Chapter Text
“Let go of me right now, you nerf!” General Armitage Hux hisses at the dark-haired man who’s just dragged him behind a large cargo crate.
“Aw, come on now, Hugs, I’m not that smelly!” Poe Dameron lifts his arm and sniffs his armpit, clad in a First Order officer’s uniform. “Yeah, I’m good. All manly, no stink.”
Hux fights the urge to roll his eyes so hard they’ll pop right out of his head. That pompous fool! Just how did this day get so out of hand? Kidnapped by someone whose exposure would ruin all of Hux’s carefully devised plans. Hux has to get rid of him, and fast! They’re already in the Steadfast’s hangar, where Dameron plans to permanently borrow a shuttle.
Several meters away, a pair of stormtroopers tramps past in the hush before shift change, weapons slung with the practiced looseness of men who never expect trouble in the command hangar of the Steadfast. Hux’s mouth goes white at the corners as he huddles beside Poe in the shadow of the crate, wanting to pop out from behind it and berate the lot of them for their inattentiveness.
Instead he twists at Dameron’s wrist as if he might rip it off for a trophy in another attempt to get back his freedom. Poe just thaws his grip a little but keeps holding on. Hux hates the other man’s superior strength.
“Look, I’m not here to kidnap you,” Poe says, keeping his tone low and friendly, and his thumb gently moves across Hux’s gloved hand. “I’m here to save you. We have reason to believe that your spying has been discovered.”
“Nonsense. I am not defecting,” Hux seethes.
“Who says anything about defecting? Maybe you’re just... departing. Temporarily. Think of it as a holiday.”
“You are going to get us both incinerated,” Hux whispers. The whites of his eyes flick toward the open shuttle across the hangar deck. “You absolute lunatic.”
“Well, that’s General Lunatic to you,” Dameron says, and rises so fast he practically deadlifts Hux by his elbow. “On your feet, pal. We’re going to waltz it.” He adjusts his cap. “Nice and easy now.”
Hux tries to plant his heels, but Dameron has already gained momentum. Nobody notices them under the glare of the shift horn and the rotation of landing lights.
Halfway to the shuttle, Hux stops pretending to cooperate and goes fully deadweight. Dameron nearly overbalances.
“If I leave, I will never get back in. Ren wins. I can’t let him.” Hux whispers.
“If you stay, you’re dead.” Poe claps a hand on his back and guides him forward, muttering, “Resistance doesn’t want you dead. Neither do I, personally. We need you.”
They pass under the nose of a parked bomber. Hux hisses, “What, you think I’m some kind of selfless hero? Dameron, the only reason I’ve helped your sorry insurrection is so I can watch Kylo Ren’s career wither and die. That’s it.”
“Yeah, I don’t really care. Come on.”
Hux is in the shuttle before he’s aware of moving, hauled up the ramp by Dameron’s big hand and shoved into the copilot’s seat as if he’s nothing but a crate of ration bars. Dameron seals the hatch and slouches into the pilot’s chair, running startup as if he’s done it a thousand times, which, blast it, he probably has. Hux’s heart hammers in his throat. He stares at the control console: familiar, perfect in its order and hierarchy. The physical symbol of everything he’s spent his life constructing. One button-press away from being ruined by some hotshot Resistance clown with a death wish.
The shuttle lurches as Poe bypasses the launch queue, the console crackling to life as Hangar Control commands them to stand down. Hux punches in the override codes without thinking - and they’re out in space.
“Look at you, already making yourself useful,” Poe grins, working the sticks.
“I don’t plan on dying. Your flight technique borders on suicidal. It’s a miracle the Resistance has anyone left alive,” Hux spits, bare-knuckled on the armrest.
The Steadfast’s hangar shrinks in the viewscreen, the black of space swelling all around. For the first time in years, Hux feels small. Off-script. No longer the hand at the throat of command, but a rat in a drainpipe. His stomach tilts with the acceleration, or maybe just with loathing for Dameron’s cavalier piloting.
The navicomputer blinks, green and expectant. Dameron jams in coordinates, but Hux slaps his hand away, fingers stiff with terror.
“Are you insane? You just plot random jumps? Without even-”
Dameron shrugs, “I trust my luck.”
“You trust your - get out of my seat.” Hux surges forward, and they grapple over the yoke, limbs colliding, boots tangling under the console. Hux’s knee slams hard into the emergency hyperdrive lever. A warning siren wails, and the shuttle shakes as if it were being torn apart.
Poe’s face is inches from his. “They will start shooting at us, you know.”
“And whose fault would that be!” Hux makes another try for the navicomputer, but Dameron is all muscle and leverage, not even straining as he yanks the controls free and punches the throttle. The universe slips sideways and explodes into hyperblue.
For a breathless, infinite second, the only thing holding Hux together is pressure and spite. He’s pressed side-to-side with his worst mistake at the mercy of hyperspace.
Then everything goes black.
Hux wakes choking on smog and, strangely enough, salt. The world is bobbing and blindingly bright. He snatches at the closest thing which happens to be Dameron’s arm, the only solid thing in the madness. Dameron is crowing with laughter, wild-eyed, the collar of his uniform singed and smoking.
“Why are you laughing, you absolute moron?” Hux glares at him, willing the other man to stop the inane noise.
“We’re alive Hux! We crashed, we landed on water, and we’re alive!”
Hux looks around. The cockpit glows with emergency red lights, while glaring natural light streams through the shuttle's windows and cuts its way through the exhaust fumes.
But then Hux smells it - the rest of the shuttle must have ignited in the fall.
“Manual release!” Hux shouts. He shoves the lever and the cockpit pops back up, giving them a brief view of a world covered in water.
“We have to get away from here! They’re going to track us within moments,” Hux hastily starts to disable communications and tracking devices. Through the haze, he sees the shuttle burning, but the pod is already drifting away from the main wreckage, carried by indifferent waves.
“Then let’s move,” Dameron grins, and shoves himself back into the pilot seat. Behind them, something explodes, and the pod tilts hard to starboard, nose dipping. Hux holds on for dear life.
At least the wreckage makes them slightly less of a target, if they move away fast enough.
He’s about to launch into a tirade about Dameron’s piloting and that he better proves that he can get them away this time when Dameron claps a hand over his mouth. Just what is it with all the touching? And why does Hux feel the sudden urge to lick Dameron’s palm?
“Don’t speak,” Dameron whispers. “Just listen.”
There: a deep, mechanical whine, cycling up and down, too throaty for stormtrooper tech. Even over the hiss of surf, it’s getting louder. Not precision, not First Order. Something older, more desperate. Hux’s skin prickles cold.
“Pirates,” Dameron lets go and grabs the controls. “Raider skiff.” His face is set, all business now. He’s moving them away from the still burning rest of the shuttle with practiced efficiency. “They’ll hit the wreck first. Maybe five minutes before they sweep for survivors.”
He accelerates.