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I’m the spy.
I knew it!
Everything after that blurred in Poe Dameron’s mind. He recalled shouting, the sensation of skin against skin, shrill cursing. A hairy, huge arm curling around his waist and pulling him from the line of distant gunfire while thick-heeled boots kicked in another direction, nearly hitting his face.
His ass thumping against the cold, hard floor of the ship. The ripple through his chest as they hit hyperspace. Screams, curses, vows of revenge. Finn yelling back for everybody to shut the kriff up.
When Poe eventually regained clarity, he and Finn and Chewie were hurtling through space, away from the First Order.
Well, not quite. General Hux accompanied them, and technically he had yet to formally defect from the First Order. Therefore, they hadn’t wholly escaped the organization.
General Hux slouched next to Poe on the floor, hugging his knees to his chin. He bore a two-inch scratch high on his right cheekbone, put there by Poe. It glowed.
Kriff. Deep scratches bled. Normal deep scratches bled. General Hux was supposed to have bled, spilled his blood for the Resistance to symbolize spilling the secrets that gave Poe and his allies an edge in this war.
Soul marks glowed, when first revealed.
General Hux bore a soul mark, meaning he’d managed to find his forever mate shortly before Chewie absconded with him for whatever reason. Maybe the Wookiee wanted a spoil of war and thought Hugs was cute. Kriff if Poe would ask.
“We should turn around,” Poe said.
Finn and Chewie executed a slow turn in unison, so comically synchronized one would think it rehearsed for just such an occasion. Even Hux looked at Poe like the pilot had gone mad.
“Look at his face!” Poe gestured to the thin orange thread of cut skin on Hux’s cheek. “You know how soul marks work. If he’s separated from his mate and not reunited within twenty-four standard hours of receiving the mark he could die,” he said. “Never mind that pretty much everybody in the Resistance was rooting for that, but given this recent revelation of his treason against the First Order maybe we ought to–”
“Poe,” Finn, looking clearly fed up with Poe’s ranting, cut in, “look at your hand.”
Poe did as told. The tip of his right forefinger glowed bright orange.
“Hux’s forever mate is here ,” Finn said. “It’s you.”
~*~
Him.
The enemy.
The nerf herding pilot who humiliated him in front of his officers. Insulted his mother. Aided in destroying his life’s work.
Hux hadn’t made the decision to turn spy lightly. He debated ever revealing himself to anyone in the Resistance, but when the turncoat FN-2187 and his cronies required assistance Hux figured why not give them a name to accompany the intel. He expected to die soon afterward.
So he outed himself. Dameron wielded a finger, poised to point in accusation. Instead he leaned forward too far, made contact and ignited a spark prophesied never to occur. He swiped at Hux, cut his skin, and unlocked a dreadful truth.
Then the damned Wookiee had to recognize its meaning and make a grab for him, rather than allow him the dignity of death.
Now, Hux’s forever mate stared at him as though he’d been paired instead with a sarlacc.
“Try not to act too disappointed, Dameron,” Hux said.
Dameron shook his head. “How?”
“I don’t know how.” Hux flared his nostrils. “It was not in the plan.”
“Not in the plan… what are you talking about?” Dameron cried. “Most everybody has a destined mate. Even people like you, though one would expect you to end up with somebody like that battle axe in the chrome getup.” He turned to FN. “What was her name again?”
“Captain Phasma,” Hux muttered. “Her soulmate nearly died with her after what happened on the Supremacy. Thank kriff she survived.”
Finn widened his gaze. “She survived that?” he asked at the same time Dameron said, “She has a soulmate?”
Hux darted his gaze between them and scowled. “So you’re aware, we in the First Order are equally shocked to hear it when the likes of you pair off,” he said. “Perhaps you should turn around, and let me off this bucket of bolts so I can face my fate alone.”
“No.”
What immediately struck Hux was the tone of Dameron’s voice. Hearing no might have given Hux the impression that the Resistance intended to keep him out of spite, or for their own amusement. Further humiliate him with that dreadful “Hugs” nickname and insults about his parentage.
He expected a no borne of cruelty, or disinterest. Dameron here sounded… hurt. Hux looked into the man’s dark eyes and was surprised to see them shine with unshed tears.
“Some people wait their whole lives to find their soulmates. Some don't have one at all,” Dameron said. “Are you aware of how many have died on both sides of this war before it probably happened to them?”
Hux almost said yes. The First Order kept statisticians for that sort of work.
Dameron’s countenance softened. “I found you by accident, but it still counts,” he said. “I’m not letting you go.”
~*~
Poe would later acknowledge how oddly those words formed in his mouth, yet he said them with ease. Indeed, everything about this situation screamed lunacy. He’d assumed his soulmate lurked somewhere in the growing throng of Resistance allies. Once the war ended, or at least lulled enough to a point that allowed for a safe search, Poe thought to investigate hopefuls.
To his disappointment, many suitable candidates–Finn, Rose, Zorii, even Amilyn Holdo, rest her soul–were dead ends. A match with somebody in the First Order never crossed his mind, but Poe supposed less savory options than Hux existed.
He lost count of all the doubletakes and gaping mouths when he escorted Hux off the Falcon and briefly toured him around the Resistance base. Even the unflappable Maz Kanata reacted visibly with shock. When they strode past Rose Tico on the way to the briefing room, the red-haired ex-general turned and pointed a gloved finger at her. “You,” he said.
Rose recovered quickly from her own shock and bared her teeth, chomping the air. Hux’s quick-step away from her caught Poe’s interest. An inside joke? A question for another time.
Alone in the briefing room, Poe invited Hux to choose any of the dozen chairs situated around the long, holo-table. He selected one opposite Hux–not too close, nor too far so as to nurture some comfort–and folded his hands on the table’s glass surface.
“This will take some getting used to,” Poe said.
Hux snorted out a hard laugh. “Understatement of the century.”
“The good news is, thanks to your intel the Resistance has the edge. The war is ending in our favor, and we will both be basically out of work when that day comes. Therefore, we will soon have all the time in the galaxy to adjust.”
Hux nodded, his expression grim but not disgusted. Poe counted that as a step in the right direction. Still, Poe sensed the man wasn’t quite ready for levity in conversation. So much for his tried and true “who goes first” line.
“Seeing as how we’ve found and marked each other–”
“You marked me,” Hux said, correcting him. He touched the cheek where his soulmark still glowed. “At least, that’s what you and the trait– Finn tell me. I’ve yet to see a mirror.”
“Look down.”
Hux glanced at his reflection in the inactive holo-table and his demeanor softened. He pulled back his fingers on his scar and used one to trace the jagged line. “It’s unreal,” he said. “I never thought…” The sentence went unfinished, and Poe figured it a good test of their soulmate compatibility if he picked up on the thought.
“You never thought it would be me?” he asked.
Hux flicked his gaze up to Poe. “I believed I’d die alone, unmarked.” Not a hint of sarcasm in his voice, just a stone-cold statement of acceptance. “When you hear it enough in your youth from people who say they know better, you believe it.”
“You’re kidding.” Hux’s words enraged Poe. Sure, the man had risen up the ranks of the First Order, but to hear such awful things in your childhood, regardless of where you ended up, sucked. It explained so much for Poe. “Is that what you learned in your academy before they shipped you off to lick Palpatine’s boots?” Was that how the First Order operated, turning people into soulless machines by taking away any hope of soulmates?
“I learned it at home,” Hux said, “from my father.”
Poe leaned back in his chair. “And your mother? She didn’t step in and put a stop to that bantha shit?”
“My mother died when I was five. She birthed me out of wedlock and my father treated her poorly. I barely knew her, but I can say without doubt that Brendol Hux was not her soulmate.” Hux’s eyes turned to ice, chilling Poe with his glare. “I’m thinking you weren’t aware of that during your so-called comedic monologue designed to distract us when the Resistance attacked the Fulmanatrix. ”
Poe took a deep breath and looked away for a moment. “You’re right,” he said. Hux’s lineage meant nothing to him then. The man could have squirted out the wrong end of a rancor, for all Poe Dameron the Resistance pilot cared.
Poe Dameron the soulmate of Armitage Hux, however, now came to him with contriteness in his heart. Not the easiest thing for him, but necessary. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“I am sorry, too,” Hux said, briefly locking gazes before he turned his attention back to his reflection.
“You realize if we fight this, we’re lost,” Poe said. “Is that what you want? You seemed rather keen on having the First Order punish you for your so-called sins, but I’ll tell you now I prefer to live.”
Hux sat with his shoulders hunched, then caught himself in a moment of laxity. He straightened in the awkward metal chair and titled up his chin. “I thought I had nothing to live for then,” he said. “I suppose that’s changed.”
“That’s the spirit,” Poe said, twisting his lip in an attempted smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m sure we’re not the first mixed couple to come out of this war.”
“Mixed?”
“First Order, Resistance. The light and the dark coming together to create some level of balance in the galaxy.”
Hux nodded, lips slightly parted. “I see… and you’re the dark.”
Kriff. “We can argue semantics later. Let’s get to know each other. My favorite meal is lizard crab bisque and jogan fruit tarts for dessert. What about you?”
“I ate rations, like everybody else,” Hux said. “I hadn’t realized the Resistance dined so well all these years.”
“We didn’t…” Poe tried not to facepalm. All the time in the galaxy. He hoped it was long enough. “Do you like pod racing?”
“No.”
“Favorite holodrama?”
“I only watch the news.”
How did a soulmark happen between them again? “Music?”
Hux nodded. “Quenk jazz. I have–rather, had an extensive collection of it.”
Not the rage-metal Poe preferred, but it was something. “Sex?” he tried next.
“I am an insatiable size queen, so you better be packing.”
Hux said it with the straightest of faces. Stared right at Poe, no hint of a smile. Dagger right to the heart. Or was that an arrow tipped in sex pollen?
“Are you serious?” Poe asked, leaning forward.
Hux shrugged. “Maybe you’re not the only one in this relationship with a lousy sense of humor.”
“I try, though,” Poe said. “It’s nice to see you are as well. For the record, I am packing.” He laid out his hand, the one with the still-glowing soul mark, and watched Hux cover it with his own. “Shall we move forward?”
“As long as we don’t have to move to Arkanis.”
Poe conceded, and their grip on each other tightened. He felt the heat shoot throughout his body, warming him up to the realization that he’d go anywhere with this man. In love and war, in light and dark.