strength to take. They are the ones of promise and ambition, strong enough to weather this storm before moving forward. Sacrifices, after all, had to be made.

Kylo thinks of the man who had been Ben Solo's father, the warm touch on his face, and dwells on it like an open wound. How had this made him stronger? He didn't feel that way -- and in so many little ways it both poisons and frees him. He had cut out what had been tied to him, watched the light die in his eyes, and so had what was left of his own light, perhaps.

He hopes. It doesn't feel like a triumph. Hux, however, provides a strength that augments, and he simply nods. It's only a few moments before he tugs him closer, seeking more contact (wanting his arms around him).

It is not weakness. ]

[ There isn't a response. Well, not a vocal one. The tightening of Ren's fingers around his own is a response on its own and it drives the emotion deeper. Has him sealing that part of himself up more and more so he can keep it a secret. This is something that passes between them so rarely.

It shouldn't be possible to begin with, but it persists.

Ren got under his skin the moment he came on board. When he'd been assigned to the Finalizer, rankless and still so powerful. Time has flown by since that point and Hux would've laughed at himself if this was ever told to him then. That he'd be laying here, making resolutions to fight back with Ren's arms around him. Safe. In a sense, there's a semblance of control in the grasp and Hux curls into it, his own hands coming up to curl around the other man's wrists. Keeping him there even if he should push away. ]

[ Kylo only leans closer, curving around the way Hux curls into him. It's a moment stolen out of time, privacy spared only for themselves as they lick their wounds and bide their time. Hux is a warm, wordless presence, the ambitious General likely already coming up with plans of his own to turn it to their advantage.

Hux does not stay defeated for long, not with his obsessive nature, so much like Kylo's own. Underneath the tension and the friction, Kylo understands him -- even if he likes to think he doesn't.

His entire body hurts and aches, but the pain is easily relegated to the back of his mind, his fingers easing from one of Hux's hands to trail through the other man's hair briefly, absently. ]

Stay the night.

[ In a normal reality, he would be planning. Plotting, scheming, thinking about his next move. Their next move. Except right now he doesn't want to. He wants to detach from reality, from the harshness of failure. Ren's weight behind him is a comfort even if his back is exposed (the first rule of command, never show a weak guard).

The tension in all of his muscles feels like it's being warmed away. Sliding out of him like water through their fingers. His eyes flutter shut at the touch in his hair. ]

I will. [ A quiet confirmation– he's not going anywhere. If Ren needs this comfort as much as he does, he'll remain. ]

xx. musebox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject