Chapter Text
It's oddly fitting that the rendezvous point is a ruin. Once, years ago, the buildings sorted ores and scrap for shipment deeper into the star system. Now it's nothing but charred walls and empty rooms open to the night sky. Hux stands in the shadow of a collapsed archway, boots crunching over powdered stone as he surveys what's left of the abandoned processing depot. Empty. Bleak. Not that dissimilar in atmosphere to the starships Hux is used to, but the dirt is just - unacceptable.
He adjusts the way too soft collar of the civilian coat he's wearing. Similar in cut to his regular one, but the fabric itches, and it feels way too warm. He feels wrong out of uniform, out of rank. Exposed.
His escort is fanned out around him in a loose semicircle, just three officers disguised as traders. They're nervous. Hux frowns - he feels like he should reprimand them for it, but it does fit their disguise as opportunistic traders hoping to make a good deal, so he keeps his thoughts to himself. For now.
"The contact is late." Lieutenant Varon says from his right. "Perhaps they got delayed."
"Or perhaps," Hux coolly answers, "the locals here are as incompetent as their reputation suggests."
Hux hates this place. Hates its lawlessness. Hates the desperation clinging to the people in the streets. Hates how everyone is out for themselves, there's no working together for a higher purpose, no order.
And underneath all of it, he hates the faint, nagging headache that's been hovering at the edges of his skull all day - a pressure behind his eyes that makes the world slightly too bright, slightly too sharp. Side effects of two missed doses. He fathoms he still got at least two hours before it becomes critical, so he does his best to ignore it. Suppressants have kept his biology quiet for years, a careful regimen of injectors and hormone patches that only he and one medical droid know about. And just to be extra sure, he deletes the unit's memory storage after each visit. It is tedious to update the droid each visit, but Hux can't risk being discovered.
"Sir," Varon says suddenly, tense. "Movement." Hux straightens. A figure approaches from beyond the remains of a conveyor belt, wrapped in layers of cloth, masking half the man's face. He walks alone. Good. A clean exchange, then. Quick. The man stops a few paces away and dips his head.
"You're the buyer?"
"For your sake," Hux replies, "you'd best hope so."
The man snorts softly - disrespectfully - and reaches into his satchel. Hux never sees the device. He only hears the click.
The explosion swallows the world. A deafening burst of white heat slams him backward. Metal shrieks. His ears ring violently. He hits the floor hard, rolls, coughs- can't hear- can't see- can't think- A screaming pressure clamps around his skull. Something warm and wet is trickling down his cheek. Blood. He blinks hard, forcing sight to return in painful flashes. His escort is down. Two unmoving. One crawling, dazed, reaching for a blaster. The masked "contact" is gone.
Another explosion detonates on the dilapidated roof, weaker but strong enough to bring down the remaining structure. Hux lunges to his feet, stumbling over shattered beams, lungs filling with choking smoke. He suppresses the coughs, breathing out in puffs. He staggers toward the doorway, passes Varon, who's still scrambling around in the dirt, grabs him and pulls him with him. The other two officers lie twisted among the debris, unmoving. Hux bursts into the night as the building groans behind them and finally caves in on itself. Varon falls down next to him. He seems to be in bad shape, way worse than Hux.
Outside, the air is marginally cleaner. Hux reaches for his comm. It's shattered. Completely dead. He nearly laughs, the sharp, brittle sort of laugh that precedes panic. He will have to find his own way back. Fine. He has been dropped into hostile terrain before, equipped with nothing more than a knife and the clothes on his back. He will survive. He takes stock, quickly. The datapad is gone. His coat is ripped. His entire gear satchel, suppressants included, has vanished into the rubble. Varon looks like he won't make it much longer.
"Sir?" Varon's voice comes weak from the ground. "Are you... alright?"
Hux locks his face into neutrality. "No," he manages, voice tight. "But I will be. And so will you."
He leans down to Varon and holds his hand, telling him that they only have to walk a short distance to the extraction point, and as soon as Varon feels a little better, they will set off. He waits until he feels Varon relax, checks his pulse again - it's gone. He stands up.
The movement makes his head throb, a dull pressure behind his eyes. He presses the heel of his hand to his temple, wiping away blood. His hand trembles. He wills it still. Under the scent of smoke, something else is rising, just a whisper now, but unmistakable. A faint warmth in his stomach. A subtle prickle across his skin. No. Not now. Not after years. Suppressants gone. Stress and shock encouraging hormones. Biology stirring. He chokes on the realization: His heat is coming.
It hits him all at once. One moment he's standing, the next his knees nearly buckle as his body temperature spikes. The world goes sharp-edged, oversaturated. His heart hammers against his ribs. Sweat breaks across his skin, and with it comes the scent, unmistakable, undeniable. Omega. His scent. He can't go to extraction like this. They'd know immediately. His career would end. Everything he's built would collapse.
He staggers backward, catching himself on a twisted beam. Another wave hits, making his vision blur.
He spots neon lights in the distance. The backstreets. Where nobody looks too closely at anyone else. Where he can hide until - until what? Until this passes? It won't. Not without help.
He stumbles toward the lights, past the filth and noise, until he finds it: a metal door beneath a flickering sign. Music pulses from inside. A bar.
His body throbs with need. He knows what he needs. An alpha. The specifics are a bit vague. There is supossed to be a fight. Alphas fighting... for an omega? With an omega?
He knows how to fight, and how to start one. He'll just follow his instincts, and find an alpha to fight.
He pushes through the door, half closes his eyes, and lets his nose take over.