Chapter Text
Hux should have seen it coming. The so-called Supreme Leader had gone traipsing off into battle- showing off, as usual, in his supposedly “superior” TIE- and Hux had felt himself relax on the bridge for the first time in months without the Force-fueled child breathing down his neck. He’d tried to make a bid for Grand Marshal, or even just a firm position as Ren’s most trusted counselor, but it was clear he’d need to be patient for those. Ren spent most of his time alone meditating, or brooding, whatever it was he did in the dark. Hux didn’t care, so long as Ren knew that he wasn’t expendable. He was patient. Either Ren would promote him, or eventually he would do something about Ren and take the position for himself. One or the other was a simple eventuality. Hux could wait it out. After all, look how patient he had been with his father.
Fate, apparently, had other plans.
Peavey had waited until the bridge crew were distracted by the battle, begged a word with Hux in his private office. Hux nodded- the battle was going well, especially with Ren out of his hair, making a nuisance of himself to the Resistance instead of his own officers for once and chasing down X-Wings. It was a small Resistance frigate, an old one to boot. Easy prey.
Hux felt the shift as soon as he crossed the threshold. He’d always been able to read people, Force users aside. Peavey’s posture changed, just slightly. His hand shifted. Hux turned and caught the glint of Peavey’s blaster as his hand slammed the door control.
The shot still got through.
“Kriff- kriff- kriff-” It hurts. It hurts significantly. He’d forced Peavey to fire early, so the blast went low. Not his head, nor a gut shot, either of which would probably have killed him instantly. Hux’s left thigh is searing. He draws his own blaster with a shaking hand and shoots out the door controls. No way in, no way out. He can hear more blaster fire on the bridge. Shouting. Someone screaming. Stumbling to his desk, he pulls up the security feeds of the bridge as he rips off his belt and ties it above the blaster wound. Peavey, the traitorous bastard, isn’t alone. There is a group of them, all older, Imperial-era hardliners, escorting his most loyal away from their posts over the bodies of what looked like Tritt Opan, Unamo, and a few others. The ones that would have reacted with a violence to any suggestion of harm to their General. Poor Mitaka is crying when they force him away from his station, little Lusica Stynnix, a young but remarkably useful transfer from the remnants of the Supremacy’s crew, clinging onto his arm, holding him up, but at least Peavey’s men aren’t shooting them once they get away from their consoles. There is a large group of stormtroopers gathering just outside the bridge in support of Peavey’s group as well, taking over the escort of the other officers once they’re pushed from the room- probably to the brig. This is the shit he has to deal with without Phasma telling them what to do. Apparently they’d just throw their loyalty at whoever’s orders sounded the most interesting.
He doubts when Ren gets back he will take too kindly to the restructuring. The thought gives him a bit of pleasure, the idea of Ren coming to his rescue- assuming that Hux won’t bleed out before he returns.
Which- actually, if he was pulling this on his commander, something he has more than a little experience with... He pulls up the audio. Peavey thinks he’s smart. He’s just going to shoot Ren down. If he thinks it’s that simple, he hasn’t been paying enough attention.
Hux hails him on his private comm line. “Ren- Supreme Leader, you must return to the ship. Peavey’s lost his mind. He’s planning to kill you.” And me, as it happens.
“I know.”
“You… know.” Hux blinks. I kriffing hate the kriffing Force.
“He won’t manage it.” He sounds far too casual about it. Hux immediately feels deeply and personally offended. Typical.
“He won’t- Ren, he shot me.”
“You aren’t dead.”
“I am trapped in my own office while a coup is occurring on my bridge. And he SHOT ME. Get back here and deal with this!”
He hears Ren sigh. Oh, inconveniencing you, am I, you little shit- “General-” There is a rumbling noise through the comm. Hux glances out his viewport. Three large Resistance ships, some revamped version of the old Mon Calamari hulks, drop out of hyperspace, incinerating a large amount of TIE fighters misfortunate to be in their path. Lovely. As if things couldn’t get worse. Ren makes a dissatisfied noise. “Fend for yourself. I am busy.”
Hux flips back into the bridge’s audio and listens, frowning. They aren’t going to call for backup, and Peavey thinks the Resistance would likely take care of Ren for them. Idiot. They’re just going to leave Ren there and jump without him. “Ren- listen to me, Peavey is going to leave you behind-”
“Let him. I can follow. Cease distracting me,” the so-called Supreme Leader growls into his comm.
Hux hears the line disconnect with a very firm click. “Kriffing child…” Hux pulls up his datapad. The Finalizer would take a bit to prep for hyperdrive, especially with the shift in bridge personnel, unfamiliar people at stations they aren’t used to. He has some time time to plan. They haven’t managed to revoke his security access yet- but Peavey sent some of the troopers to get the appropriate equipment to cut through his office door. Good. That would take them longer than they thought, it was quad-layered durasteel. Hux drafted the schematics himself in case of a sudden disruption to the bridge, such as someone putting a missile through it. He’s rather hoping the Resistance gets one in so he can test the design while watching Peavey’s head rupture in vacuum.
He flips through the security feeds until he finds Mitaka and the others. His brow furrows. They aren’t near the brig. His mind speeds up, analyzing their path, the likely outcomes….
Oh.
The troopers are planning to eject them from an airlock.
“Absolutely not,” Hux growls at his console. He puts in a sequence of override codes. As if he’d have planned this room to be his fortress in case of bridge collapse without also building in everything he’d need to also run his damn ship. The first triggers the next door the troopers mean to walk through to read as ‘closed due to mechanical failure’, forcing them to turn down a different hall. They walk a ways down it before Hux drops an emergency vacuum sealant door, cutting off the rear guard of the troopers from his officers. Then he clicks on the comm to the hallway. “Stynnix. I hope you were paying attention to Opan.”
The corner of her lip quirks up, visible even on the monitor. He can see a little shift at her wrist and she leaps up to the closest trooper and rams a vibroblade through the weak point in his armor just under the helmet. She’s fast. Opan had been a decent instructor. Mitaka, on the other hand, is shocked almost into catatonia, staring as the troopers round on them. “Mitaka. Pick up that gun. Clear a path.”
Mitaka always responds well to clear, direct orders. He hefts the troopers rifle and opens fire. The other officers follow suit, arming themselves as troopers fall. Hux can’t help but be impressed as Lusica darts forward and puts her blade through another trooper’s faceplate. He smirks darkly. How utterly tragic that stormtroopers were considered so expendable that their armor was far more for psychology than actual use. Terribly. Tragic.
When the hall is clear, he can see them turn. The troopers stuck behind the vacuum door are trying to get through. Unsuccessfully, for now, but eventually one of them might be smart enough to try a different corridor.
“Shuttle bay,” Hux snaps into the comm.
The officers run.
He flips through the cameras and remotely sets the on-sequence for the nearest hyperdrive-equipped shuttle, assigning the nearest droids to join it as well, mostly since he isn’t sure how recently any of his team have piloted. “Berth 9. Your route should be clear if you hurry. Mitaka.” He can see the younger man’s head snap up. “Consider yourself in command. You are going to have to make a decision about where to go. Peavey may have the support of others in the Order, but there might be someone out there you can trust. Use your best judgement.”
Mitaka jogs forward and locates a comm terminal by the shuttle bay entry as the others run on into the shuttle, taking down a few troopers that try and stop them. Hux lets himself smile thinly as he realizes there are technicians and a few troopers that seem to be joining his wayward, fleeing band. “Sir? We can loop around and acquire your escape pod, sir, I know there’s one in-”
“No time. You’ll be shot down by the Resistance if Peavey doesn’t get you first.” Hux sighs. He’s out of options, here in his little fortress. Waiting to die. “Consider this a promotion, Mitaka. Get the others somewhere safe. Assess. You’ll think of something.”
“Yes sir.” Mitaka, bless him, salutes the camera. Hux feels something strain in his chest as he watches all that remains of his team, his officers, board the shuttle, lifting off just as another battalion of stormtroopers makes it into the bay and opens fire. Hux overrides the blast doors and crushes a number of them where they stand, his eyes stinging. Traitors.
He takes a breath and sinks back into his chair, eyeing his blaster. Nothing else to do but wait for them to come. He used to be an excellent shot. He wonders how many of them he’ll be able to take with him. It won’t be long now.
He hears it through his surveillance feed of the bridge.
“Heyyyy there Finalizer, I’m holding for General Hugs.” Hux stares at the feed, hearing a stunned, pained laugh erupt from his own chest. “You all are looking a bit outnumbered and we’re sort of hoping you’ll make this easy on us and surrender.”
Hux shakes his head. I don’t deserve you, Dameron. How many times had Dameron tried to offer him a way out, how many coded messages laid down in full sight of both their crews, without anyone knowing? And every time Hux refused, ignoring the offer. Every time. But not today.
There is, improbably, one more option, one more chance, one last thing he could do other than sit here and wait to die.
He grins despite himself and sets to work.
A drawer in his desk contains what he is looking for- a small bit of metal and plasteel that he links between his datapad and the expansive console in front of him. He loads it into his computer and begins the transfer. He won’t take it all. There are ships out there that he knows have the best interests of the Order at heart, Admirals and Generals who won’t side with Peavey. He’d leave those be. But the others… he doesn’t feel too badly about sacrificing them. Contacts he had long distrusted would be burned. Research that is not his own could be pawned away… yes, he had a good idea what would be ideal for that. He needs the leverage, if he’s going to ensure his plan works. As it copies he removes a set of curved metal sections and a small spherical casing, more a prototype than anything else, and clicks its pieces into place.
As for his own plans, his weapon designs- those are in his head. He wipes them from the pad and from the Finalizer’s system. Peavey will not have them.
The hiss at the door and the faint red glow through the plasteel tells him they’re starting to cut through. What else, what else…. He doesn’t have time. He copies over the list of Resistance targets, sympathizers, where some of them misfortunate enough to be captured are being held. The door is warping. It will have to be enough. He withdraws the datapad, tucks it into an inside pocket of his greatcloak, and sets the small prototype orb on the desk. One press to the button on its top allows him to withdraw a bit of plasteel the length of a stylus with pressure points all along its body. He closes it in his fist.
The last thing he does at his desk is reach into the lowest drawer, one sealed to his own biometrics, and pull out a long, slim box. He carries it to a side wall of the room and taps a panel. A piece of the wall recedes and reveals a single-capacity escape pod. This was it, then. He takes one last glance around his office, his own personal throne room for the last few years. It hurts, what he’s about to do to it. Hopefully it will hurt them more.
The pod’s hatch closes as his office door gives way. His eyes meet Peavey’s and Hux makes an extremely rude Arkanisian hand gesture at him, smirking as he slaps the escape pod control. As the pod ejects, Hux lets the pressure control in his hand fall.
The eruption of fire hurls his pod out faster than it’s meant to go. Alarms shriek in his ears, but he smiles all the same. The bomb, a novel design he hadn’t previously managed to test, isn’t meant for a large impact, though Hux holds out hope that he has managed to blow Peavey’s traitorous head off- but it would surely inconvenience them, and more importantly it renders his console impossible to hack by virtue of turning everything in its immediate vicinity into a fine powder, so everything he had ripped off the network would remain unknown. They would probably think he was just protecting designs once they realize they’re gone- and he is. But that’s not his only goal, not anymore.
He shuffles around in the narrow space to make room for the case, clenching his teeth to prevent himself from crying out when the blaster wound in his leg brushes the wall. It had partially cauterized in the heat, but he’s still hemorrhaging, even with the belt tied off above it. He probably should have taken the med kit with him too. Ah, well. Hindsight.
The case is narrow enough to slide up the narrow confines of the pod and partially open against the space under his ribs. His old rifle, folded up and neatly put away, gleams at him. He smiles at it and brushes a finger over it, putting the nostalgia of the gesture up to blood loss. What he really needs is the small white comm tucked in beside the barrel. Twelve years. I’ve had this for twelve years. And no one knew. No one alive, anyway. He’d always suspected Phasma knew, and Dami had even met him, once. Both dead now, Dami for years and years. But he's kept it charged whenever he takes out the gun to clean, which had grown less and less frequent over the years. Perhaps it’s the ritual of it that made him keep it up. Something about seeing the little green light when he would boot it up… he can only hope there is enough charge left now to make one final call.
A low hum emits from the comm and the light blinks at him soothingly. Hux sighs. Last chance for regrets…. He glances out the small viewport as the Finalizer finishes its turn and vanishes into hyperspace. Well. No room for regrets, then.
He feels a little lightheaded as he toggles the comm. “Dameron, I’m very much hoping you still use this frequency.”
He waits, holding the comm to his chest, eyes closed. Of course he doesn’t use this frequency anymore. They were on opposing sides of a war. Either they’d see Hux’s pod and grab him anyway, or he would just drift and drift…
“Hugs?”
Hux startles enough that he bangs his leg off the side of the pod again. Kriff, but that is really starting to hurt. “Indeed.”
“But… the Finalizer is out of range. This comm won't work in hyperspace.”
“Yes. I’m… probably two klicks to your left. Escape pod.”
“You’re in an escape pod.”
Hux lays his head against the back of the pod, feeling somewhat faint, unsure whether it’s from an overwhelming sense of relief or shock setting in. His vision is blurring. “Yes. Don’t repeat me. There was a bit of an incident.”
“An inc-”
“What did I say. About. Repeating.” The rifle case slides back toward his feet. It seems it will take his full attention just to keep the comm near his mouth. “I would appreciate a tractor beam, if you can spare the time. And perhaps the use of your medbay.”
“You’re injured.” Dameron sounds… concerned. Or perhaps that’s the shock. It’s getting a bit hard to tell.
“Yes. Though I’ll be honest, if any of you are planning to execute me, forgo the med bay. I’d rather just bleed out.”
The line gets quiet again. Hux imagines that Dameron is discussing whether or not they ought to kill him. He would understand if they did. If their positions were reversed… well, he could speak to that point with experience.
“...bring you into the hanger. … Hux? You with me?”
Hux blinks. A black out. Not a good sign. “Intermittently. Listen. If I happen to die before you get to me. There’s a datapad in my pocket.”
“You’re not going to die.”
“I’m not entirely certain you have any say in the matter.” He feels the gravity in the pod shift. Tractor beam. That’s nice. Hux relaxes. At least someone would have his body. Dameron would probably even bury him on a planet instead of shooting him out into the nearest star. His vision is fading, even the light of the ships is faint. He feels like he’s on the sea, drifting in and out, and in….
“...about this datapad. … Hux? … Dammit, get him in here!”
Hux wakes again when his pod hits the deck. He squints against the light as Dameron hauls him out. “Kriffing hells.” Hux wheezes. “How can you still pick me up?” he mutters at Dameron.
“One of us had to keep in shape. Where’s my medical team?” Dameron yells out to someone else in the hanger. “Hugs, just hang on for a few.”
“If you keep calling me that… I will be forced… to stab you.”
“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m definitely confiscating your dagger. Medical! Come on, people, get a move on.”
Hux’s head lolls, his cheek landing on Dameron’s chest. He even smells the same, damn him. Something… like wood. He never asked what it was. Hux reaches a shaking hand into his pocket. “Datapad.” Dameron grasps his hand, his bare fingers against Hux’s glove.
“I’ve got it. Try not to move so much.” Dameron lifts him as the medical team arrives with a stretcher. Hux is certain he was bound for a dip in bacta. Not his favorite, but at least he won’t be conscious. Or living, if they took much longer about it. His cheek feels cold without Dameron beside him and Hux tries to reach for him as they take him away, the lights winding into darkness.
“Poe….”
***
“You realize this is a terrible idea.”
“Well.” Poe runs a hand through his hair, trying to keep a smile up at Leia’s holo. “He did give us a ton of information, and we’re not even all the way through analyzing the drive. I think it’s a sign of good faith.”
“Or he’s trying to bait us into something.”
“Well, we’re going to have to wait ‘til he’s conscious to ask him.”
Leia snorts. Yeah, she doesn’t trust this a bit. Poe can’t exactly blame her. “How’s he doing?”
“Not great. They’re not sure about the leg yet. Might have to take it off.” He shrugs. He'd rather have Hux alive without a leg than dead and whole. “Someone tried to kill him. I think he was pretty pissed about it. He loves that damn ship, would’ve had to be bad for him to leave it.” Poe sighs. “Ben was here too, and the Finalizer tried to leave without him. Did, actually, but he’s got a hyperdrive on that monster he flies, we couldn’t bring him in. And from our readings another shuttle took off from the destroyer and left separately. That’s what it looked like, anyway. I’m thinking coup.”
“Hmmm.” The general switches into her analytic mode, the one that made her a damn fine Senator when there was a Senate to be on. “Interesting. Keep an eye out for any propaganda we can intercept. Hux is the face of the whole Order, if they got rid of him deliberately we should see someone else taking over that role. If they expect him back….”
“Then they’ll run recordings that are still him. Yeah. We’ll keep an eye out.”
She nods. “Do. And Poe?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“Remember this is not the same man you knew before. He ordered the destruction of five inhabited planets. That isn’t something forgivable, no matter what he’s come to you with now.”
“I know.” He does know. He does.
“Good. Get me a report when he’s awake.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Poe sighs again as the holo vanishes. If only this had happened before kriffing Starkiller, then keeping Hux alive wouldn’t be so kriffing difficult. He’d still be a high-level defector, but he wouldn’t be…
He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed. At least Hux had held on to the communicator. Held on to it for… what was it now, ten years? More? That had to mean something, even if he’d never responded any of the other times Poe had offered. Over and over. But Hux had his pride, and he really did think the First Order was doing the right thing. “Idiot,” Poe breathes, glaring at the glittering darkness beyond his viewport.
“You are, but this is actually pretty interesting.” Connix was waiting in the doorway with a datapad, one brow arched with a smirk on her face.
“Real nice. I’m not sure which one of us they were punishing by making you my second.”
“Me, I’m sure. Anyway. Your new pet sociopath actually gave us quite a bit. Personnel listings for a few ships, some First Order supplier information-”
“Arms?”
“Looks like a wide range. Parts, credits, fuel.”
Poe smiles. “That’s great. We can make a lot of targeted strikes.”
“That’s not the best bit though. He included a large Imperial-era research file with a ton of recent addendums. I think it’s one you’ll want to see.”
He skims over the header and whistles. “Hyperspace tracking? Shit, he really is serious. Get that to Rose.”
“Already sent. She squealed so loudly into the comm that the audio shorted out.”
“Good. Okay.” Poe puts a knuckle to his lip. Would that be enough? Would anything? They might not kill Hux now, but… a distant chance at forgiveness….
“You still can’t trust him.” Connix had always been a better protege to Leia than Poe had, and she can read him just as well.
Poe grimaces. “I know.”
“It’s nice to know though.”
“What is?”
“That he might have a soul.”
“Yeah.”
She lets him be. Most of the cruiser is, at this point, giving Poe some space. He’d heard them, when they didn’t think he was listening, wondering how the hell General Hux had the frequency to his private comm line. Wondering what it meant.
Poe isn’t sure what the answer to that is himself.
He walks over to the table that serves as his desk when he needs to attend to the more administrative parts of command (most of which were better left to Connix, but some were unavoidable). He opens the container that had come over in the escape pod with Hux, a slim black case with a few scratches in it. He would’ve recognized it anywhere.
He’s opened it several time since Hux arrived, and he knows what he’ll find- polished plasteel, disassembled parts, all still remarkably well cared for.
He picks up the long barrel and spins it on his fingertips.
This is part of the Armitage he remembers. Part of the Armitage who could laugh and feel and even, from time to time, looked like he knew what joy was.
And Hux- General Hux, the face of First Order propaganda; serious, stick-up-the-ass Hux- brought this with him.
Poe has to believe that’s because Armitage- his Armitage- is still in there.
That has to mean there’s a chance for that angry redhead’s soul after all.