Anchors

Summary: Poe finds himself (and a certain First Order General with amnesia) trapped inside a prison run by Grakkus the Hutt after a firefight gone wrong. Both men will have to help each other in order to survive Grakkus' infamous Arena. There's just one other problem: Hux and Poe are chained together. Meanwhile, Kylo and Finn put aside their mutual hatred of one another to rescue their partners. Light Kylux and Stormpilot.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Star Wars…darn.

Warning: Some violence and gore throughout this fic.

Dedication: This fic is dedicated to Pricklefritz, who encouraged me to write a Kylux fic ages ago. Thank you for your encouragement!

Chapter 1: Where D'You Wanna Go?

Poe wakes up to the rattle of chains. The smell of urine in the air and tang of blood in his mouth sharpens his senses.

Where am I?

The memories don't immediately come. His mind is sluggish, and his head throbs like he has the mother of all hangovers. His mouth is dry, and there is no moisture when he swallows.

Who did I piss off this time?

There's a faint whimper directly in front of him, a shuffling sound, and the collective snores of numerous sleeping bodies.

This isn't good…

It's humid, and the stale air collects the scent of those sleepers, potent and heavy; it makes his nose wrinkle. As Poe's eyes gradually adjust to the dark, images flash through his mind's eye, rapid and staccato.

A mission gone wrong (story of my life) and a rendezvous with an informant who never showed.

It was a First Order trap, of course. Some stormtroopers showed up with Supreme Leader Snoke's lap dog in tow—General Hux.

And Finn was there.

Hairs rise on the back of Dameron's neck.

There had been a jumbled escape attempt to counter the ambush.

But something had happened next that neither Resistance nor First Order expected—a third army intercepted both small groups, a band of heavily outfitted Hutts.

Hutts?

They overtook the stormtroopers easily as the Resistance fighters retreated, but Dameron was caught in the crossfire, and…

Here I am, he thinks. In one of Nar Shaddaa's finest prisons, I'd wager. Run by ex-con (and not-my-first-choice-of-creatures-to-snuggle-with) Grakkus the Hutt.

Perfect.

Poe doesn't trust the reliability of his limbs, but he slowly straightens stiff knees, wincing as they pop loudly. As he moves, Dameron notices that his orange pilot's flight suit has been replaced by a tattered ash-colored jumpsuit. Standard prison garb, he assumes. He's about to push himself into an upright position when an overt movement of his wrist sets off a metallic jangling, immediately followed by a groan.

The Resistance pilot freezes. He feels the cold metal of the handcuff attached to his right wrist with his left hand. When he follows the chain it's connected to, he touches another wrist.

The plot, as they say, is thickening.

Dameron's brain suddenly reels with the horrifying thought: It's Finn. They got both of us.

Poe silently prays that his partner was spared as he hunches over to get a better look at the sleeping figure he is now attached to in the dim light. Not Finn. Not Finn. Please, not Finn. Not Finn.

And it's not Finn.

It's Mr. Fancy Pants himself, General Hux.

Finn is living out his worst nightmare.

The med droid keeps pushing him back onto his cot as if he's just sustained some life-threatening injury, and not a tiny little scrape. What officially happened: Finn nicked the edge of a line of blaster fire to escape a massive explosion behind him, a TIE fighter in flames. The ensuing, scattered blaster fire barely grazed the skin on his left leg. And then Finn got back into the transport vessel he'd came on

(without Poe)

and high-tailed it out of there before the First Order battalion unscrambled itself.

Poe, on the other hand… Poe is probably locked up or beaten up or dying somewhere on that stinking excuse for a moon, and Finn got away with a paper cut.

"Enough!" Finn spits at the med droid and pushes himself off the cot to resume pacing the med bay. He instantly regrets his harsh behavior. For all Finn knows, this is the same med droid who patched him up after Kylo Ren decided his spine might look better sliced down the middle. It might be the same med droid who gave him sponge baths for weeks (always warm, never cold), who clothed him, who fed him, who even helped him take his first tentative, infant-like steps, and then taught Poe to do all those things to help him. Back when they were new friends, before Poe learned to compromise and before Finn learned how to truly trust someone else.

But, to be fair, the ex-stormtrooper is a bit distracted.

"Sorry…" His apology is weak, and Finn knows it.

The droid mutters a mechanical, rote response and wheels away, and Finn is left with a set of worst-case scenarios currently hammering him over the head.

Back in the First Order, there was a protocol for everything. What you ate, how much you slept, where to walk, what to do in the event of capture. If it benefited the First Order, a stormtrooper might be salvaged. If not, they were left for dead.

But he was in the Resistance now. And the Resistance always crafted missions to save their own or to rescue anyone in need of help. At this very moment, Finn knows over a dozen strategy experts are at work to plan a way to get Poe Dameron out.

At least, they won't have to deal with the First Order again, Finn thinks. While the Resistance retained ships to orbit around Nar Shaddaa, there wasn't a trace of their enemy in the entire system. Any FO troopers or officers who survived Grakkus's attack wouldn't be worth saving.

An ensign by the name of Crescent steps in. His face bears an unnatural, pinched expression.

The ex-stormtrooper stiffens, and he thinks fleetingly: Not Poe…

"I have a message from the First Order, Captain…" Carth Crescent's emerald eyes are almost watering with bemusement.

"What?" Finn snaps and he has to take a deep breath, calming his tone. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, with only a hint of a growl. "On whose authority?"

"I-It's Kylo Ren," the ensign stutters. "He wants to speak with you about a… a rescue operation."

Finn is surprised that his own jaw doesn't drop to the floor of the transport vessel.

Dameron can't really think of a more ironic situation, or a more apropos curse for the current predicament he's in.

Chained to a general of the First Order and the Supreme Lunatic's whipping boy.

Hux.

Through the haze of the of the prison's expansive sleeping quarters, the light of a new day slowly leaking through the ratty shades covering the room's scarce windows, Poe examines the sleeping man.

At first glance, Hux appears uninjured. Poe figures this is a good thing, considering the alternative would mean being chained to a corpse. Not that Hux doesn't seem sickly. Dameron deduces that Hux is just naturally pale—his skin nearly translucent. His shock of red hair is mussed, and he is slumped against the wall, right hand lying limp, while the other is slightly askance due to Dameron's previous pull on it. Poe immediately increases the slack on their chain, though there is no need. The FO man is either unconscious or deeply asleep. And upon closer inspection, Poe is deciding on the former. A smear of dried blood—a rust-colored stain—is matted to the hair on his right temple.

My situation just keeps getting better and better, Poe thinks grimly.

Then someone violently jostles his left arm, and Poe is staring up at the sharpest set of teeth he's ever observed on a humanoid before.

"That's my spot!"

Poe glances around the immediate vicinity and looks back at the slender monstrosity towering above him. He squints.

"You mean this dirt floor?"

"I sleep here in the morning, Novo!"

Dameron can't help himself and feigns confusion. "Is there a sign…?"

The sharptoothed creature makes a strangled kind of grunt and bends forward. Poe is dismayed that the being's breath is more gruesome than its teeth.

It proceeds to grab the lapel of his grey prison uniform and pulls him up.

"Your day has begun, Novo! Better look alive—and take your Anchor with you!" Sharptooth smacks its lips with distaste as it indicates Hux.

Novo? Anchor?

As much as Poe's fiery nature yearns to respond with another snappy comeback, or a question on the creature's nomenclature, he holds his tongue, if not for his own sake, than the other inmates beginning to stir around him. In the growing light, he notices an influx of new prisoners through double doors behind his position. Simultaneously, more and more once-sleeping prisoners begin to rise and groggily plow through double doors opening at the far end of the hall.

Shift change, he thinks.

"Sorry, pal," Poe says, not bothering to hide the disingenuousness from his tone. "I'd love to stick around and chat, but breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

Turning his attention to his right, Poe faces his biggest issue with mobility at the present moment: Hux is still unconscious. The problem is that Poe could really care less what happens to the FO general, but the whole chain thing throws a serious hitch into his normal routines for this type of scenario. Loathe to interact with the FO general, or show him any pity, Dameron hesitates, then slaps the other man's cheek, not gently.

"Hey!" he says in a half-whisper. "Hey, c'mon! Wake up!"

After a few more seconds of this, the red-head's eyes flutter open, and he groans. When Hux's eyes threaten to shut again, Poe persists.

"Oh no you don't. C'mon—wake up!"

Hux's clear blue eyes flash open this time, traces of annoyance and anger in them, quickly replaced with bewilderment, doubt, and, finally, fear.

That's new, Poe thinks.

"What…" His voice is raspy, barely above a mumble. "What happened?" He swallows, eyes widening as he focuses on something behind Dameron. "And…who is that?"

Poe doesn't need to turn around. The foul, warm breath on the back of his neck informs him nicely.

"Oh, this is my new friend, Sharptooth. He gets really cranky when he's tired, and unfortunately, we're in his nap zone."

Hux just blinks at him stupidly.

"So let's go!"

The pilot winces as he stands abruptly, his back cracking, but it feels good to be on his feet again. Winking with more Dameron charm than someone like Sharptooth deserves at this particular hour of the morning, Poe jerks on the chain connecting him to Hux. It bounces musically, but still, the general stares blankly from his hand to the strip of metal, as if he can't quite put two and two together.

"Why am I…"

But Dameron has lost his patience, and hastily pulls the chain up, like tugging the reins on a misbehaving tauntaun. A surprised cry escapes the red-head's lips as he is wrenched to his feet, staggering forward. If Poe wasn't sure-footed, the other man would have fallen on his face, but Dameron steps forward and Hux falls into his shoulder, cowering and grasping for something to cling to at the same time.

Poe rolls his eyes, gripping the taller man's left hand with his right.

"Come. On."

The pilot pulls the general away from the lanky creature with impressive incisors and manages to keep the other man upright through the dimly-lit hall. Dust flies up around them as they fall into the rhythmic march of at least two hundred other prisoners.

"Stop…" Hux murmurs, the petulant word barely audible.

Poe mutters, "Can't stop now."

The general glances behind them as it to make sure Dameron isn't lying. A mixed assortment of other beings are close on their heels, moving at a faster clip than the ones in front of them. Although Poe hasn't gotten a great look at the other inmates, judging by their size, he knows better to get between them and their breakfast. Temporarily distracted, Hux falters, and Poe tightens the grasp on his arm, bringing the other man closer as they march relentlessly.

"Don't make me drag you!" he hisses between clenched teeth.

Hux responds with a half-hearted moan but ends his protests.

At last, they exit through the gigantic double doors at the front of the barracks and into piercingly bright sunlight. Poe shields his hands with his eyes and takes in the scene before them as sand swirls around his feet, creating a shine like gold dust throughout the compound.

The prison is enormous, with tall stone walls surrounding them in a rectangular shape. Various buildings lie inside the compound, along with numerous tents. And just outside the encampment's walls, an enormous dome rises. It's a place Dameron has only heard of in legends, never actually seen.

The Arena.

And despite the heat of the sun breaking upon his face, Poe shivers. He is so taken with the sight of the dome, and the continuous marching, that he fails to notice Hux break away from his grasp, wandering outside of the pack only to lose his footing and topple to the sandy ground. Dameron steps a few more paces before the chain connecting the two men goes taut, and Poe is thrown backwards, landing painfully on his side a few feet from the prone general.

As Dameron slowly gets to his hands and knees, the taste of grit between his teeth, he finally realizes the full impact and meaning of Sharptooth's slang for Hux.

Anchor.

Poe thinks he may very well be damned.

TBC

A/N: This is heavily inspired by Gladiator. And "Bread and Circuses" from TOS. I got a random idea last week of what would have to happen for Hux and Poe to form an unlikely bromance. Of course, they're going to start out hating each other. Since I see these characters as such polar opposites of each other, I thought their interactions might be a refreshing change from other fics I'm writing. Can't promise very quick updates (unless I absolutely fall head over heels with it and go on a writing spree). Please let me know what you think. ^_^