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Kylo Ren is asleep while Starkiller burns. Hux can't fathom how the brute manages to look so peaceful while their home explodes, Hux himself hasn't stopped pacing, hasn't taken a deep breath since pulling Ren out of the snow. Currently they're on a tiny rescue pod, with a dozen other First Order higher-ups, and a handful of droids. Ren and Hux are in the pod’s even tinier medbay, Hux having scared off everyone but one med-droid with his disheveled hair and his pacing, looking like he hasn't slept in days. The med-droid in the corner alerts him to this, and Hux curses under his breath, resisting the urge to kick it. Ren must be rubbing off on him.
Defeated, Hux finally turns his back to the medbay’s window to stare at Kylo, who is snoring lightly, a thin trickle of drool sliding from the corner of his gorgeous mouth onto the pillow. Everything Hux has worked for is shrapnel floating in space. Ren and Millicent (yowling in the hallway to be let in, unfazed by offers of tuna from Hux’s subordinates) are the two pieces of evidence that he exists at all. Ren’s new, bacta-coated scar, the proof of how easily it all could be taken away.
Hux doesn't ask Ren why he let the girl win. He couldn't if he wanted to- it would take Anakin blasting Skywalker rising from his grave to hit Kylo over the head with a lightsaber for Ren to even crack an eyelid. Hux doesn't ask why Kylo killed Solo but left the girl intact either, he knows enough of terrible fathers to know the answer. It's somewhat comforting to know Ren still has a moral compass underneath all that hair (currently splayed across the pillow in a way only Ren could pull off, Hux’s fingers burn to touch it.)
Hux stares at the burning wreckage of Starkiller until an expectant beep from the med-droid snaps him away from it, a reminder that he hasn't eaten or sat down since they'd evacuated. If Ren were awake he'd kick the thing, but instead Hux just glares at it. Basic human needs seem trivial at times like these, when they're running full-tilt towards the Supreme Leader and away from the only safety Hux has ever known. They'll be hell for both of them to pay the second they step foot on Finalizer, and Hux has half a mind to smother Ren now to save them both the agony.
There will never be another Starkiller. Logically, Hux knows this isn't true- it wouldn't be the first time the Order had replicated the Death Star, but Hux also knows the base is, was, his life's work, reduced to free-floating shrapnel. Hollowly, he wonders if this was how General Organa felt when Alderaan burned, if somehow her mess of a planet had inspired her mess of a son. He glances sidelong at Ren, who's somehow gotten, infuriatingly, more relaxed since Hux last checked.
At least they didn't have children, at least they'd prevented another generation from seeing their home destroyed. The thought enters Hux's mind entirely uninvited, and he nearly brushes it off. Marriage and children were an eventuality- another mark of a highly successful First Order career. Ren was an eventuality, if Hux could stop himself from strangling the bastard long enough to drag him down the aisle. The two of them were well-matched politically- a sufficient balance between order and chaos that would improve both of their social standings. It didn't hurt either that they'd had a long track record of working together, and had been sneaking to each other's chambers for most of it. Now isn't the time, obviously, as his and Ren’s only home crumbled to dust, but for the first time in days, Hux's frantic mind stills. The destruction of one home doesn't necessarily forsake the other, and while it doesn't settle the ‘what the fuck are we going to do?’ screams in Hux's head, the thought of handcuffing Ren to the bed until he signs a marriage contract is strangely comforting. The whole notion is sickeningly romantic, “I already lost our greatest weapon in this war, I can't lose you, Ren, my least favorite colleague too, et cetera.” Hux scoffs at the notion but doesn't let it go completely- they could honeymoon on some quiet, uninhabited planet for a while, then top it all off with blasting the Resistance to smithereens, it's not half bad.
“You're staring.” Ren doesn't even have his eyes open, the show-off.
“And?” Hux doesn't bother arguing, Ren could probably name the exact make and model of their pod with his eyes closed too, and what planet it was assembled on, a jedi and a pilot’s son through and through. “There isn’t anything else to look at.”
“It’s gone, isn’t it?” Kylo says this as if he doesn’t know, as if there were a shred of possibility that either of them had something to go back to. “Starkiller.” As if he needs to clarify, as if the massive blinding explosion occurring outside the medbay window could be anything else.
The thought turns Hux’s stomach, and he has to turn away before the urge to hit Ren strikes him again. The fire is almost beautiful, reminiscent of Starkiller’s destruction of Hosnian Prime. If Hux had it in him, he’d be amused by the irony. Instead, he’s rooted to the ground, overcome by rage and the most pervasive grief he’s ever felt.
Hux doesn’t consider himself to be a sentimental person, particularly when compared to his worse half, but Starkiller.. Starkiller is gone, like Brendol, like his mother, like any sense of his and Ren’s future on the base. The shock of his home and future being suddenly ripped away by some idiots with blasters cuts deeper than expected. Armitage has never been accustomed to the idea of a home without violence, Starkiller was no exception, especially when he kept letting a lightsaber-wielding maniac into his bed. Despite the occasionally thrown caff mug and sliced up datapad, Starkiller had its own charms and comforts- his broken mug, his idiot. Starkiller was his and Ren’s first child, his fortress, his safety. Its sudden and violent removal shakes Hux to his core- the exhaustion catching up with him as the adrenaline wears off and the reality of their situation sinks in. He doesn’t even notice the shake in his breath or the agitated twitching in his fingers until Ren intervenes.
“Come here.”
It's a request, not a demand, but the invisible force tug at Hux’s ankle makes Ren’s intention clear- rest now or you won’t get a choice next time. Hux sighs, finally letting go of the stoic general act he’s been clinging onto since they fled Starkiller.
“We’re set to arrive at Finalizer in five cycles.” He says, dropping to the foot of Ren’s bed, shedding his shoes and jacket. “Should be enough time to get you back in one piece.”
Ren grunts, clearly not bothered by any of it. It’s infuriating, really, how little Ren cares about the fact that the only thing left of their golden future is a minefield of space junk and an angry orange cat. If he had an ounce of energy left he’d find his blaster and finish the Resistance girl’s job.
Hux subconsciously straightens his exhausted posture, standing up to put away the shoes and jacket. There's another tug, this time at his wrist. It's gentle (well, gentle for Ren,) but sudden enough that Hux drops what he was holding. He turns to glare at Ren, only to realize that the prick still hasn't bothered opening his eyes. They're completely and undeniably fucked, and Ren won't even bother bearing witness to what he's done.
“Don't make me repeat myself.”
Hux sighs for what feels like the millionth time in the past twenty hours, but obeys all the same. While pressing Ren’s buttons is one of his favorite pastimes, it's no fun when he can't fight back. Armitage kicks the shoes and jacket under the bed, crossing to Kylo’s uninjured side and gingerly cuddling up next to him, one leg casually laying over Ren's. Some distant part of Hux’s mind remembers how dirty they both are, no time to wash off the snow and smoke beyond what was necessary. The ritual of stripping and incinerating the damaged uniform, scrubbing himself raw, would normally comfort Hux, but he overwhelmingly needs to cling to every scrap of Starkiller he has- singed as it is. Kylo’s touch softens something in Hux, face shoved against Ren’s collarbone.
*It's gone.” He whispers to Kylo's neck, the revelation of it pulling his heart from his chest. Hux swallows hard. “Starkiller."
He can hear Ren roll his eyes, Hux didn't think it was possible to be more angry with the bastard than he already was. "Enlightening, we should make you General or something.”
"You should've died out there.” Hux pauses, holding his breath. "She cut your face open, there's no reason why you should've lived.”
"Not no reason."
Hux scoffs, contemplating pushing Ren off the bed and showing him the limits of his stupid Jedi luck and Hux’s remaining patience. “Romantic."
“I try."
Kylo pulls Hux roughly closer in a way that makes Hux squirm. There's a pause, Hux manually unclenching his muscles one by one, vaguely remembering something a med droid said about ‘cortisol levels’ and ‘dead by thirty.’
"You know,” Ren continues. "I would say I can't believe it, but this is exactly the kind of shit that would happen to you.”
Hux tries to push himself up, but is stopped by Ren’s infuriating bicep.
“Close your eyes General, you can glare at me when we get to Finalizer."
Hux sighs, resigning himself to being jammed into a twin sized bed with Ren for the foreseeable future. “You're impossible."
“You're homeless." Ren’s eyes are still closed, but Hux makes sure he can still feel his glare anyways, chin digging into his infuriatingly bare pectoral. “I don't think either of us have quarters on Finalizer, do we?"
Trust Ren to launch himself into a massive intergalactic war and his first concern be their sleeping arrangements. When the idiot’s guts were finally back inside his body, he'd probably ask about dinner.
“Maybe the Supreme Leader will put you in a crate to save space."
Ren laughs, then winces. Hux revels in it, running a finger along Kylo’s stupid perfect chest absentmindedly.
“Don't threaten me with a good time." Kylo reaches out with his bad hand, tracing Hux's jaw tenderly.
Hux knows Ren doesn't mean it, the softness and the domesticity, but there's something possessive in the gesture: I won't let them take you from me, they won't separate us. Hux decides to believe him, for one fleeting second- that Snoke won't actually wrench the two of them apart, Ren collared and crated, Hux unceremoniously tossed out the airlock and replaced with someone Ren won't find so distracting. They could reroute the shuttle, crash into some insignificant planet where Snoke would eventually find them anyways, arguing like lovers in the kitchen like they used to do on the bridge. They could turn themselves in, Ren drugged and gagged by his mother, occasionally paraded out to save the Jedi race with the girl, Hux unceremoniously executed because at the end of the day he's nobody's ally.
Or, they could lay here, Ren enjoying his nap, while Hux runs the calculations on exactly how they will die and when.
“Calm down." There's force in Kylo's tone, and Hux's traitorous nervous system complies, heart slowing to a life-compatible rhythm, thoughts blurring when Ren kisses his forehead. "For all we know Mitaka put the wrong fuel in this thing and we won't even make it to Finalizer.”
This time it's Hux's turn to laugh, a tired, bitter sound that reminds him how absolutely spent he is. It could very easily turn into a sob, but he doesn't let it, eyes pressed shut. If a tear or leaks out, neither of them acknowledges it. If they were blasted to pieces it would be a sickening relief. Done, finally, microscopic pieces of Hux mixing with microscopic pieces of Kylo to create something wholly new, a strain of fucked up that neither the First Order nor the Resistance could ever hope to replicate. Unfortunately, between Hux’s and Ren’s uncannily shit luck, they're almost certain to survive this, shoving Hux back into the deafening, anxious buzz that defined his early career. Starkiller was the answer to the fifteen year question, Ren in his bed, the galaxy in the palm of his hand. They have no galaxy, they barely have Ren, fuck, they don't even have a bed. A painful, suffocating death in space would be preferable to finding a mattress big enough for Ren.
The panic is snatched indelicately from his head, with all the grace of a child with a bandage. Hux has been told Kylo isn't a particularly skilled Jedi, he's certainly never been subtle. The sensation of Ren stumbling about in his head stuns him momentarily, muscles stiff, hair on end.
“I'm trying to sleep." Ren explains. “You're thinking too loudly."
Hux huffs a shaky sigh. This isn't the first time they've had this conversation, and unless things go exactly Hux's way, it won't be the last. “I'm trying to plan, and you're snoring."
“Plan when I'm dead then." It's meant to be playful, but only results in Hux pressing closer.
“Organa won't pay unless you've got a pulse." He mutters. "How else am I meant to pay for the next base?”
Ren only kisses the top of his head in response, pulling the exhaustion from Hux's body.