Chapter Text
He should have thought this through just a bit more, but there simply wasn’t enough time.
Shoot me in the arm, he’d told him, right after refusing to go with them.
It was a wound that wouldn’t be too serious; one he could still walk away from without impeding his own ability to protect himself. One that would provide him alibi for helping the three escape.
Hux had been shot in the leg instead, the suddenness and surprise dropping him to the floor as much as the pain itself. He was outraged in the first second, then considered the next that this would surely play better in solidifying his innocence as part of his cover.
That’s when he realized the wound was bleeding. Profusely.
They’d taken him with them for that fact, a trail of blood in their wake as he could do little to defy the pilot’s arm around his waist with the pain of the wound in his thigh.
Was this technically a kidnapping? Did it even matter? If he kept bleeding the way he was, it would no longer be a problem.
He was half in Poe Dameron’s lap on the floor of the cockpit, the man putting pressure on the wound with his hands over Hux’s own. They’d made the jump to lightspeed already, but they’d taken far too long to see to Hux’s injury. The blood-loss was severe, even with the paltry supplies from the ship’s med-kit staunching the wound.
The white bandaging and trauma-kit was really only a quick-fix, but Hux needed real medical attention.
“Rey, we gotta hurry! He’s lost too much blood!”
“We’ll be there soon.”
Hux had his eyes shut against the pain, grimacing as Dameron’s hand pressed harder into his leg. It woke him up a bit, but he was dizzy; disoriented. The way he was sort of propped up sideways in the man’s lap only made him spin more, not to mention the indignity.
He leaned back hard until he could feel durasteel behind him. It didn’t help with his sense of orientation. Confusion mixed with the surreality of his situation as the world spun around him, and Hux made a noise of pain.
The pain was real at least. Solid. It jolted through his consciousness and grounded him at the point where the other man’s hand pressed into the wound. He was cold-- or at least he was shaking- and so much was going on it was becoming harder and harder to focus. He wished he could block out the sound like he could his vision.
“Are they tracking us?”
“I don’t think so. We got out of there quick enough.”
He wished they wouldn’t talk so much. If he had to die here, he wanted it to be quiet. At least the arm around his back steadying him was warm. That was some small modicum of comfort to the reality of bleeding out on an old freighter in the enemy’s arms.
Was he the enemy still, though? Hux wasn’t sure. He was a traitor, probably. He was becoming less sure with every beat of his heart. Blood loss, his brain supplied again. Kriff.
“...I didn’t mean to hit an artery.”
The wookie growled something Hux was certain was rude. He didn’t care. At least the traitor’s voice had sounded slightly regretful of his actions. It made morbid satisfaction rise in Hux; that he’d be affected by Hux’s death in some way. Maybe Hux’s actions had helped them even more than he’d assumed.
His smile came out a grimace.
“I know.” The arm at Hux’s back shifted, and the fingers on his leg adjusted. “Shit he’s pale.” He winced and hissed as more pressure was applied to his thigh. “You hang in there, Hugs.”
Hugs. Yeah, that’s who was holding him. The pilot who’d once humiliated him, but that he was fairly sure had been his contact this whole time.
Dying on the floor with Poe Dameron’s hands on him, what a fate. That was a better death than he expected from this life, if he were being entirely honest with himself. The nickname, though, he was still prickled by, and alive enough to voice his opinion on such matters.
Hux opened his eyes with a feeling of annoyance that was quickly replaced with a sudden acute awareness of the man holding him.
He couldn’t remember anyone being this close to him that wasn’t somehow threatening in nature. The care in his body language alone was loud and obvious. Striking. And he could see Dameron’s stubble; lines at the corners of his eyes from smiling; the way the man’s brows were knit together as he concentrated on keeping Hux’s hand sealed under his own, fingers flexing.
The expression on Dameron’s face was one of genuine, open concern, which was also distracting to Hux’s nearly-drunken state of mind. It was getting harder to think. He couldn’t remember what he was annoyed about. If the damn room would stop spinning, he might be able to. The longer he looked at the other man’s face, though, the longer it didn’t matter.
Poe’s eyes locked on Hux’s, the dazed look there worrying as Hux retracted one of his hands from beneath Poe’s own. Still strong enough to move his limbs. That was minorly reassuring. Maybe he wouldn’t die. Poe gave his hand a squeeze. They were both still sticky with his blood. “You still with me buddy?” BB-8 beeped a warning about Hux’s blood-pressure. He nodded to the droid before looking from Hux to the cockpit. “I know. Rey, how far are we?”
“Ten minutes out. How are you doing back there?”
Hux’s hand began to rise of its own volition as he stared up at the other man holding him. He’d never had this, had he? Someone touching him kindly with genuine concern for his well-being. A firm hand over one of his own, skin-to-skin and warm and real.
Was it real? Was he already hallucinating?
He wasn’t so far gone that his logic was, though. It was more likely that he’d been left to bleed out in the hall, and this was all some hopeful fantasy before his brain starved of oxygen and he died. He’d definitely rejected Dameron’s offer to come with them-- the way the man’s face had fallen, that had been the source of this hallucination in a cockpit, surely- and he’d been shot in the leg instead of the arm like he’d asked. Probably some petty revenge for rejecting the offer. Only it had gone wrong.
And now he was bleeding to death, left in that corridor as they made their escape, but thinking he was in the arms of a man who’d once mocked him, being spirited to safety.
That sounded much more plausible, his brain supplied. This was war. These things happened. And if he was hallucinating this badly, then he’d probably be dead before long.
It didn’t matter if this was real or not, then, his brain also reasoned.
“...Dameron?” Hux spoke softly, looking at the pilot’s face and wondering how his stubble might feel. Would it feel real for the hallucination? Like the hand on his or the thigh at his back? His vision kept getting splotchy, questioning his own coherence and grip on reality.
The pilot was looking at him now, at least. And that opened up a whole new world of things for Hux to be distracted by.
“What is it?” Poe wasn’t going to ask if he was okay-- he obviously was not- but he was encouraged that Hux still had a voice. It was breathy, but if the general was still coherent and awake-- and knew who he was- then he was still okay. His eyes were glassy and his face was pale, but he only had to hang on a bit longer. Poe had Hux’s attention, anyways. The man’s gaze was locked on his own in focus. “Speak to me, Hugs.”
Hux’s fingers made contact with his jaw first, and Poe realized as the other man’s palm bloomed on his cheek, that he was being touched. Caressed. Poe was confused only a moment before realization took him, and he felt heat enter his cheeks at the craziness of it all.
This was hardly the time to get excited over anything, let alone the delirious touches of a man dying in his arms. Yet here the general of the First Order was-- their spy; a man Poe had secretly been fantasizing about for over a year since he’d had his suspicions on that- actually caressing his cheek.
Hux dragged the pad of his thumb over Poe’s jaw to his chin, feeling it with a sort of unrepentant grin as the pilot’s brows raised. His glassy gaze was locked with Poe’s own. “...You have beautiful eyes.”
Poe’s mouth hung open just a bit. That was certainly unexpected, and this was absolutely not the time to be super flattered by that, even if he could feel his face heating with a little more than concern. From what they knew about the general, and Poe’s own interactions and guesses, this was the last thing he expected. Being called scum by the man was normal. This?
This was… exactly out of some of his dirty fantasies where he got to play the hero and save the day. Poe was trying to save his life, doing his best to that end, but-- General fucking Hux? in his lap and stroking his cheek and saying he was beautiful?
“Shit he’s dying!”
Hux let his arm drop back to his lap, dizzy for the loudness and proximity of Dameron’s alarmed voice and how the man changed his hold on him. Hux was annoyed again, and it was hard to keep track of things. He was pretty certain that he was going to black out with the way his vision kept tunneling, and he was entirely dependent upon Dameron keeping him upright at that. The only thing he was able to focus on was keeping his hand on his thigh which was still soaked in blood.
The man above him was exchanging worried tones with the others as Hux fought to keep his consciousness. The droid beeped shrilly, and Dameron’s hands both squeezed his arm as he spoke some kind encouragement that was hard for Hux to follow in this state.
He thoroughly wished they’d all be quiet and let him die in peace.