The fallen, but miraculously still alive Kylo Ren reeled in the shock of the defeat and attempted to stand up, unsuccessfully. He sucked in a breath and drew on the power of the dark side to rise to his feet. Concentrating only on the rage and humiliation he felt at his own weakness, he pushed back the pain in the broken bones and headed for his ship. He limped forward, cradling the injured arm to his chest. Thankfully, he was cut by a lightsaber, so he didn't have to worry about bleeding out before getting to safety.
He climbed the ramp of the ship painfully slowly. Looking down from the exertion, he noticed the cauterized stump in place where his hand ought to be and the violent bout of nausea assaulted his senses. In a haze, he didn't remember staggering into the medbay or the mechanical voice of the droid that administered a sedative to him.
When Kylo Ren woke up, everything was too bright and his right side felt too heavy.
"My sensors pick up a change in your breathing pattern and an elevated heartbeat. You're awake, Master Ren."
"Too much light," Ren rasped out.
The light dimmed to an acceptable level and he opened his eyes, blinking. A med droid was stationed at his side. An older model, gifted to him by Supreme Leader Snoke as a reward for some previous success. Ren hadn't had much use for it before, but that was also before he was battling the Jedi on a semi-regular basis.
"OneOne-...TwoBee?" he struggled in recalling the droid's designation.
"OneOne-FourDee, Master Ren," the droid corrected. "Do you remember what happened to you?"
"Yes. I fought the Jedi, she cut off my arm and escaped, I got back here," he recounted shortly. He was sure he didn't suffer any memory loss.
"Excellent," the droid replied before asking more specific questions of medical nature.
Kylo Ren wasn't listening. Instead he was inspecting his right arm, or rather – the metallic, gleaming prosthetic hand attached to him. He willed it to clench into a fist, but it didn't respond.
"It's not working," he muttered. "Why isn't it working?" he asked the droid.
"This prosthetic hasn't been calibrated yet. It's only a temporary fix until a synth-flesh version is available."
Which could mean five days at best and a few weeks at worst. He'd flown far from the First Order-controlled territory into the remote arm of the galaxy, where the Jedi hid. The ship took a beating too. This was no time to be sitting around. He had to get back to his allies.
"Make it work. Now." Ren held out the mechanical hand to the droid.
"Of course, Master Ren."
He watched the process of calibration with fascination, repulsed by the unnaturalness of it though also conscious of the possibility that one time he could find use for such a knowledge. The prosthetic was just a stand-in, it might fail him anytime. So Kylo Ren paid attention to what the droid was doing.
"My grandfather had prosthetics for all his limbs. Count Dooku cut off his hand in the battle of Geonosis and Obi-Wan Kenobi cut off his other hand and both legs on Mustafar," Ren recalled. In a way, he relished the connection this loss gave him to his ancestor, feeling closer to him through the shared experience.
"You are quite correct, Master Ren. I possess the records of tending to injuries Darth Vader sustained on Mustafar in my memory banks," OneOne-FourDee said.
Kylo Ren jerked up, gawking at the droid.
"You were there?" After he got the confirmation, his look changed from surprise to burning curiosity. "Tell me more about it..."