Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You know,” Johnny says, folded in a contortionist-worthy posture underneath the console of the escape pod he’s trying to hotwire, “this isn’t entirely my fault.”

Dutch gives him a Look over her shoulder. Dutch is really good at Looks, even when she’s half sitting, half crouching next to him, awkwardly leaning forward so she doesn’t knock into the console above their heads. It’s a talent she has and that Johnny has become extremely familiar with over the last year and change. 

Still. He has a point to make. “Sure,” he continues, keeping his gaze stubbornly fixed on the innards of the ship over his head, looking for the correct wire to strip, “I’m not entirely blameless, but I wouldn’t put the whole thing on me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Dutch’s eyes narrowing. However, the only thing she says is, “Hand.”

With a wince, Johnny lets his left hand drop and go lax. This, in turn, allows Dutch to use her own right hand to aim her stolen two-handed blaster at the two men that are running into the escape pod bay. With a quick sequence of shots, she dispatches them and they collapse to the deckplate, unconscious. 

“Hand,” Johnny says, and, once Dutch puts the blaster down, returns to his careful, two-handed categorizing of wires, continuing: “I mean, did I know there was a chance these guys would recognize me? Maybe. Did I know that meant our cover would be blown? Maybe. Should I have told you about this beforehand? Definitely.”

The wire he’s pulled free sparks at his fingers and he throws his hand back with a curse that Dutch echoes when he drags her hand after his. 

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “All this to say, could I have done things differently? Yes. But in my defense,” and he holds up his left hand, handcuff included, “there was no way I could have guessed they would tie us together.”

Dutch rolls her eyes. “They wouldn’t have tied us together if they hadn’t recognized you, which wouldn’t have happened if you’d told me — hand!”

Damnit. Johnny drops the wire he’s finally identified, just in time for Dutch to shoot down the guard appearing in the threshold. Between the constant interruptions and the ear-piercing intruder alarm of the space station, this is taking way longer than it should. 

“— if you’d told me that our warrant was for a guy whose spaceship you stole years ago,” Dutch finishes, lowering her blaster and holding up her hand so Johnny can keep working. The chain linking their wrists together, much too short, is pulled taut, making the metal cuff dig into Johnny’s skin. 

“I know,” Johnny admits, squinting at the dark innards of the console, partly so he doesn’t have to look at Dutch.

“Then why didn’t you?”

He fiddles with a few wires for a second and then sighs, glancing at Dutch. “Honestly? I didn’t want you to think I was… I don’t know. Some common thief?”

“Johnny.” Dutch’s voice softens, even if her expression is a bit dubitative. “When I met you, you were in the process of stealing my ship.”

Right. “Well,” Johnny says, a bit at a loss, “yeah, but… You know.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“It’s just different.” Frustrated — with the wire that won’t give, with his own inability to phrase what he means, with his inability to even be sure of what he means — he turns back to the underside of the console. “I didn’t want… who I used to be to mess up the warrant for us.”

To mess up the warrant. To mess up this partnership, which is still so new and perfect and everything he’d never known he wanted. 

So much for that. 

“Johnny.” Mercilessly, Dutch waits for Johnny to look at her, which he does, even though it’s the last thing he wants. Her expression is hard to read, but her voice is kind. “I hope you know I’m the last person who’s going to judge you for your past.” She raises her eyebrows in a come on kind of gesture. 

And yeah, that’s fair, but still. “I know,” he says, again, and looks away. “Still— I’m sorry. For not telling you.”

He braces himself; for a brush-off, for a this isn’t going to work. She’d be justified, really. 

“Apology accepted,” she says instead, soft and so genuine he finds himself looking at her. She smiles at him, and then the motion turns lopsided, teasing. “And you’re not a common thief, by the way. You’re an exceptional one.”

Johnny grins. He can’t help it. “Thank you,” he says primly and then, with a frankly magnificent sense of timing, connects the two wires he’s been working with. 

With a whir, the pod powers up around them, screens coming to life, its door sealing behind them.

“Now how about we get out of here?” he suggests.

Dutch grins back, stands, and offers him her cuffed hand. “With pleasure. Want to co-pilot?”

He takes her hand and lets her pull him to his feet. “I’ll be your right hand if you’re okay being my left.”

“Deal,” Dutch says, and, together, they slam their free hands on the eject pod button.