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Hux, as a general rule, doesn’t touch people. He also avoids other people’s touch, though that has never been particularly hard.
There is no one he wants to touch or whose touch he feels inclined to tolerate for any reason and he doesn’t see any benefit to his person from accepting it in the first place. The last time he felt hands on his skin, they were around his throat, constricting his breath. It’s the sort of thing he would like to avoid, regardless of how unlikely that situation is to be repeated here.
People obviously don’t share Hux’s views on the matter in the base of the rebranded Resistance (new name pending.) It’s not the most important way in which their views differ from Hux’s, but it is perhaps the one that most frequently and immediately affects him.
Most people aren’t going out of their way to touch him, of course, but there’s always the exception to the rule.
“Are you settling in alright, Hugs?” Dameron asks, joining Hux for breaskfast. It’s the same question every time they meet. Hux has come to somewhat accept the nickname, which in a way, he supposes is its own form of touch, of familiarity. Dameron seems to say it unthinkingly and not mockingly. At least, these days.
Hux is physically well; his leg and chest injuries are completely healed. He is relatively safe, until the interim government decides what to do with him, that is. Everyone on base avoids being openly hostile to him, though he can’t imagine they’re happy to have him living amongst them or happy with Dameron for bringing him here.
“I’m fine, thank you.” He tries to be polite and not go out of his way to antagonize them. He finds it refreshing that he at least doesn’t have to flatter and fawn over anyone here. He spent too many years playing sycophant for individuals who were unworthy of his respect, let alone his adulation. It’s humiliating to be forced to play nice with the enemy, but he supposes shared goals didn’t exactly make Snoke or Ren or Pryde his friends.
It’s not particularly difficult with Dameron who, while deeply obnoxious, does seem to be trying his best. Not even in the way Hux has encountered this so-called ‘best’ in the past — a brazen excuse to embrace mediocrity. He seems to be making an actual effort to be less of a failure, which is something that Hux can appreciate, and maybe even respect, in a person.
He sees him around all the time, looking harried and out of his depth. With his droid, with various government representatives and frequently with the former stormtrooper and Ren’s Jedi — Rey, he reminds himself. Ren is gone and left nothing, no one behind — always laughing and talking animatedly, hugging and touching. Hux always makes a point to look away. It’s none of his business and it’s of no relevance to him in any way.
There are also the weekly chats he seems to believe he has to subject himself and Hux to in the name of diplomacy or effective leadership or some other misguided notion. Today, at least, there seems to be a point to his visit.
“You’ll need to talk to some government officials next week. They want to get on record the names and activities of the senators who were collaborating in secret with the First Order.”
“Didn’t I tell you all this already?”
“You did, but this is big. You can’t fault them for not wanting to rely on second-hand information. They want to hear it from you,” Dameron says.
Hux scoffs. “Do they not trust you to be able to take notes?”
“Hux, this isn’t some sort of power move. Cooperate, it’ll look good for you.”
“Will you be there?” Hux asks.
Dameron frowns, which tells Hux it was the wrong thing to say. Maybe Dameron misinterpreted it. Hux was asking out of curiosity. “Do you want me there? I could try.”
“No, that’s alright.”
“It’ll be fine,” Dameron says, patting his knee. Hux tries not to lean into or away from the touch.
Dameron is, as expected, not there to accompany Hux to his interview. It’s fine, because it’s not like Dameron’s presence would make a difference in anything, in any way. He is, however, there when Hux exits.
He’s leaning against the wall and doing something on his datapad when Hux comes out and asks, “how was it?”
There were fewer than expected glares sent in his general direction, so he’s considering them downright friendly. “It was fine. I played nice.”
“That’s not what I meant, but I’m glad to hear it.” He puts his datapad away. “Let’s go home, then.”
Dameron guides him with a hand on the small of his back and Hux reminds himself that this is how Dameron acts with everyone. There is nothing special about this, at all.
Hux has, and has always had, trouble sleeping. It’s not precisely that he believes he’ll wake up with a blade in his back — though that has been a concern in the past — he just feels restless. Aching to do something, tired of the endless waiting. At night, he takes to wander the base. He knows it could be misconstrued as suspicious behavior, but he used to stroll down the corridors of star destroyers and this is the closest thing he has now.
“Hey,” Dameron says, sitting in front of a comm station. Hux didn’t expect anyone to still be awake and the last thing he wants is to be subjected to an interrogation. However, turning around and walking away without an acknowledgement would only look worse. “What are you up to?”
“What are you still doing here?” Hux asks instead. He walks inside the room and sits down next to Dameron. It’s closer than he would usually risk, but if Dameron has a problem with it he can always tell Hux to move away.
“Lost a bet with Finn. Someone has to take the call with the people from Treitov and they are nocturnal. Very nocturnal.”
Hux is not going to offer his thoughts on the practice of using bets to delegate tasks, but it’s appalling.
Dameron leans his head back against the chair, exposing the column of his neck. His shirt is a little open at the top, nothing indecent, but Hux could, if he wanted to, picture the shape of his collarbones.
“Well?”
“What?” Hux says, hastily looking away.
“Talk to me. Help me stay awake. You haven’t told me what you were doing out here.”
“I wasn’t scheming.” Hux is not offended, though. He knows how the situation looks and Dameron, while insistent, is not being openly accusatory. Striking the perfect balance between firm and friendly. It’s something that Hux can admit was always beyond his capabilities.
“Okay, but what were you doing?”
“I was just walking.” Hux can hear how that sounds and cringes. “I couldn’t sleep,” he adds, embarrassed at having to admit something like that.
Dameron nods. “Wanna trade? I could sleep for days.”
“Yes, that sounds good. I’m sure Finn would be happy to wake up to a new co-general.”
He chuckles and pats Hux’s knee twice. “You’re a funny guy.” He doesn’t move his hand away.
After a couple of agonizing minutes where Hux tries not to move or jostle Dameron’s hand in any way, he says, “I’m afraid I’m not doing a very good job of keeping you awake.”
“Kriff, you really are not,” he says with a tired laugh. “But it’s not on you.” He takes his hand away and cards his fingers through his hair.
Hux stares at him and helplessly feels himself wanting to replay the motion on a loop. He wants to recreate it using his hands. Before he can have any more bizarre thoughts, there’s a chime from the station.
“Okay, here we go. Thanks for keeping me company,” Dameron says, his focus already somewhere else.
Finn leaves on a mission of some sort and everyone is extremely tearful about it. There’s a big gathering before he boards the ship and it seems as if everyone has well-meaning words or a hug for him. The Jedi girl, Rey, even leans forward to kiss him, though Hux quickly looks away and misses how lewd, exactly, they are willing to get in public.
He makes himself watch, however, as Dameron pats Finn’s arm, rubs his shoulder, and then hugs him for what seems like ages. At least, it feels that way to Hux. He can’t imagine enduring something like that, how that would feel like. He’s certain he’s been hugged before, but no memory comes to mind.
He’s a little disappointed when less than ten standard days later, Finn returns. It seems it was a successful and not particularly dangerous mission, so what was all that touching for?
Hux has dreams sometimes that make him wake up with his chest aching, like his injuries are not fully healed.
Nothing bad happens in them, not in the conventional sense of the word. Sometimes it’s Dameron touching his back right between his shoulder blades, sometimes he moves close enough to Hux that their knees slot together. Most of the time, it’s the memory of Dameron’s hand high on the inside of Hux’s thigh, gripping tightly while he applied bacta to his blaster wound. A perfect performance of intimacy; feeling, and possibly looking, as real as Dameron’s touch was matter-of-fact and fleeting.
They’re apparently not planning to stay on Ajan Kloss for long. They’re aiming for a proper settlement instead of a makeshift camp this time around. Hux is glad. If he has to stay with them (and where else would he go?) then he’d rather do it far away from the endless trees, unbearable humidity, and oppressive heat of this place.
He doesn’t wander the base at night anymore because he doesn’t want to risk running into other people and have to explain himself. Now he goes far enough outside that all that surrounds him are trees. It doesn’t compare to the calming effect of seeing the vastness of space through a viewport, but it will have to do.
It seems, however, he isn’t the only one who has that idea.
“Did you lose another bet?” Hux asks. If he did, then clearly he should take it as a sign that his approach to management is flawed, at best.
Dameron laughs. “I actually did, yes, but that’s unrelated to why I’m out here.”
When nothing else seems forthcoming, Hux says, “I’ll leave you, then.”
“No, it’s fine. Come on.” He’s sitting with his knees to his chest and pats the space next to him invitingly. “Join me.”
If Hux does, it’s possible their knees will end up bumping against each other, their arms might brush. Hux crosses the distance and sits down. “Why are you out here, then?”
“Wanted to be alone with my thoughts for a bit.” That sounds horrifying, but Hux doesn’t comment. “I’m not sure I want to sign up for a life of endlessly working around bureaucracy and having people depend on my good judgment. How did you do it? Other than, presumably, rampant murder as stress relief.”
Hux ignores the last part. As a joke, it wasn’t funny and as a statement of fact, it wasn’t accurate. Well, not entirely. “I find the discipline that comes from living and working within a rigid military structure comforting.”
“Do you?”
Hux has to think for a second and refrain himself from automatically saying yes. These days he has trouble dealing with the difference between the things he always thought he wanted and the things he finds himself wanting now. The things he thought were purely his and the ones that were inherited.
“Would you go back to that, then, if you had the chance?” Dameron asks.
Oh, that’s where he was going with this. “You’re worried they will set me free and I’ll regroup the remnants of the Order.”
Dameron lifts his shoulder and spreads his hands. “Will you?”
“Your premise is flawed. They will never let me free to roam the galaxy as I please and I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t, though. I can’t lead anyone when I don’t know what my own beliefs are.” Hux clenches his jaw and wills himself to stop talking.
“Order at all costs?” Dameron suggests. Hux supposes he has vague idea of what that would look like, in theory. “If they let you free, after you’re done sightseeing through the galaxy, you could come back here.”
“Come back to Ajan Kloss?” He would never.
Dameron laughs. “No, I meant, come back to us. Work with us.”
I would come back for him, Hux thinks, but doesn’t really understand where the thought comes from. The same way he doesn’t understand this pervasive uneasiness he feels when it comes to Dameron. This desire to be seen despite knowing what a terrible idea it would be. “Is this your way of keeping an eye on me?”
“It could also be your way of doing something good and worthwhile. You’d have the rest of your life ahead of you.”
That’s the most terrifying part about it; his whole aimless, purposeless life ahead of him. “What would I even do?” He hates the way it comes out, almost as if he’s actively looking to be given something to do.
“You’re a smart, resourceful guy. We’d find something for you. Maybe the rest of command would put you in charge. I mean, they hate you but they’re not exactly fond of my leadership skills,” Dameron says with a self-deprecating laugh. “Think about it.” He places his hand on Hux’s knee, squeezing once.
Before he can move his hand away, Hux covers it with his own and grips his fingers, feeling almost desperate to put this disquiet inside him into actions. Hux doesn’t know exactly what his goal was, though, and mortification crawls up his throat.
Dameron stares at him for a moment and then turns his hand so that their palms press together.
Hux tries not to react to the contact, but it’s shocking. He pulls his hand away quickly and stands up. “I will.”
Now that he’s done it once, he has a weird urge to touch Dameron all the time. Nothing inappropriate, he just wants to replicate the easy way touch comes to Dameron, despite knowing he is bound to fail. It’s foolish; he doesn’t like to demonstrate his shortcomings, especially in front of the enemy. Although he supposes this idea of ‘enemies’ lives mostly in his head nowadays. This is not how he would treat an enemy or expect to be treated by one. The war is well and truly over.
The day before Hux’s sentencing, they throw a party. It’s someone’s birthday or some such, but Hux imagines that what they’re actually celebrating is his impending execution. It’s satisfying for him to envision them as cruel and as petty as he is. Hux doesn’t join them. Even if he were welcome, he doesn’t really know them. He wouldn’t have joined his crew on the Finalizer, either.
He briefly stops by just to scan the crowd, but there’s nothing of interest to him. They all seem happy and comfortable around each other, able to forget their problems for a night, able to seek comfort in another person. Not caring that they’re only encouraging each other’s hopeless delusions and futile avoidance.
Hux takes the long way back to his quarters and passes by Dameron’s workspace. “You’re not interested in the celebrations?” Hux is surprised, he thought Dameron would be the type.
He gives Hux a small smile, tired around the edges. “You’re the seventh person to come find me. I’m just wrapping up. One minute.” Is that what it looks like? Like Hux came for him? Like he was seeking him out? It’s not how Hux intended it, but he figures there’s no point in dissuading him of this belief. “Let’s go, then.”
“That’s alright. I was just on my way to my quarters.”
Dameron frowns at him. “In the opposite direction?”
Hux was taking the scenic route, as it were. He doesn’t think he should have to explain himself to Dameron, in any case.
“Come on. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow. This will be good for you. Plus, it’s good for you to interact with other people.”
He means people who are different from Hux. Dameron doesn’t seem to realize that if this were going to be Hux’s last living day he wouldn’t want to spend it seeing these people happily celebrating their lives. As it is, though, “it’s unlikely they’ll send in the firing squad straight away.”
“What?” Dameron says with a confused laugh.
“Nothing.” Hux forgot Dameron is one of them and finds comfort in avoidance and delusions. “Why would you force them to interact with me?”
“Just be your natural charming self. You’ll win them over in no time. Like you did me,” he says and pats him in the arm.
Dameron injured his hand somehow. Not a lot of people seem to know what happened and Dameron brushes off their questions with a joke each time. Hux assumes he got injured in an embarrassing and not very heroic manner. Dameron has most certainly had worse injuries and he also still has a perfectly working hand, but there’s no shortage of people willing to open doors, pull chairs, or carry his things for him. It makes no sense to Hux. Though he figures it is now his turn.
He’s carrying both Dameron’s glass and his own as they make their way through the celebration. Hux didn’t even want a drink to begin with. “How did you get injured?”
“Painfully,” Dameron says earnestly, widening his eyes a little. At Hux’s unimpressed glare, he laughs but doesn’t elaborate.
Hux frowns. “Is this just an aversion to carrying your own things?”
“Hey, you could’ve said no.”
“I don’t believe a lot of people would say no to you.” Hux clenches his jaw and looks away. He meant it as a statement of fact, but he can tell it came across differently.
Dameron thankfully chooses to ignore him. He takes his own glass from Hux’s hand, not pausing when their fingers brush, and says, “I’ll be right back.”
Obviously they measure time differently here. Hux doesn’t see him for the rest of the party.
“There you are. Did you enjoy yourself?” Dameron asks him a couple of hours later when he finds him outside.
Hux feels insulted he would even ask. “No.”
“Do I even want to imagine what parties in the First Order were like? Did you guys finish the night with a nice indoctrination speech?” He’s not too far off, but Hux is not going to tell him that. His past doesn’t exist for Dameron’s amusement. Carefully, he sits down next to Hux, a mirror of just a few weeks ago. Some of the tension is definitely gone, though. His hands casually dangle between the spread of his parted legs. “It’s mostly healed now.”
“What?” Hux says, snapping his eyes back to Dameron’s face.
“My hand?” He moves his wrist back and forth, as if that were a proper method of diagnostic. The movement is somewhat hypnotic, though, and Hux grasps his wrist in an attempt to still him. Once he’s touching Dameron’s skin, he ends up using his grip to lean closer, close the distance. Before their lips can connect, Dameron turns his face away.
Hux lets out a humiliated breath and moves back, but Dameron stops him. Using his other hand, he circles Hux’s wrist with his thumb and index finger and then lightly presses against his pulse point. A promise he evidently does not intend to keep.
“Look, I’m exercising some self-control here. There’s no need to rush.”
Hux scoffs. “You picked a great time to learn all about the value and importance of self-control.”
“It’s a work in progress,” he admits with a shrug.
“Don’t feel the need to let me down easy. It’s insulting.”
“That’s not what’s happening here. I, y’know, I like you. You’re not all bad.”
“Thanks,” Hux says, glaring, but still doesn’t pull his wrist away.
“Let’s wait until your sentence comes through, okay? Then you can see how you feel about this.”
“Why?”
“Because you think you’re going to get executed and right now you’re looking for comfort,” Dameron says patiently.
“I don’t need my feelings explained to me.” The fact that it would be helpful, doesn’t mean it would be welcome.
“Fine. Because I need time to think about this, then.”
They sit in silence for an uncomfortable moment before Dameron squeezes his hand and stands up. Hux holds his own hands together afterward but doesn’t manage to replicate the feeling.
Dameron hugged him once, briefly. Nothing but his palm against Hux’s shoulder blade, his body close to Hux’s side for no more than a second. Hux remembers he managed to suppress the startled breath that threatened to come out, but couldn’t help the way his whole body went rigid.
A second later, Dameron stepped away and said, “sorry, Hugs. Wasn’t thinking.”
It happened right after Hux was deemed fit and healthy. No longer in danger of dying, at least not from those injuries. Something in his chest pulsed and constricted, though. Maybe I’m not as healed as they believe, he remembers thinking.
Dameron finds him afterward. “I thought you had run off already. Never to be seen or heard from again.”
“I can’t exactly disappear with a high tech tracking device under my skin.” Hux considers his next words. “I suppose I could open myself up, try to get it out, try to disable it, but I’m not sure the pain would be worth it.” He’s not sure the pain would be worth it? What’s happened to him?
“Right. Glad we’re not doing that, then.” Dameron sits down next to him and motions to his ankle. “Can I see?”
“You literally can’t, it’s under the skin.”
“You know what I meant.”
Hux crosses his leg on top of his knee and lifts his trouser leg. He wasn’t being completely truthful, he can see the barely-there light that the tracker emits. There’s no pain, no discomfort, he can’t feel it at all. When Dameron places his thumb on top of it, it radiates warmth throughout his leg, though.
“Neat,” he says.
“I’m sure they’d be happy to give you one if you asked nicely,” Hux says.
Dameron smiles and lets go of him. “What’s next for you, then?” It’s a loaded question, but he asks it easily, casually. It’s a real talent.
“I thought about your offer. I’ll stay.” They’ve moved out of Ajan Kloss now, so the idea is more palatable.
“I knew you were coming after my job. No good deed,” he says, shaking his head.
Hux is tempted to play along, but instead he says, “you’re not incompetent. They could do a lot worse.”
Dameron chuckles. “High praise.”
“I meant that the trust your subordinates place in you is not misplaced. There’s a reason they’re happy to follow you and place their lives in your hands.” Hux is not sure he would’ve accomplished that without the aid of indoctrination.
Dameron swallows. “Thanks,” he says and looks away. “Have you thought about the other thing?”
Only Dameron could pull off saying such an awkward statement. “Yes, my thoughts on the matter remain unchanged.” He wasn’t going to embarrass himself by bringing it up first, though.
“Okay.”
When he bites his lip, Hux looks away. “How’s your self-restraint these days?”
“Could be better, to be honest.”
“And—”
“Hux,” Dameron says, reaching for him and sealing their lips together.
He places one hand on Hux’s thigh and the other on his neck, pulling him closer and keeping him grounded. Hux focuses on his touch, warm and unhesitant; on the soft slide of their lips. Dameron pulls away for a second to look at Hux, intensely and intently. Whatever he’s trying to determine can wait, Hux thinks, as he chases after his lips and brings them back together.
When they pull apart, Dameron says, “okay, let’s go home, then.” He places his hand on Hux’s back, and Hux leans into it.