cosleia:

His contact had selected the absolute worst site for the transaction, a filthy mining colony where the very air was suffused with flammable dust. Full environmental suits were required anywhere that did not lay beyond a secure airlock, and anyone passing through such an airlock was subjected to the most intense scrubdown Hux had ever experienced. Fortunately, the item was secure in a dual-layer leakproof box, so it wasn’t necessary for the Ugnaughts manning the sterilization equipment to touch it; the outer case was simply opened within the airlock and the inner case was handed back to Hux.

He sighed, perhaps overdramatically, as he was waved through to the reception area. He hadn’t attempted to wear any sort of mask under his helmet, and now he was regretting it. His full beard served as a decent enough disguise in a crowd, but here, alone with his contact, under closer scrutiny?

He had little time to bemoan his lack of foresight as another hatch soon opened, five down from the one he’d entered through. A man of average height (and therefore shorter than Hux) stepped into the room. He was wearing a pilot’s jumpsuit, ragged, like something Hux would expect from the Rebellion, and he had a cloth mask covering most of his face. The man was well-built, wiry, and Hux licked his lips and thought that it really had been too long, if he was even halfway considering propositioning a business partner. Perhaps once he had his money he’d take a little detour to a resort.

“You Breck?” the man asked, approaching the row of low couches along the wall facing the hatches.

Hux hadn’t taken a seat; he stepped forward to meet the man, extending a hand and managing to keep the distaste off his face. He hated familiarity, especially from those who were not his equal. “Wicket, I presume?” he said, and the man took his hand.

“Pleasure,” the man said, and now that he was closer Hux could make out rich, twinkling brown eyes. The rest of his face, including his mouth, was covered by that blasted fabric. “You have the item?”

Hux raised the case. “You have my money?”

‘Wicket’ patted the front pocket of his jumpsuit. “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine,” he said.

There was something about the man’s voice that felt familiar. Hux wondered if he’d worked with the man during one of the First Order’s dealings with the Guavian Death Gang.

Hux nodded and stepped back, gesturing to the seating. Before the couches at intervals were long, low tables; he set the case down at the center of one of them and popped the release. “It’s coded to my fingerprint until the exchange is made,” he said, and then he opened the case to reveal the item.

The man dropped onto the couch and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. Hux ran him through a simple tutorial. “As you can see, the controls are quite intuitive.”

“Yeah,” his contact said. “Nice.”

It was always pleasant to be complimented on his work. Hux managed not to smile too broadly. “Thank you,” he said. “Now, my payment…?”

‘Wicket’ opened the flap on his breast pocket and reached in, withdrawing a credit chit. “It’s all here,” he said.

Hux took the chit, immediately inserting it into his clean reader to confirm the amount. “Excellent,” he said, and then he leaned forward and pressed his thumb to the override on the item, removing his command override. “You’re ready to go.”

The man packed up the case and turned back to give Hux what he assumed was a smile. “Pleasure doing business with you, Brack.”

“Likewise,” Hux said, “though next time you might choose a less inconvenient location.”

“Harder for one of us to betray the other when we’re both trapped on a powder keg,” his client pointed out.

“True enough, I suppose.”

Wicket was turning to leave when Hux said it. He couldn’t help himself. Curiosity was going to get him killed one of these days. “Do you know Bala-Tik?”

The man stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Why?”

I have a feeling we’ve met before, Hux thought, but his brain caught up with him and he managed not to say it. “Oh, no reason.”

But Wicket had turned back around now. He set the case down again and stepped close to Hux, too close, peering up at him with narrowed eyes. “Have we met?” he asked.

“I’ve never spoken with anyone named Wicket before,” Hux demurred.

The man laughed. “You’re so familiar, now that I think about it,” he said. “But you’d think I’d remember someone as hot as you are.”

Hux could feel himself going pink. “I beg your pardon,” he said.

“Did you change something? Your hair maybe?” Wicket cocked his head to one side. “That’s one hell of a dye job, if so.”

“Excuse me, this is my natural hair color,” Hux said, scowling.

“Nice,” the man said, and Hux flushed deeper. “Huh, what else could it be? Maybe—”

He broke off suddenly, taking a step back. Then he stepped forward again and retrieved the case.

“What?” Hux asked, alarmed.

“Nothing,” the man said, backing toward the hatch. “Thanks for this,” and he waved the case at Hux. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Not nothing,” Hux cried out. “What is it?”

The man punched the access button and the hatch began slowly cycling open behind him. “You really wanna know?” he asked.

“I do,” Hux said.

Wicket paused, then reached up with his free hand and tugged the mask away from his head. Dark curls fell free around his pleasantly tanned face and winning smile. “Hey, Hugs.”

“D-Dameron?!” Hux spluttered. Had he just sold weapons technology to the damned Rebellion?

“Good to see you,” Dameron said, still smiling. “You’ve done well for yourself, I see.”

Hux couldn’t form words. He wanted to demand that Dameron give the item back, but of course that wouldn’t happen, and he needed the money anyway. He was also inexplicably angry that Dameron’s face was even better-looking than his body; he’d never seen him in person before.

“You’re a lot hotter in person,” Dameron said. “Maybe next time we can get some caf of something.”

Hux finally regained the ability to move. He stormed toward the hatch. “Do not tell anyone you saw me here,” he demanded.

Dameron sobered a bit. “You know I have to at least tell Leia.”

“Dameron,” Hux began, but the pilot broke in again.

“Look, I don’t wanna out you to the First Order, not if you’re gonna keep supplying us with weapons. You are, aren’t you?”

Hux came to a stop, fists clenched at his sides. “How dare you try to blackmail me. You’ll never find me again.”

The side of Dameron’s mouth quirked up. “You’re cute when you’re mad.” He stepped backward into the airlock. “Think about it. Next time. Caf. Or maybe dinner?”

Hux faltered, blinked, and stared, and the hatch cycled closed between them.

“Next time,” Hux muttered, “we’ll meet someplace I can have a blaster,” but somehow, he knew it was an empty threat.