Chapter Text
“Ready?”
Kylo looks down at the hand Rey holds out to him. Even in the dim light of the alley, he can make out the perpetual oil stains smudged across her calluses, her bones so fragile under the toughened skin. He reaches out his own hand in answer, and the difference between them couldn’t be more stark. The dark metal of his hand gleams in the red light above the door in front of them, and his mechanical fingers close around her flesh with infinite care. Much different than what his hands will do later tonight.
Nearly enveloped in his, cold metal against pale skin, her hand squeezes back, and the echo of her touch chases up the sensors she’s so meticulously maintained, up to where they connect to the nerves in his shoulder. His eyes flick up to meet hers, pupils blown wide in the dark, her face tilted up to him. A smile plays around her soft lips, like she’s already certain his winning streak will remain unbroken. He’d do anything to live up that trust. Winning doesn’t matter, as much as it keeps him off the scrap heap, but keeping Rey safe matters more than anything.
“Ready,” he agrees, his voice a rasp.
Her smile widens, and he stares, transfixed, as she pumps their hands once to seal the agreement. He misses her touch as soon as she pulls away to tug her usual mechanics glove back on, then leans down to pick up the sign she’d set aside, against the wall of the building and out of the unidentifiable puddles on the concrete. He watches the graceful arch of her body as she bends and straightens, swallowing back the instinctive shame that rises in the wake of his reaction to it.
“Showtime,” she whispers, facing ahead. She pushes back the long bangs that always escape from the messy knot tied behind her head, with a couple probes stuck in for easy access. Behind her, Kylo breathes deep, taking in the last quiet moment before it all starts again.
Rey pulls open the door, and he catches it, holding it until they’re both through. The bouncer on the other side nods to her, barely paying attention to Kylo.
“Running late, Niima. The rest of the fighters are all here” he grunts.
She gives him a smile so sunny it edges on manic. “They know to wait for the best.”
He snorts, but waves them past. The faint roar of the crowds had filtered through the halls as soon as they walked through the door, but it grows louder and louder as they tread a familiar path from the backdoor to the exit onto the floor. Drunken screams and shouts from the other promoters force their way above the din, the exact words muffled until Rey pulls open the next door and the chaos crashes over them.
Before the fight, the floor remains dimly lit, the pit’s owners wanting to make sure every empty-headed patron can find their way to the bookies set up around the edges who will gladly take their money. Spotlights in a riot of neon colors pan frantically over the crowd, adding to the frenzy. A low thumping bass from the speakers underscores the shrill voices of the patrons. As they walk through the door, Rey raises her sign over her head and adds her voice to the fray.
“Reigning champion Kylo Ren back to throw out the trash! Guaranteed payout! Don’t waste your money, bet on the best!”
She makes her way through the crowd by sheer force of will, the rabble parting around her like they know they shouldn’t be in her way. Kylo follows along silently, watching from the depths of his hood. With her arms raised high, her sign barely rises above his head and her stomach peeks out from above the sweatshirt tied around her hips. He catches glimpses of that tanned skin over taut muscle every time she turns and has to look away to maintain his composure. Truthfully, he finds the rest of her usual outfit no less distracting: her short tank bares her strong arms, while the baggy pants that tuck into boots obscure her legs. He’s ready to protect her at the first sign anyone might push their luck, but no one’s that stupid tonight.
Mostly humans crowd around them, more than a few with augmentations, though none quite like his. Most of these fools have to deal with back alley scrap peddlers who manage some perfunctory chopping and screwing on the side. None like his Rey. He spots a few non-humans in the crowd as well, mostly hulking shapes with fur or scales that can’t be replicated with the kind of augs found in this part of the city. Between those are the creatures in between, not quite human but lost in the crack between alien and mechanical. The pit welcomes anyone desperate enough to come in.
They circle the room, ignoring the glares the other promoters and fighters toss their way. Kylo can’t find it in himself to worry about any of them. Much as Rey’s not above exaggerating his attributes to keep the money flowing, she doesn’t have to inflate his win record. He hasn’t been matched in the ring yet. A few challengers have put up a longer fight, but that’s the best they can do. If he were a better performer, he’d drag out the matches, build the crowd up, but he’s never had the patience. More important than any favor from the masses is returning to Rey in one piece.
She takes care of him far better than he deserves, and the least he can do is make her job as easy as possible. He feels guilty every time another piece of him malfunctions and she has to patch him back together, but she only ever tells him not to worry, that she likes taking care of him. He’s tried to give her his share of the winnings plenty of times, but she always insists he keep his own cache. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t have anything to spend it on other than parts for himself and food for Rey, and Rey manages to scavenge most of his parts anyway.
A lanky man at a table they pass gives Rey a particularly long look, his pale eyes traveling up and down her body, and Kylo steps closer to her, glowering back at him. The man glares back for a second, then thinks better of it, dropping his eyes to his drink. Kylo doesn’t retreat.
He knows what most people think about him and Rey. His social skills barely deserve the name, but the crowd isn’t shy about shouting what they think Rey does to reward him after another win. He’d asked her once if she wanted him to take care of them, but she’d looked at him with complete bafflement before telling him she couldn’t care less what they thought. Thankfully, they’ve stopped at yelling so far. He knows Rey would never think of him like that, no matter how much he can’t stop the thoughts from crossing his mind, but he’ll keep her safe no matter what.
They manage another circuit of the floor before the lights start to dim. The crowd hushes before erupting in frenzied shouts, the anticipation driving them to the edge. Rey and Kylo push their way to the stage, Rey still in front. Bouncers wait around the sides of the ring, a scant gap between them and the crowd. None of them react as Rey takes her place in their corner and Kylo pulls himself up into the ring.
He pulls his open coat off, revealing the rest of his pale skin dotted with scars and the harsh line where his cybernetic arms connect to his chest. His loose pants stay on, baggy enough to let him move, but not enough for opponents to get a hold of. He runs through some quick stretches as the surrounding crowd works themselves up to a fever pitch. Rey watches him from her corner, her quick eyes evaluating his movements, making sure both arms work as they should.
“Easy start tonight,” she reminds him, but he doesn’t mind hearing it again from her. “You beat this guy in ten seconds last time, and he didn’t learn anything, so he’s back for more. There’s a few others returning, and a couple new ones, but nobody to worry about, as far as I know. They wouldn’t tell me what they have planned for the finale though, so keep some back, don’t wear yourself out early. And try to take it easy on the shoulders, you know how it goes.”
He nods. He knows. The seam between the skin of his chest and where his metal arms attach will always be vulnerable. Enough nerve damage there, and he could lose control of the arms. Rey could patch him up, but it wouldn’t be easy, and he doesn’t want to put that on her.
She nods back, her eyes locked with his. He wishes he knew what she saw there. “Good luck,” she says softly.
He attempts a reassuring smile for her, and her grin back lets him know the effort is appreciated. Across the ring, another swell of shouting rises, and Kylo turns to face his opponent.
He vaguely recognizes the squat, muscle-bound man, as much as he recognizes any of the usual faces in the pit. His bulging muscles show likely signs that he took advantage of one of the many quacks selling enhancers in the back alleys around the pit, and the sheen over his eyes tells of hours spent indulging in any of the other substances on sale tonight. Kylo holds back a sigh. He can’t wait for this night to be over.
The referee steps in place to go over the rules, what few there are, most of them about won or lost bets and handling of money. The only real thing that matters here. They withdraw, and nothing remains between Kylo and his opponent. The other man snarls, screeching something Kylo doesn’t bother to listen to. The fight begins.
The rematch goes as quickly as the first fight, Kylo landing hits on his opponent’s nose and ears before the man manages to raise any kind of defense. It takes no effort for Kylo to knock him to the floor and then kick him out of the ring. The bouncers move aside as the man falls and step back as he rolls away. Over his winning career, Kylo’s learned that getting the trash out of the way quickly saves time.
His next opponent leaps into the ring once the first one clears it, and the referee doesn’t make an effort to step in before the woman lunges for Kylo. He can’t remember if he’s fought her before, but she’s not any more of a challenge. At least she’s not drunk. She manages a solid swing that he ducks underneath, swiping her legs out from under her and landing her on her back. He’s on her throat before she catches her breath, and then she’s out and someone else comes for him.
He barely pays attention to the crowd as he disposes of one, two, three more fighters. Only one hits him at all, and taking the blow on his arm hurts them more than him. Two of them have their own augmentations, and one wears a chest plate that wouldn’t be allowed if anyone cared. The only thing that matters to the crowd is the spectacle. Jeers, shouts, cheers all blend into a hazy wall of noise as he looks back to quickly lock eyes with Rey in the breath before the next fight. She nods at him, her face bright and encouraging. Her lips move, and he can barely catch the sound of her voice over the noise, but he can read what she says: “Almost there.”
He nods back. According to the scheduled line-up, there should be only one match left for him, the unknown finale. Just one more fight, and he and Rey can go back home with enough credits to make it through another month. He wonders what new champion they’ve uncovered for this last fight. Another drug-enhanced meathead with more muscles than sense? Or did one of the owners dish out to get someone with a little more training, or a higher grade of augmentations?
Kylo balances on the balls of his feet, keeping his muscles limber and prepared. He’s not worried, but the delay is getting annoying. A hush of muttered whispers falls over the crowd as the wait drags on, the owners trying to build some sort of anticipation for this last bout.
The doors on the back wall to either side of the stage slam open, metal bouncing off the concrete walls and caught by the snarling creatures that break through. They push through the crowd that stumbles to get out of their way as they aim for the ring. The stunned silence that greeted their entry breaks into screaming cheers as the crowd’s anticipatory bloodlust spikes. One after another, they pull themselves up into the ring, the structure shaking slightly under their force.
The referee steps back into the middle of the ring, their grin clearly showing which side they want to see win, and who they want to see beaten bloody and knocked out of the ring. Kylo never expected any kind of fair fight, and it’s darkly comforting to know that if something does go very wrong, he won’t have any kind of recourse. Behind him, Rey shouts some kind of protest at the referee, but they both know it’s futile even before the referee waves an impatient hand her way to shut her up. Kylo grits his teeth. It would almost be worth the automatic forfeit to take a swing at the referee, but they do need the credits.
Rey obviously comes to the same conclusion as she subsides into indignant silence, though the weight of her glare remains palpable. The referee projects their voice over the crowd to excitedly introduce the four thugs brought in to break him. The names are inconsequential, all propped up by some invented epithet. Kylo insteads focuses on weighing up each adversary.
None of them are shorter than him, with the one woman able to look him directly in the eyes. She’s wearing the most of any of them, an armored tunic that ends at her upper thighs, tall boots that cover her knees, and dark-inked tattoos over the rest of her exposed skin, a mix of creatures and unfamiliar symbols. The ink coalesces around her hands, where flesh gives way to metal that forms sharp points on each of her fingers. Two of her partners wear what amounts to heavyweight boxers, made out of some new synthetic that reflects neon colors under the stage lights.
The third, Kylo has a hard time pinning down. He doubts he’s entirely human, not with the purpling-blue tint to his ghost white skin. His features also fall into the valley between human and alien: eyes too large, nose too small, lips nonexistent, and too-round ears pressed flat against his bald head. He stares around him with vague disinterest, barely seeming to notice Kylo at all. His choice of what looks to be a black loincloth and no shoes could be stupidity or confidence, but likely both with how often the two traits go hand-in-hand.
The other two men could be twins, or strangers who simply never bothered having enough of a personality to distinguish themselves. They both have the vaguely pallid tone of those who don’t escape the bowels of the city to see the sun and muscle-strapped forms likely resulting from regular training supplemented with regular chemical enhancements. Thin, metallic lines run down their arms and legs, like the paths of a circuit board, signs of additional augmentations under the skin. They watch Kylo with near-identical sneers, idly flexing to the crowd’s roars of approval.
The woman prowls around the rest of the group as the twins posture and the referee finishes the introductions, half-feral as she hunches her shoulders and bares her teeth at the audience. They eat it up, near-bestial themselves in their excitement. Her shaggy dark hair falls around her face, and she tosses her head back to flick it out of her eyes.
Any one of the four would be a more challenging than usual fight for him, though one-on-one, Kylo would still like his odds. Four at once presents a challenge. Not an insurmountable one, but the weight in his stomach agrees with his thoughts that he won’t escape this fight without damages. The best he can do is minimize the work Rey will have to do to fix him later. If he can take out at least one of them quickly, it’ll improve his chances.
The room holds a breath as the referee pauses in the center of the ring. A hand drops, and they barely get out of the way in time before the twins lunge for Kylo. He darts between them, already fast reflexes enhanced by his augmentations. Dexterity isn’t these two brutes’ strength. He comes up behind the one on the left, swinging a quick, fast jab at his neck, right at the base of his head. The man growls as his fist connects, and Kylo ducks away again before the woman’s claws reach his face.
He turns to face the half-alien reaching for him from behind, but the creature manages to block Kylo’s swing toward his stomach. Kylo withdraws before he can be caught, stepping around so that his back is to a corner as his opponents advance on him. Two fists come for him at once, the half-alien and one of the twins, and he blocks each blow, following through with a blow to the same twin he hit before. Backing into the corner gives them a much smaller range to attack him, but he feels the tension of being pinned down, defeat his only escape.
“Coward,” one of the twins sneers from over the other’s shoulder. “Back against the wall already? Come out and play, we’ll make it quick.” Kylo ignores him to slice at the woman’s wrist as she takes another swipe at him.
The next seconds pass in a blur of instinct, his body responding as it’s been trained. He blocks, swings, kicks, all the while looking for an opening, that one chance he needs to turn the tide. His position keeps him from being overwhelmed, but he doesn’t gain any ground either. He needs to be the one to break this stalemate, before his opponents start getting ideas.
Faster than he expected from them, one twin grabs his arm when he swings another blow. Snarling, he turns into the hold to deal with this irritant, and that’s when everything starts to go wrong. He aims for a weak spot to loosen the twin’s hold, but with one arm locked in place, his torso is left vulnerable. Claws rake along his side, not close enough to draw blood, but the burning pain left in their wake leaves no doubt the woman has coated them in something extra. The shock costs him. The other twin muscles in close, wrapping both arms around his other bicep and pinning it back.
Roaring fills his ears, whether from the crowd or his own rising fury, he can’t tell. He yanks both arms at once and succeeds in moving the twins, but not in freeing himself. He hates being touched like this, being held by strangers determined to rip him apart. He tries to ignore the warning signals blaring up his nerves from his enhanced sensors, an unending chorus of “WRONG, WRONG, WRONG”. His piecemeal heart pounds in his chest, flesh and cybernetics pushed to their utmost.
Claws prick the back of his shoulders, and then the woman is leaping over him, wrapping an arm around his neck and bracing her feet against his back. Her other arm rests over his shoulder, poisoned claws hovering just under his chin. He’s sturdy enough to take a lot of damage, but not even he can survive having his throat ripped out. He struggles, mindful of the claws at his neck, but he doesn’t manage to free himself before the alien takes his place in front of him and throws hit after hit, using Kylo as his personal punching bag.
He doesn’t aim for the more vulnerable area of Kylo’s exposed stomach, where, with his strength, he could damage some of the few flesh organs Kylo has left. Instead, his hits land along Kylo’s shoulders and chest, where his cybernetics bond to his body. A truth he’s suspected now becomes blindingly clear, overcoming every other thought. They don’t just want to disable him for this fight. They want to destroy him.
Another hit lands just at the seam across his left shoulder, and a patch of skin on his forearm goes numb. His bones ache, and his muscles strain with tension. More hits, and something bends that shouldn’t. He can’t hold up under this barrage much longer. Somewhere in the distance, beyond the immediate circle of his awareness, he hears Rey screaming.
Deep breath, pushing past the red clouding his vision. He needs to get out. He’s not completely restrained.
He flexes his arms in the twins’ holds, every muscle held completely rigid, and braces himself against them. He tilts his head back, gaining another scant breath between his throat and the claws threatening it, and brings his legs up as high as he can reach, delivering a powerful blow to the alien’s midriff. His boots aren’t heavily reinforced, but the strength behind the kick is enough to send the alien staggering backwards, hissing curses in an unfamiliar language.
Kylo doesn’t wait to see what he does next. He releases all tension in his arms, and on either side of him, the twins stagger slightly at the change in force they’ve been bracing against. The small loss of balance is all he needs. With every bit of force he can muster, he swings his arms forward, managing to drag the twins with the movement. They slam into each other before they realize they’ve moved, skulls cracking together with a hollow thud.
One more. Claws dig into the tender skin under his jaw, fire burning along his nerves, but before they can puncture, he rolls forward, leaning into her hold. He holds onto her wrists with his now freed hands, her venom useless against their metal. He lands on his knees, hunched over as he swings her over his head to slam her back into the floor. He slams a fist in the middle of her chest, hopefully cracking the bone there and knocking out any breath remaining in her lungs.
He rolls to his feet, battered, aching, but still in one piece. He takes stock. Nerve damage in the connections to his left arm, not an easy fix. Collarbone possibly fractured, definitely bruised, but not broken. Right arm a fraction slower to respond. He’s repairable for now, but he needs to end this soon, before he takes any more damage.
The woman still lies gasping on the floor, unable to draw in a full breath. The twins shake their heads, what few senses they have slow to return. That leaves –
Kylo swings an elbow to his side, catching the arm aiming for his stomach. He follows with another punch to the midriff, then spins away, dropping into a crouch. He aims his next kick for the back of the alien’s knees, buckling one, then collapses the other with a solid hit. The alien grunts as he falls to his knees, and Kylo springs to his feet, bringing his own knee up to crash into the alien’s face. Bone crunches, and blue blood spills.
Kylo shoves the now howling alien aside, pushing the side of the ring far enough to let him fall. He’s barely in time to meet the twins as they both reach for him, growling. He ducks under one hit and grabs the other, shoving him back. He doesn’t move far, but it’s enough for Kylo to duck around him and get an arm around the man’s neck. He squeezes with all the force his cybernetics can muster, turning to use the man’s body as a shield as his counterpart attacks with a roar.
It takes too long for the man to finally go limp, and before he does, the other one aims his hits at Kylo’s elbow, trying to shatter the joint. He doesn’t manage it, but something crunches when Kylo swings his arm out, letting the now unconscious twin fall out of the ring.
“You’ll pay for that,” the remaining twin snarls, a waste of breath and time. Kylo responds with a barrage of blows to his head, neck, stomach, lower. This part comes easily, overwhelming his opponent with sheer force and skill. The man attempts a defense, but he’s not as impressive on his own. Kylo is about to land the final blow when fingers wrap around his ankle. Claws dent his skin before it breaks and fire screams along his veins.
The twin grins, delighting in the reprieve granted by Kylo’s pain. “They never see it coming,” he chuckles.
He leans forward, expecting to take advantage of the break in Kylo’s defense, but Kylo rips himself free of the agony attempting to overtake his thoughts and swings first. A solid blow under his chin knocks the remaining twin back and out of the fight.
Rotating around the foot held in place by the woman’s claws, Kylo turns to find her still on the ground, blood at the corners of her mouth. Feral glee shines in her eyes. He may have broken her, but she has her revenge. Falling to his knee, he digs his fingers into her elbow, but the claws only sink deeper. Her other hand swings for his face, but he catches it, slamming the claws down into her own arm. She lets out a cry, arm spasming, claws dragging through him.
He rips himself free, gritting his teeth against the mind-numbing pain. With a grunt, he reaches around her side and flips her over, leaving her facedown on the ring as he pushes himself up.
He stands alone in the center of the ring, the crowd devolving into a frenzy around him. Somewhere out along the edges, mountains of credits are changing hands, and the owners are likely watching, deciding what to do with him next. None of that matters. He turns, trying to find her.
The referee returns to the ring with a sour face and attempts to hold Kylo’s hand up as champion. He rips himself free. His step back lands him on his torn ankle, and agony returns. Before he can fall and join his opponents, Rey is there, tucking herself under his arms and bracing him up.
“I’ve got you,” she says, tilting her face up to his. He wants to lean his forehead against hers and close his eyes, but he can’t let his guard down now. They’re still not safe.
“The arms,” he says, an apology forming in his throat. She shakes her head, hair brushing his bare chest.
“We’ll fix them. I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. You won, it’s over.”
He wants so badly to believe her, but it doesn’t feel over. Mechanical parts send data along his nerves, noting the damage done. His ankle throbs, somewhere between numb and melting. He nods anyway.
Her arm tightens around him. She hands him his coat, and he holds it with the arm over her shoulder, not wanting to let her go long enough to put it on. The noise of the crowd still surrounds them, but all he hears is her soft voice.
“Let’s go home.”