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Finn’s heart is racing, steady thumps under the snug plastoid armor he stole from the guard outside the interrogation room. He’s never liked enclosed spaces, and the way the helmet makes the air around his mouth sour and warm only adds to the tight feeling in his chest that’s limiting his ability to breathe. His fingers twitch on the grip of his newly acquired blaster, an uncoordinated movement with the extra bulk of his gloves. Honestly it’s no wonder Stormtroopers are terrible shots, given the extreme lack of visibility of these damn helmets and the poor grip of his too-thick fingers.
The pilot hasn’t said a word, despite Finn nearly dragging him out of the corridor and into a nearby storage closet. At least Finn’s pretty sure it’s a pilot, since the man’s wearing what looks like a black flightsuit, but he’s been wrong before. But there’s that tell-tale pull in his gut, the one that’s never led him astray, and it’s saying “Him! Pick him!”
“Listen carefully. If you do exactly as I say, I can get you out of here.”
Finn’s voice sounds odd coming in through the static of the modulator, like listening to a worn recording on a beaten up speaker. The pilot still says nothing, one arm coming up to protect his chest in a defensive gesture as he warily leans away from Finn. With a frustrated sigh, Finn pulls the helmet off his head, taking a big gasp of fresh air as he does. He drops the helmet to the floor where it lands with a solid thud, and the pilot’s head snaps down to watch it fall. There’s no way to read the pilot’s expression underneath his helmet, a faceless black mask that stares Finn down.
“That’s against protocol,” the pilot states, breathless and full of disbelief. Finn’s teeth clench nervously, his fingers shift on the trigger of the blaster he’s holding at his side. Maybe the Force isn’t with him today, or something about Kylo Ren digging around in his head crossed the wrong wires and his half-formed escape plan is about to be cut short.
Maybe it’s his imagination, but the pilot seems to lean towards him ever so slightly, like he might actually be willing to hear out whatever crazy scheme Finn’s about to propose. Still looks like he thinks he’s about to take a beating, so Finn looks at him with as much confidence as he can. “Can you fly a TIE Fighter?”
“I’m a pilot,” he says as if it’s self-explanatory. He inches in a little closer to look at Finn, like he’s a puzzle he can’t quite figure out, “Whose instructions are you operating under?”
“No, no,” Finn shakes his head, “I’m with the Resistance, I’ve gotta get out of here.”
The pilot reels back, like he brushed up against a live wire. His focus turns from Finn to quickly scan the room, looking up at the ceiling where the overhead light doesn’t quite reach the dark corners. Finn can feel his eyebrows furrowing, and he glances around to try and see what the pilot is so desperately looking for, all the while tightening his grip on the blaster. “This is a test right?” the pilot asks, his voice hushed and strained with nerves.
“What? No! I-” Finn takes a deep breath, tries to radiate calm even though his heart’s still racing and his hands are trembling. He looks straight into the eye sockets of the pilot’s mask and tells him earnestly, “This is a rescue. I’m helping you escape.”
“I-” the pilot hesitates before continuing nervously, “I don’t need to be rescued. I follow the rules, I swear.”
At this point Finn knows he’s losing valuable time. That any moment someone is going to come looking for him in his cell and realize that their captive has gone missing. His time before the First Order tracks down BB-8 is ticking away and it’s not like he’s got any to spare. He really ought to ditch the pilot and make a break for it himself. But he hasn’t got the slightest idea of how to disable the locking devices on any of the TIEs, and he honestly doubts he can figure out how to fly one while simultaneously gunning down anyone who gets in his way. Honestly, he wouldn’t make it five klicks before being shot to smithereens. The only way he might possibly be able to make this insane plan work is if he can convince someone to help him.
“Oh, c’mon buddy,” he sighs, desperation leaking into his voice. “I need a pilot. I don’t have the codes to override the nav locks. I can get us out of here, but I need your help. Please.”
A silence stretches between them, broken up only by the muffled sound of boots marching past on the other side of the door. Finn nervously chews at his bottom lip, heart pounding frantically in his chest. The pilot reaches up, slowly eases the helmet off his head.
It’s a man, a few years older than Finn, with dark brown hair that’s mussed up from being inside his helmet and a light shadow of stubble on his jaw. His eyes are warm and dark, but wide with shock as they dart about the room nervously, as if someone’s going to barge in any moment. Still, he’s one of the most attractive men Finn has ever seen, and he’s looking at Finn like he’s larger than life, like he’s a dashing hero from the stories his Ma told him growing up.
“You can?” The man asks nervously, his helmet still held against his chest, his fingers clinging to the edges in a deathly grip. Without the mask Finn can see the slight glimmer of what might be hope in the other man’s eyes, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Finn beams at him, adrenaline and excitement starting a fire down his veins. “Yeah. Yeah, I can.”