A/N: Sometimes these two get insanely undeserved sappy fluff. Other times, they get very deserved angst ... but somehow still end up with sappy fluff. I have no self control.
Warnings for: cisgirl Kylo, Kylo/Hux, one pissed off Kylo Ren groupie, discussion of canon-typical violence and torture, mentions of pregnancy and children, one misogynist term (the focus isn't really on the gender aspect but - eh. It's brief.)
When Hux wakes, it's instinct alone that makes him reach out, hand blindly searching for a blanket, for Kylo and her warmth. It's bloody cold, so cold that his clothes alone do nothing to hold off the bone deep chill. There's something heavy on his wrist, keeping him from moving properly, and when Hux cracks his eyes open blearily, he realizes what it is. A shackle.
Panic coils in his stomach, a great serpent preparing to strike, but Hux stomps it out. Years of training keep him from succumbing to the predictable reaction to this situation, which would be to yell for help and attempt to free himself. Instead, Hux goes still, and tries to assess whether or not he is alone. No sound of movement or speech in his immediate vicinity, that's good. No doubt he is being monitored through cameras, then, but there's no helping that at the moment. The only thing Hux can hear is an omnipresent hum, a craft hurtling through space, and the clink of his chains as he gingerly shifts from his side onto his back.
Chains, Hux thinks. At least it's not the Resistance, then. They fancy themselves too humane for this sort of treatment; they'd be too far above leaving him shackled in a dark, frigid room. He already knows he hasn't been taken by the Order, because if he had, he wouldn't have been allowed so much as a nap. He'd likely already be dead, given that he has absolutely no secrets to offer up. Whoever has him isn't operating in an official capacity, then, and has a flair for the dramatic. Hux hasn't the faintest idea who that could be, but he plans to live long enough to find out.
He can see little of the room around him, but his eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough to glean that he's still wearing the clothes he'd left in that morning – well, the morning he'd been taken. He doesn't know how long he's been unconscious. He'd dressed for cold, thankfully, although he hadn't prepared for cold this bitter. It had been snowing, and he'd left Padmé with Kylo while he went out to attend to business. Too cold out for you, sweet, Hux remembers saying, chucking Padmé under the chin. Something painful and cruel clenches around his heart at the memory, but he tries to abate the feeling by being grateful that she isn't in this mess with him. Kylo would never forgive him if he'd gotten Padmé kidnapped, too.
Kylo probably won't forgive him anyway, even if he lives through this. She'd warned Hux, had seen this coming, and he'd ignored it. He'd woken up before dawn, a week ago or better, to find her leaning over him in the dark like an overgrown mynock, her breathing fast and skin clammy to the touch. Hux had been as nice as he knows how to be, fetching Kylo a glass of water (pausing only to verify that Padmé still slept peacefully in her crib) and mumbling various platitudes at her until she calmed down again.
"I dreamt of you," Kylo had whispered. "You were – screaming, like you were – I couldn't tell what was wrong with you. It was real. I felt it."
"Nothing's going to happen to me," Hux had said, putting his hand absently over her middle. The child within is small enough yet that the curve of her stomach fits nicely against his palm - though not for much longer, now. "It was a nightmare, Kylo. I'm not going to keel over because of some bad dream of yours. I don't think my pride could withstand the blow."
She hadn't believed him, and Hux supposes now that she'd been right not to. The last he remembers of Kylo is her voice in his head, loud and jarring as the blare of a klaxon, telling him to run, now. That's the final thing Hux recalls before all of this cold blackness. There'd been nowhere to run, no place in that snowy landscape that he could have possibly hidden.
Rather than wallow, Hux decides he might as well try to do something about these shackles. The chains feel much too sturdy to break, but he gives it a go, tugging with all his might. He has nothing to bash the chains against except the floor, which proves fruitless, and nothing with which to pick the lock on the cuffs. For a moment he contemplates dislocating his thumbs, but the shackles are tight enough that even his thin hands won't slip through, so he'd be laming himself for no reason. "Fuck," Hux mutters to nobody, stymied for the moment.
As if triggered by his curse, a door – heretofore unseen – hisses open, bathing Hux in a swath of light that, while not all that bright, temporarily blinds him. A dark figure steps into the doorway, and the sight is momentarily so familiar that Hux has to stop himself from blurting out Kylo?
It's not Kylo, of course. Kylo's helmet was lost years ago, on Starkiller, and she'd never replaced it. This hooked, masked creature is someone else entirely.
"No, your broodmare isn't here, General," the person says, in a voice that is surprisingly high-pitched, albeit muffled by the mask. Hux had expected the helmet to have an attached vocoder, but it clearly does not. Oddly enough, the childish voice is no less unnerving than a deeper, inhuman one would be. He's so busy working through all this that it takes Hux a second to notice that the figure seems to have read his mind – or has perhaps just made an educated guess, based on his expression, as to whom he'd been hoping to see. "Don't bother with the chains. They won't break."
Hux shifts into an upright position as leisurely as he can, refusing to make it seem as if he's afraid. "Very well," he says. "I don't suppose you plan to take them off of me at any point."
His captor laughs instead of a responding, so Hux assumes the answer is no. "What are you?" he asks, somewhat scathingly. "A bounty hunter?"
"No," comes the reply, only slightly more subdued than the odd laughter. "A mere bounty hunter couldn't have found you. Only a Knight of Ren could do that."
Hux resists the urge to roll his eyes, even while swallowing down another tiny burst of panic. It makes sense, now, why he'd been snatched with so little fuss, why he'd been thrown in a dark cargo hold and left to his own devices. "I see," he says. "I'm meant to be bait."
"Indeed," the knight says. She still hasn't moved from the doorway; Hux doesn't know whether to be grateful or unnerved about this. He's also decided to call her a she in his head, even though the only thing he has to go off of is the squeaky voice. Hux doesn't particularly care, one way or another. "My bounty is Kylo Ren."
"You were only a few kilometers from her when you took me," Hux points out. He is uncomfortable, angry, and trapped – needling this person's utterly idiotic plan is a form of stress relief, almost. "I fail to see why this is necessary."
Suddenly, with a fluidity that reminds him uncomfortably of Kylo, the knight takes a step forward. Hux resists the urge to scoot backwards on his behind like a frightened child. "What you fail to do matters not. You mean nothing to me," the knight says. She holds out her hand suddenly, aiming a loose fist at Hux. "But you mean something to her. Are you in there, Kylo Ren?"
"What the hell are you on about?" Hux says tersely. Nothing happens, even though his captor holds her position.
"I'm sure she's watching," the knight says. "Hiding herself in your slimy head. Trying to protect you."
Hux feels it, then. A sudden coldness, like someone's poured liquid carbonite into his skull. It's as though an unseen hand is flipping through his memories. He hears Padmé's laugh, feels her squirming weight in his arms. There's the curve of Kylo's smile, too, as well as the stormy look she gets when she's angry. "Stop it," Hux says, closing his eyes briefly against the onslaught. "You won't find anything of value to you –,"
She doesn't stop. Instead, she goes deeper, pulling out things that Hux hasn't thought of in weeks, months. It's rapidly beginning to hurt, a burgeoning ache behind his eyes, and Hux thinks, Kylo – are you really listening – stop her –
The pain in Hux's skull suddenly crescendos, and he can no longer see or hear anything external. He gets a vague impression of images and sounds, all stemming from years back in his memories – Kylo's mask, the robotic hum of her breathing – blueprints, Starkiller in her infancy– the impressive thud of boots in the halls of the Finalizer – the stormy skies of Arkanis, his father's voice booming louder than the thunder outside –
Suddenly, it's all gone. Hux lies slumped to one side, panting, throat raw from yelling. His head throbs. The knight still stands over him, but her arms are at her sides once more. "She's gone," the knight coos, seemingly satisfied. "But she knows, now, who has taken you. She knows I'll keep you alive until she meets me at our master's throne, and then she will watch you die."
"She'll bring me back," Hux says raggedly, his vision growing dimmer. "She'll want me to watch – while she rips you apart – while she slaughters you."
All that answers him is more mad, girlish laughter. It fades away to nothingness as Hux's head drops to meet the floor once again.
He dreams, somewhat incongruously, of Padmé. She's in the little pasture outside the house, moving through the tall grass on her chubby, inexperienced legs. This isn't right, Hux thinks, watching as Padmé waves and calls out to him. There should be snow on the ground now.
Just like that, there is snow, enough of it to eclipse her tiny frame from view. Hux digs through fistfuls of stinging ice, desperate, but wakes up before he can find her again, and for a moment he's seized with the urge to pound on the floor with his hands and scream himself hoarse. Well, hoarser.
He's lying on a different floor now, although he is still shackled and still cold. The only light entering the room – and it is a room, not a cargo hold – filters through a single hole in the wall, a window with literal bars. Hux can't help but think that's a bit heavy-handed, even for the citadel of an ancient (and thankfully dead) Sith lord.
The room is empty, save for a primitive 'fresher unit and a small basin in the corner. When Hux musters the energy to scoot towards the basin, he notes that it's full of water. If that's the only necessity that his captor plans to provide him with, he'll be dead within a week or two, even if he rations it carefully. Of course, there's an incredibly distinct possibility that Kylo will come after him, although the odds of her success seem rather more limited.
She's probably in quite a state at the moment – Kylo doesn't take kindly to threats, as Hux knows from personal experience, and she takes even less kindly to the notion of Hux's life being jeopardized. Rage makes Kylo wild, untamable; it also makes her reckless, prone to mistakes. There's also the matter of their child – if Kylo brings Padmé to this nightmarish place, Hux will never let her hear the end of it, assuming any of them survive – and then there's Kylo's pregnancy. It's not much of a physical burden yet, but it is a vulnerability, one that could be exploited by someone who would see Kylo dead.
The very idea of Kylo's death, especially at the hands of some madwoman still serving Snoke after his fall, makes Hux tremble with fury and something else, something quivering and shameful. Part of him hopes that for Padmé's sake, as well as her own, Kylo will stay away. Yet most of him awaits Kylo's arrival almost eagerly, craves to see her fighting in all her splendor. More than anything, he'd like to watch Kylo take off this demented creature's head.
The hours stretch into days – or what feels to Hux's biological clock like days, at least. The light coming into his cell from outside, so gray and filmy it almost seems synthetic, never changes to reflect the passage of time, which is disconcertingly familiar to Hux after having spent most of his career on board starships. Hux's head continues to ache on and off, and when he dreams his mind seems unsettled, throwing old anxieties at him, nightmares he hasn't had in years. It gets worse as time passes because he is never brought any food. After spending a good deal of time trying to break his chains and force the door to his cell, he finally curls up on the floor next to the water basin to conserve energy, drifting in and out of semi-consciousness.
He never once considers that Kylo might not come. Even if she waits too long, even if he withers away in this cell, she will seek vengeance. That's comforting, in a hollow sort of way – the idea that she wouldn't let him rot in this miserable place without some kind of retribution, in the end.
Hux is so out of it after days of this treatment that he hardly reacts when, all at once, his cuffs snap and the heavy door to his cell flies open. He sits up blearily, bracing himself on the water basin, and waits for his captor to enter, possibly to drag him to Snoke's decrepit old throne as promised, to gut him in front of Kylo. When nothing happens, Hux thinks, oh. I'm being freed.
The knowledge that Kylo must be here, somewhere in the citadel, hits him like an adrenaline shot. Hux scrambles to his feet, legs trembling initially but ultimately holding his weight. Leaving the room is easy, but after that Hux finds himself in a winding corridor with no apparent end. He walks along, one hand dragging against the roughhewn stone wall to maintain his balance, and keeps moving and turning corners until he hears a distant, echoing scream.
The sound is low, guttural – a scream of pain. Kylo.
Now Hux is running, although it feels like at any given moment his legs are going to turn to jelly and send him sprawling to the stone floor, useless. He doesn't know where to go, and this place is a bloody fucking maze, but he needs to find her – though what he can do to help, he has no idea – he won't let Kylo die here, damn it, he won't –
He's still running when he hears her voice in his head, about as subtle as a slap in the face. Hux, Kylo says, and then she's showing him the way.
The huge door to the throne room hangs open only slightly, but it's more than enough for Hux's admittedly narrow frame to squeeze through. The room is as dimly lit as every other part of this palatial hellhole, but Kylo half-sits, half-sprawls on a staircase at the base of a throne, illuminated by the flickering red glow of her saber. When she sees Hux, she powers it off, as if she'd been waiting for him to arrive in order to do it. Ordinarily, Hux would make a comment about her constant need for dramatics, but he just really doesn't have the energy for it at the moment.
Hux stumbles the distance Kylo's side, barely sparing a glance at the disgraceful heap of limbs that he passes along the way. He drops to his knees on the stone stairs, bones protesting the treatment, but it hardly matters because Kylo is grabbing at him greedily, cupping his cheeks with blood-sticky hands, kissing him feverishly.
"You're injured," Hux says against her lips, although he'd very much like to keep kissing her. Long ago he'd had a very pleasant dream about fucking Kylo while he sat on a throne, and the impression had stuck, but now is hardly the time.
"It's a flesh wound," Kylo says, when Hux pulls back from her mouth. He gives her a once-over, gaze traveling to her left thigh. Her singed pants leg hangs open, revealing a messy gouge surrounded by scalded skin.
"That's not a fucking flesh wound, Kylo," Hux says, incredulous. "It needs treatment."
"There's medical supplies on the shuttle I came in," Kylo says, sitting up more fully. Hux stands, sways, rights himself, then gingerly helps Kylo to an upright position. She goes an unnatural shade of grayish white, but she grits her teeth and hops along, leaning on Hux more heavily than is probably advisable, given that his vision is swimming from hunger and exertion.
Thanks to Kylo's barked directions, together they emerge from the citadel far more quickly than Hux would've been capable of on his own, especially given the likelihood of him having fainted somewhere along the way. There's a craft outside, as suspiciously nondescript in appearance as the barren landscape surrounding it, but Hux doesn't have the breath to spare for questions. The bay doors shriek open with a jerky signal from Kylo, and as soon as Hux has helped Kylo to a small cot, his knees give out, forcing him to catch himself on the edge of the bed.
"Hux," Kylo yelps.
"I'm alright," he manages, swatting weakly at her nervous hands when she reaches for him. "Be still, damn it. Put pressure on that."
"Get us out of here first," Kylo says, moving to press a hand against her bloody leg. "I can't – I can't stand it, being here any longer."
Hux starts to argue about priorities, but Kylo just snarls at him wordlessly, and finally he drags himself to a standing position, then moves to the cockpit. Coordinates have already been set, so it's a matter of pressing the right buttons and flipping the appropriate switches to initiate takeoff. As soon as they've made the jump, Hux returns to the rear of the craft, where Kylo lies on the cot, eyes closed and jaw clenched. She still has one hand on her thigh; the other rests on her stomach. Hux busies himself with fumbling through various small cabinets until he finds what he needs.
He doesn't notice that Kylo has begun watching him until after he's injected himself with a stim-shot. "You're going to be useless when that wears off," she says, sounding calmer now, if rather faint. Her face is very nearly colorless, especially when contrasted with the darkness of her hair and eyes.
Hux ignores this remark, mostly because she's right. He's nearly useless without it, though, so he'll deal with the crash when it comes. He rummages for more supplies, then returns to Kylo's side, kneeling next to her for better access. "You can't heal this?" Hux asks, cutting her trouser leg open more fully before gloving his hands. To his knowledge, Kylo's never healed an injury of her own; he isn't sure if that's because she's not capable of it or if she just enjoys being injured. He isn't about to ask why with her still bleeding all over the place.
"I'll try later," she replies. "I'm – tired."
She means she's weak, but Hux decides to allow Kylo her dignity. "Very well," he says, and goes about cleaning the ragged wound without further ceremony. He starts to give Kylo a numbing shot when she visibly tenses up, but he's not sure that would be advisable, given her condition. Once Hux applies copious amounts of bacta, however, she exhales loudly and relaxes on the cot.
"Where's Padmé?" Hux asks as he works. He's already made an educated guess, based off of Kylo's acquisition of what is no doubt a rebel craft, but he'd still very much like confirmation of his daughter's whereabouts.
"With my mother," Kylo says, eyes fluttering open again. "I didn't want to, but I – she needed to be somewhere safe, in case neither of us –,"
"You did the right thing," Hux says firmly, reaching for a bandage to wrap her leg with. He absolutely loathes the idea of Padmé being anywhere near the Resistance, but it's certainly not the most dangerous place for her to end up, if push ever comes to shove. "Your mother gave you this ship?"
"Yes," Kylo says. "She wanted to summon Rey, but I – this was mine to do."
Hux can't help but think that the scavenger girl's help might have prevented Kylo from nearly getting her leg taken off, but he's also grateful that he's been spared the awkwardness of having to interact with the girl, or any of her little friends. "And the baby?" Hux inquires, sealing Kylo's bandage and removing his gloves.
"Fine," Kylo says, gaze getting a bit distant, as if communing with something Hux can't perceive – which is probably what she's doing, actually. "He's strong."
"You've never called him a he before," Hux muses, sealing the medpac. He won't bother to argue with her this time; she'd been right about Padmé, after all, and he'd only ever made a show of not believing her then to aggravate her.
"I didn't know until a few days ago."
"I see," Hux says. "Well. I'm glad our son is alright." I'm glad you're alright, he adds mentally, both too ashamed and too proud to say it out loud. If you'd died because of me, I –
Kylo waves a crimson hand at him. "Don't talk like that," she says, almost embarrassed. "Neither of us died. It's over."
"I didn't say anything," Hux points out. He starts to get to his feet, but Kylo grabs him by the hem of his coat.
"Don't," she says. "Stay here."
"I'm not going anywhere," Hux says, gently tugging free of her grip and taking the few steps necessary to put the medpac back in its proper place, then to cleanse his filthy hands in the tiny refresher unit. Once that's done, he returns to Kylo. There's no way for him to fit comfortably on the cot, especially given that Kylo's leg requires plenty of room. Hux sighs and then sits on the floor again, back braced against the cot's frame. A moment later, Kylo's hand is on his shoulder, as if attempting to anchor him there.
"You need to eat something," Kylo murmurs. Abruptly, something lifts itself from a nearby box and comes whizzing at them; Hux narrowly avoids being clipped by what turns out to be two ration bars. "Fuck. Sorry."
"You missed," Hux assures her, resisting the urge to fall on both bars like a wild animal. "Here. You take one. Don't argue, you've lost a good deal of blood and I'm in no mood to force-feed you."
Kylo gives an indignant huff, but takes one of the bars when Hux shifts and offers it to her. Neither of them speak for a moment; Hux is lost in thought, his brain functioning at a relatively high speed again now that he's obtained a stimulant and food. "Kylo."
"Mm."
"How did you know where to find me?" Hux asks. His knowledge of Kylo's abilities is somewhat limited, but he's been operating under the assumption that it only works across relatively short distances. If Kylo had really been with him across millions – billions – of miles, then he'd greatly underestimated both her power and the lengths she's willing to go to for him.
"I was with you for a few moments," she says, putting her hand back on his shoulder, as if to assure herself that he's a real presence now. "It required focus, but I could feel you. But when Tasya realized, I had to let you go, or else she would've – damaged you. After that, all I knew was that you were alive, and you were suffering. I felt it." She pauses. "You were kept in my old room, in the citadel. I didn't even have to search for you then."
Hux has more questions, namely about the deranged wretch who'd somehow managed to track them down, but oddly, Kylo's last comment draws him up short. Almost involuntarily, he pictures Kylo as an overlong and fumbling girl, sulking in that small, dank place. For some reason, this imagined Kylo weeps, head in her hands.
Kylo must see this, because she says with what is clearly an attempt at levity, "Well, I'll admit it was no Academy dorm, but it was good for focus."
"We slept in barracks, actually, until we reached the upper levels," Hux says, not to be outdone, and also somewhat grateful to not have to think about Beni Solo anymore. "How long will it take us to reach – wherever it is we're going?"
"A few hours," Kylo says, voice heavy. Hux doesn't have to turn around to look at her to know she's minutes away from succumbing to unconsciousness. Her hand moves clumsily from his shoulder to his head, threading her fingers through his hair – petting him, like he's some sort of overgrown cat. Hux allows Kylo this, even though her hands are still stained with blood, her own and someone else's.
The stim-shot has kept Hux conscious and functional, but it's also made him somewhat anxious, unable to relax; every minute that Padmé remains with strangers feels like an eternity. Kylo, eavesdropping as always, lets out a soft humming noise. "Padmé's fine," Kylo says. "I can feel her, too. She understood, in her way – when I told her I was going to get you back. She's waiting for us."
"We'll get her back the moment we land," Hux vows, both to Kylo and to himself. He's fairly certain he might take a leaf out of Kylo's book if some Resistance brat stands in his way. "Then we'll go home."
"Yes," Kylo agrees. She's still sleepily carding her fingers through his hair, a touch that's both needy and possessive all at once – much like Kylo herself, in that way. "Then we'll go home."