Chapter Text
That was a nightmarish day for Hux. More precisely the whole ten days of an endless nightmare. And he does want to be very precise about it. He tries to be precise about every aspect of his life, and he's proud of it.
Hux spent two working weeks on a business trip to Kyiv. That's exactly nine days more than he planned. He doesn't like it when things do not go as he planned. And it was exactly ten days more than he had ever wanted. That's the patient zero of all his current problems.
If he had found joy in talking with strangers, pitching his ideas to a pack of criminal looking men, or traveling across the globe to foreign countries, he'd never have chosen to be a data analyst. He likes sitting in his own cubicle. He likes working with numbers. And he likes his small but efficient team who look at him with reverence and adhere to a proper distance. His work is the only thing he has always been sure about, and that he has perfectly planned since high school.
The one and only wild card in Hux's plans, the variable he couldn't compute was the current owner of his firm, his old and grouchy boss Aslan Snoke. He'd bought the firm, almost three years ago, under extremely suspicious, and potentially illegal circumstances. Leaving would have impeded Hux's career, so he'd stayed and suffered under the unpredictable and volatile leadership of the new but very ancient boss.
Exactly two Wednesdays ago, Snoke had called Hux to his office and announced that Hux needed to forget about all of his plans, take a flight to Kyiv and present his project directly to their clients, and old friends of Snoke.
“A small trip”, that wrinkled monster had said that evening. “Probably you wouldn't even need to stay for the night, Armitage. Fly there, impress them, and fly back home. And do not disappoint me,” the old bastard added with a warped smile, exhaling smoke and putting a cigarette butt into a golden ashtray. Everything was golden and crimson in his tacky office, and Hux hated it. He was going to redecorate it when it became his office.
He didn't fly back the same day he came. He was swamped in famous hospitality mixed with infamous drinking. The first day they didn't even let him do the presentation.
Meetings. Negotiations. Restaurants. Gorilka. Sauna. Hangover. More meetings. Jokes about drinking vodka. And jokes about 'bad western' stereotypes about Ukraine. Cold. Terrible cold. Terrible traffic. Snow. Ugly stains from melted snow on his shoes. More gorilka. More hangovers.
Today Hux has woken up in his relatively nice hotel room, ate an almost tasty hotel breakfast in the half-empty dining hall, and ordered the Ukrainian equivalent of Uber —something named Uklon— to get to the office. All that time he was in a relatively uplifted mood, because he was certain that today was his final day in this frozen hell.
Why wouldn't he be certain? He'd presented them all the data, made a convincing case about increasing profit for both of the companies, they even celebrated success yesterday, even with some champagne. And champagne in the middle of Wednesday means the deal is sealed. Right?
"Everything is fine. Everything is great," says Serhii with a heavy Ukrainian accent that’s straight from second rated standup comedy, "Now you need to meet the Boss."
Serhii, the director of the IT company, also an old man, but not as old as Snoke—no one was as old as Snoke, Hux was sure. Also, Hux was sure that it was just a front, and money laundering firm. So he didn't get why they were so indecisive.
Meet the Boss? What does that even mean? Are they from a bad movie about post-soviet coutries? Why can he talk with 'the boss' by Skype and go home?
“No,” explains Serhii, “the online meeting doesn’t work for him. The boss is an old-fashioned man. He likes traditional ways. He's the man of another time.” Something-something about 'respect'. Something-something about trust. Something-something about the famous beauty of Odesa.
Hux didn’t understand it. How the owner of an IT company—even a fake IT company—may dislike doing things online. It doesn’t make any sense. But he didn’t point out those gaps in logic.
Hux immediately buys the ticket for the next flight, takes a taxi and goes to the airport, silently repeating all the curses he knows as a prayer, including Ukrainian ones that Serhii and his team spent the last week teaching him.
The snow that started when he hailed a taxi has turned into a heavy storm. His flight is delayed for the third time, and the forecast shows that it won't get any better soon. The best prediction so far is two days of snow, and that means staying for the weekend, postponing the meeting, being eaten alive by Snoke. Maybe that is the secret of his immortality, thought Hux unbidden, maybe he eats his employees. That would explain a lot.
His only chance to get to the meeting tomorrow is to take a train, as a smiling girl tells him, in the airport cafe, and Hux is committed to doing anything to finally leave this country and forget all of it as a bad dream.
Getting a taxi back to the city is an adventure of its own. But having almost unlimited amounts of money, Hux doesn't care that he is literally robbed by a cunning-looking taxi driver, who proceeds to angrily tell Hux something in Ukrainian the whole way to the train station. From a few words and proper names Hux understands he's chatting about politics, although it's impossible to guess if he supports or condemns the current regime by a mix of angry tone and constant laughing.
Another unpleasant surprise waits for Hux at the train station. After he wanders around the palace-like building with no easily spotted signs and finally finds the ticket office, the lady in there explains to him with broken English that there are no tickets on the fast train, only tickets for a regular one are left.
"It's okay", he says, giving a note from his much thinner wallet. Then he looks at the ticket.
Hux can't believe it - it's more than eight hours ride. His back will hate him after sitting for so long, but he has no other choice and goes through packed halls to the platform muttering curses more crossly.
Communication with a train-conductor–a middle-aged lady with bright makeup in an oversized coat forming her winter uniform— is part three of the unpleasant adventure of the day: the lack of common language strikes back. It's the worst communication so far. She doesn't speak English. At all. Hux doesn't speak Ukrainian. He knows a few words, like yes and no, and, thanks to Serhii, various ways to express his frustration using different names for genitalia in Ukrainian. He won’t say them. Will try not to, although he really craves too.
She speaks louder and slower – Hux tries to use a translator app on his phone. Probably because of the storm his mobile internet is slow. After a minute struggling, she calls him 'IDIOT', adds one of the words Serhii taught Hux, looking clearly irritated and tired. And, when Hux is ready to start searching for anyone who knows English and hire them as a translator, she grabs him by his elbow, drags him inside the train.
After ascending steep metal stairs and passing a tiny and dark antechamber, they emerge in a well lit, narrow hallway with a bright carpet on the floor, a row of windows with blue curtains on the left side, and sliding doors on the right.
Hux follows behind her. The width of the hallway doesn't allow them to go besides. He peeks around and starts suspecting that the train isn't what he expected it to be. It definitely doesn't look like the train he usually takes to visit his mom and her girlfriend in Glasgow.
The conductor opens one of the sliding doors, just around the middle of the hallway, says "Velcom", adds something else in Ukrainian and leaves him in what appears to be a room.
It's not that bad. It looks like something from historic movies where characters are traveling in small compartments. But this one looks like it was decorated by a colorblind prison designer. It's smaller than the cupboard where Harry Potter lived, but it has two tiny bunks mounted to the opposite walls, a miniature table between them and a window with the same blue curtains. A horrible dirty-red carpet lies on the floor. Still, better than sitting for the whole night, decides Hux. He can sleep and have a fresh mind tomorrow.
Wait, what?
Hux's brain catches up with the observed reality. Why does it have two bunks? Is he going to share this cell with some random stranger?
No, this won't do. That must have been a mistake. Hux is not a student who sleeps in a moving hostel, while some drunk Vasya is snoring less than a meter away.
He takes a long inhale, calming his panic down, and reasons with himself. He decides that he will act logically, as a capable grown up he is, will prepare a translation of his demands beforehand, go to the lady-conductor and pay for the whole room. He doesn't want to reinforce stereotypes, but he is sure that he can easily bribe her.
Finishing fiddling with his translator app, Hux turns to the door to exit, but instead of the white plastic with a mirror on it, he sees a huge man, whose frame occupies the doorway.
The intruder smiles at Hux, says something in Ukrainian that must be a form of greeting, enters the small space, closing the door behind him, stepping past Hux and throws his backpack on the left bunk.
The man is young, somewhere around mid-twenties, maybe a bit younger than Hux, tall and broad. His dark hair is wavy and goes almost to his shoulders. Hux won't call him handsome, but he has interesting features and would catch Hux's eye if he saw this man in the bar or on a crowded bus.
He wears black jeans, a black long down jacket, and beanie, also black with red stitched YOLO on it. Probably, a student decides Hux. It's even better, easier to come to an agreement, better chance that he knows English and needs cash.
"I'll give you money," Hux says slowly, and clearly, staring at him, searching for the signs of comprehension on his angular face "if you leave the room."
The stranger looks back at him and frowns.
Okay, this sentence must be too long for him. No problem. Hux will try again.
He takes his wallet from his coat pocket and shows the man two banknotes, counting in his head how much he needs to give. Thankfully, Snoke hinted that bribes are included in his travel budget.
"I'll give you money," Hux makes a 'give' gesture, then points at the door, showing moving legs with his fingers, "if you go away."
It's almost all he has in cash, but it's much more than the ticket and a room in a good hotel would cost. More than a generous offer for a young man, and presumably unemployed student.
Hux is so tired from this long day. All he needs right now is solitude and silence. It's essential to have a good sleep before tomorrow's meeting, or he will be stuck in this country longer, or, even worse go back to Snoke without a deal.
When the man doesn't react except frowning a bit more and piercing Hux with his gaze, Hux adds one more banknote, waving them in front of his face.
"Do you understand me?" Hux uses the universal technique for communicating with foreigners by talking louder and slower, "take the money and leave."
He is ready to take his phone —what he should have done before instead of this circus with gesturing and screaming— and translate it in Ukrainian when he hears a low chuckle.
"I do," the man says with a perfect American accent. "I understand that you're an asshole.”
He is grinning at Hux like it was the funniest comeback in the history of the world. And who is an asshole now?
"Excellent," it's a part of Hux's work to speak with jerks. It's his least favorite part, admittingly, and thankfully less frequent. He won't swallow bait from this one, "Now, that we established that we can communicate in one language, let's move back to business. Do you accept my offer to resell your ticket to me, and get away from this cramped space?"
"And where will I go?" asks the stranger, crossing his arms on his chest and raising his eyebrows more theatrically than needed. Such an extra gesture.
“To another room in this pathetic train, to your home, to a hotel. You will have enough money to figure it out yourself. I, honestly, don't care as long as this compartment fully belongs to me. So do we reach a mutually satisfactory agreement?”
"It is a temptation," he pauses and looks over Hux, from top to bottom, and then to top again, lingering in the middle.
His gaze and tone make Hux think he is not talking about the money.
"Such a temptation to take your dirty money and do as you command," he makes a step closer and whispers barely audible, "do you propose that to everyone or only to me? Am I special?"
Hux feels lost. What is he talking about? What is going on? Why is he so close? Why does his cologne smell like the air after a storm?
"I can take it," his voice is utterly obscene now. The man comes even closer, making Hux step back and lean against the door "Oh, I can take it all," the man licks his lips. “And then we will reach a mutually satisfactory agreement.”
Hux should move, say something, the man could be insane, dangerous, but he is frozen, unable to talk, partially shocked and partially curious about where it is all going. Maybe he met a hooker who is desperate to find clients?
"You'd like it. Proposing such a thing to strangers, you..." he doesn't finish because the train jolts, and starts moving, slowly accelerating its speed.
The man takes a step back, sits on the bunk near his backpack and grins at Hux.
"Sorry, pumpkin." his voice is at normal volume again, and it is full of mockery, "Too late. Now we are stuck here together for the long cold Ukrainian night."