Damn…

"No." The answer came out gruffly, accompanied by a huff and flared nostrils. He didn't want to open up that part of him to Hux. He didn't want to allow the other to know any more about him than he already willingly gave up. Why had he even suggested they meet up after the other recruits were dismissed? A simple 'ey, apologies' could have easily sufficed! But no. He defended Hux. Prevented him from getting booted from the program as well as Brock. Willingly passed over memories of his that he didn't ever give up to recruits. And now this?

"Not any more, at least. Maybe in the past. But…That part of me is gone. It died a long time ago."

Way to sound bitter, Dameron. The look on his face matched the sour tone to his words. Oh, he loved to dance. Given the right partner, he'd probably consider dancing once more. He hadn't, not since… Shivering at the overwhelming memories now plaguing his mind, Poe glanced away, giving himself a minute to recompose himself.

"Dancing these days is.. Nothing more than pathetically gross. It's an excuse for idiots to grind against one another. The last party we had here, this girl, this barmaid, she thought it was perfectly acceptable to just walk on over, turn around, and press herself against me, I mean," laughing softly, Poe shook his head, "ahh, it was…disgusting. There's no class. No self-respect anymore. So, no. I don't dance anymore."

The sudden change in mood jolted the General out of the happy daze he was in - the daydream that he could have a normal conversation about something that interested both parties involved. It hurt, though he'd never admit it, that the pilot was willing to ask him questions, but seemed to close off all communication if the same was asked back. Hux cleared his throat, straightening his position and bringing his legs closer to the couch. Of course they couldn't get along forever. They were enemies and, sooner or later, they would both be certain of that.

It was obviously time to say goodbye and part ways. Better to go deal with whatever each had to do that evening and restart their relationship of student and teacher in the morning, but on a better, less challenging note. The ginger had overstayed his welcome, and like a good dinner guest he would take his-

"What made you stop dancing?" Hux questioned before he could be polite and excuse himself. He dropped his gaze. "Never mind. You have your reasons, and by the looks of it, they're still fresh on your mind. No need to tell a recruit you just met if you still haven't come to terms with it yourself. I understand the sentiment, intimately." He paused. "Sorry. Over-observation. Most of that was supposed to stay in my head."

He should leave, right? He glanced at the Commander, at the fire in his eyes at the way his body was positioned. Yes. Yeah. He should leave. Hux slid forward in his seat to perch on the edge of the cushion. "Good talk. I should go before I completely trample on our truce and have us back to fighting."

"It…" Shut up, Dameron. Don't give in. Don't mind the fact that you've been aching for someone to talk to, someone that actually shows interest and is willing to listen. Ignore that you've hidden your passion for dancing for so long now, that you nearly forgot about it yourself. No, forget all of that. And just shut yourself off to everyone and everything. Be the hardened shell of your former self that you're slowly turning into. No one will care. Do it. "You're right. I haven't come to terms with it yet…"

Sighing heavily, the pilot slumped down in his chair, feeling his mood completely shattered now. It wasn't meant to be like this. Truly and honestly. Whatever this little bond he was forming with Hux…it wasn't supposed to be. Not with the man who was so quick to one-up him in front of all of the other recruits. Not the man who can easily out sass him in a heartbeat.

He made no mention to Hux speaking of leaving. He focused, instead, primarily on that burning ache building deep within him to finally have someone to talk to. But if he got desperate enough, Rhys would listen. Halfway. To an extent. For a little while. Poe often felt like he was annoying someone when he tried to speak passionately about anything. The subtle eye rolls others would do, or that tiny, almost unnoticeable huff of boredom; oh, he quickly picked up on all of it. Though, he hadn't noticed it coming from Hux, yet.

The ginger was unsure what to do. The military man - the one that was undercover and spying - wanted to leave for he had already gotten too close to the enemy. The man behind the mask of militant behavior was curious about the pilot, for this Commander was not all that he seemed to be - he was a mystery that needed to be solved. The true self behind all those smoke and mirrors - all the deflections and misdirection - wanted to know that Poe was alright. The small, withered shred of humanity within Hux felt for the man who he seemed to have much in common with.

Perhaps the best explanation was that Poe Dameron was what General Hux could have been, had things been different. Maybe that was what this fascination was: kindred spirits who, by the forces surrounding them, walked two very mirrored, but different, paths. Both shaped by some tragedy. Both hardened by experience. Both devoted to the war. Both fighting for what they deemed was right and willing to give anything for it. Both untrusting and unsure, but willing to put up a front of security and confidence to banish outsider's concern for them.

He should leave.

But he couldn't.

Hux reached out slowly to the man who reflected him too much and rested a hand against the rebel's knee - a reassurance, an understanding, an acceptance. He waited for dark eyes to meet his own before he stated in determination and nervous urgency for the pilot to recognize that he was not alone. "The sentiment, Poe, is completely understood."

The touch alone would have sufficed enough to ease the pilot's ache. But the deepened connection their eyes had and the words of understanding had his heart clenching. Though saddened greatly, his lips once more pinched up into a smile. His hand outstretched and rested on Hux's, giving it a gentle squeeze of thanks, even if he didn't voice the words out loud. Such sentiment was behind Hux's voice, it was eerily calming, and Poe was deeply grateful for it.

"Can we go somewhere else to talk?" Suddenly, being around others, even if there were only a few on the opposite end of the room, just wasn't cutting it for the Commander. If he was going to allow himself to remove a few bricks of the wall he had built up around himself, he damn sure was going to make certain there was only one person around that he would grant access to. Just a simple peek through one or two broken bricks. That's all.

Without waiting for an answer, the Rebel fighter stood, the hand on his knee falling away. He stepped around the furniture, keeping his head low as he made his way back towards the door. As soon as it slid open, he stepped out and to the side, waiting with baited breath to see if Hux would follow. If the red head had decided not to, he made a vow that he wouldn't hold it against him.

Hux wasn't entirely sure if his goal was to keep the conversation going or to just tell the pilot that he was accepted, but as Dameron stood and made a quick exit, the ginger forced himself to pause before automatically following him. He took a breath. This wasn't about the mission anymore. He could only lie to himself for so long before he was aggravated by his own excuses. He had offered support because whatever the rebel wasn't saying struck a cord deep within the General. He had hit a note that was so sorrowful that Hux's own melancholy song played back to him.

He never got close to people. Never opened himself up - not anymore. He built up his walls not to keep people out, but to see if anyone cared enough to get in and they didn't. People didn't care about his own past, his own abu-experiences. They only cared that he did his job and did it well. He liked to think himself a king, but he knew he was more like a rook - still a powerful piece, but easily toppled and replaced. He stood slowly and walked toward the door. It was time to go. It was time to recollect himself and to re-frost. He needed to get back in his own mind and out of Dameron's because this was dangerous.

But was the pilot not a key target? Did that not make him part of the mission?

No, he told himself. That was another excuse.

When he stepped into the hallway, Dameron looked defeated. He looked that the wind had been taken out from under his wings and he was in a spiraling freefall with no way left to fly. Hux took a breath. This was a mistake. This was going to get him into trouble. This was going to get him caught.

But he saw too much of himself in the pilot, and, so, he spoke his own death toll, "Where are we going?"

Poe couldn't speak; he felt as though he were in a trance, or paralyzed by the moment. Whatever it may be, he took to the halls wordlessly. His dark eyes refused to lift from the floor, his mind putting him into autopilot. Turn after turn, he wound them deeper into the base, through one corridor, into the next. The crowd began to thin out, the halls expanding into a far more military appearance. A few guards stood sporadically at this point, signifying without words or actions that not just anyone could enter these premises.

At the far end of a corridor, sectioned off in the corner, at a door a great distance from the others, Poe stopped. He lifted his hand, pressing his fingertips to a blank pad that quickly beeped to life. Colors danced across the small touch screen and the pilot drew in a pattern for his password. With two quick beeps, the pad flashed green and he waited for the doors to his private quarters to slide open.

As soon as they did, he stepped in and a few lights kicked on. His place wasn't anything grand, but he made it his own. Over the years, he had collected quite the few items while visiting all the different planets and made a conscious effort to display them aesthetically pleasing to the eye around his place. Nothing stood out vibrantly, but it was enough to make it his home; even if it was nothing compared to the home he used to have. In the end, these were but simple barracks. His status in the Resistance allowed him privacy, and Poe made sure to take full advantage of that.

"Uh, so yeah… Just, uh. Make yourself at home," he shrugged, motioning at the loveseat and recliner chair he had in the small, makeshift living room. Stepping into the even smaller kitchenette, he dug around in a cooling compartment and produced two non-alcoholic beverages; to get drunk, or even slightly tipsy at this point would only prove more chaotic and destructive than good. Poe took a moment to mentally freak out on himself for leading Hux back to his quarters before stepping back out to pass over the drink.

To say that Hux was riled up and screaming on the inside was a complete understatement. Their long walk, the guards posting around this area, the private chambers. All of this was a recipe for disaster. He was so far in the proverbial deep waters that he couldn't even dream of touching the bottom. Why had he not listened to reason? Why had he agreed to go with the pilot? Why did he care? Wasn't he supposed to be cold and ruthless? Wasn't he the Ice General? Didn't he want this planet, these people, to either bow before him or to be erased from existence? Not just wiped out. Not just killed. He wanted to make sure that they never existed in the first place. He wanted to make it so that the stars themselves would not bear witness to their lives.

The ginger took the drink with a small smile, taking a sip before making a noise between a scoff and a laugh. "Ginger ale. How fitting." He glanced over at the loveseat, then the recliner. This wasn't good. This wasn't meant to happen. He made his way to the end of the small couch - as far away from the chair as possible - and took a seat, letting Dameron dictate how close they were going to be. Was that another metaphor? Probably. He'd think about it later when he wasn't desperately trying to find a way to not be suspicious and still care and not care and open up himself all at the same time.

One thing was certain - this wasn't going to work. He could either open up, or he could be inconspicuous. He could either be undercover, or he could care. If he got close to the pilot, he would find himself arrested and thrown into the cells, here, awaiting interrogation. If he left, he would sever the ties he had with the first person in years that he felt any kind of connection to. He could either be himself or be alone. He could be captured or he could be free.

He wanted a third option. Wanted his thinking to be a fallacy of the false alternative, but there was no third choice. This was it - black or white, dark or light, enemies or friends. He could either be here or there. He could either help or hurt. In every instance, he could only do one.

Hux looked up at Poe from where he sat. "Going to join me or just stand and continue to creepily stare at me from across the room?"

"I'm still not entirely sure what's going on." Lifting his hand that is no longer holding one of the glasses, Poe rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. "Ah, mierda…" He finally sighed, figuring there was no turning back at this point. Taking nearly half the drink in one gulp, the pilot finally stepped into the living room and set his drink down on a small coffee table. He stepped over Hux's legs, careful not to kick him, even on accident, and approached a bookshelf that was easily overloaded with items. An upside down picture frame resided on the very top shelf and Poe reached up to grab it.

As he flipped it over, a soft, nearly dreamy smile overtook his features. His free hand brushed away the dust that had accumulated on the frame as he studied the picture. Himself, tightly wrapped up in another male's long arms. Both smiling with award winning smiles. Happiness evident in both their expressions. A time lost too soon, most certainly.

Looking over the frame, he spotted Hux and that smile quickly faded. "Here." Was all he muttered as he passed over the picture, then dropped down into the recliner with a deep blush. He wasn't going to explain any more than he absolutely had to, but Hux wanted to know. The taller male had asked what it was that Poe lost. He asked why Poe had quit dancing. The answer was simple, and it was all right there in that small, fading picture.

The ginger studied the faces he saw smiling back at him and he frowned. He looked at Dameron, a slight tilt to his head before he drew his gaze back to the picture. Who was the tall, lean man that was wrapped up in the pilot's arms? The man's smile was blinding - so full of life and joy and some deeper connection to the younger version of the Commander. The picture was worn, and there was a crack at the top of the glass, as if it had been thrown. The man's smile was reflected on Poe's face. They were so close to one another. There had been a thick dust on the image when the pilot first turned it over. There was so much warmth and life and joy in the photo. The frame was upside down.

Hux suddenly dropped it onto the table like he had been burned. His green eyes flickered and focused on anything other than the picture and the man who had become his reluctant companion. He shook his head. He hated seeing ghosts from the past. Hated feeling like lives could transcend their own time and linger in the present. Hated when memories took shape and became nightmares. His left wrist itched under his sleeve. Images of bruises on pale skin flitted across his mind. Sensations of phantom pain and unyielding pressure pushed down on him, lit up his skin in a way that only the living past could do.

"Who was he?" The General grit out. He needed to get out of his own head. This wasn't safe. "Who was the man with you?" His wrist itched more, almost burned. "What happened to him?"

The pilot was expecting questions, that much was a given; he didn't expect to randomly pass over a picture and not have the other curious as to the true nature of it. What Poe wasn't expecting, however, was how difficult it would be to answer the questions. And he didn't think Hux would seem so deeply intrigued by it. As he lifted his gaze to finally look at the other male once more, he saw a flash of emotion in the alluring green eyes. An emotion he wasn't familiar with. One he had yet to see on the recruit in the couple of days now that he's been around him.

"You asked me what I lost," Poe finally was able to answer with great reluctance. "It was him." His line of sight dropped onto the table where the picture was residing, catching the image of Adrian smiling up at him. "You asked me why I quit dancing." A soft sigh escaped from Poe's mouth as he reached out, flipping the picture upside down once again, unable to look at Adrian's smiling face any longer. "It was because of him."

Almost every aspect of Poe's life changed the day Adrian died. That fiery passion behind his eye disappeared, his desire to do much of anything drifted away. He even found he couldn't bring himself to get into an X-Wing for nearly two months afterwards; his once favorite thing to do in life, now a big fear of his. He knew he had put too much of himself in Adrian… Knew it the first time they made love instead of just raunchy sex. Knew it when he slid that engagement ring down Adrian's slender finger. But what he didn't know was exactly how much of himself he had lost the moment Adrian left him. How much he has yet to get back.

Hux's eyes caught the movement of the frame being flipped over and suddenly that was all he could focus on. He shook his head. He knew what he heard, comprehended every word spoken, but he couldn't...he didn't want to accept it. Didn't want to look at that picture and see a version of Dameron that was so different than the one before him now because that meant he had been so dramatically changed by one person...one man who was there and then gone.

The ginger made a low whining sound as he shot into a stand and walked away from the couch and the picture and the Commander and the phantom memories that swam around in the air between them. No. He would not do this. He would not open up again. Especially to someone he should hate. He wasn't going to connect to someone he would inevitably meet on the battle field. He would not jeopardize the entire mission because this man reminded him so much of himself, had they both lived different lives.

"What...was his name? What was he to you?" The General scratched at his arm through the loose sleeve.

He was chosen to go on this journey because he wasn't supposed to be human. He was supposed to be robotic, unmoving. He was supposed to be untouchable. He was supposed to be unwavering. His walls were supposed to be too high up for people to even try and get in, but Dameron was coming very close to scaling them. He could feel the man climbing up them, could feel the toes of his shoes digging into the stone and brick, could feel his hands finding cracks to hold and inadvertently making them larger, deeper. Hux kept his back to the pilot.

The way Hux was reacting had Poe a bit alarmed and he glanced over his shoulder, watching him with baited breath. For a moment, he assumed the other male was about to make a run for it. About to abandon him to wallow in self-pity like he so deserved. So when the questions continued, he was taken aback quite a bit. "Oh…" Settling more comfortably in his seat, the pilot rubbed at his forehead, feeling the onslaught of a migraine forming. He sighed, wondering just how deeply he wanted to get into discussion with his new companion. Not at all, to tell the truth, but he had allowed himself to open up this much.

"Adrian Rodriguez." The name sounded so foreign coming from his mouth after all this time. He could remember nights spend in his lover's arms, laughing over the thought of them getting married. Poe Rodriguez. Adrian Dameron. It took them about a week to finally decide on the idea of Poe taking his last name. Though he hated to let the Dameron name die out, taking Rodriguez as his own made Adrian happier than can be. So it was a no brainer after that.

What was he to Poe..? That had the pilot's heart thumping like mad. His blood ran cold and he swallowed hard. "Wh-What was he to me..?" Everything. Simply put. "He, uh… W-We.." His voice cracked so he paused for a moment, allowing himself time to regather his wits. "My fiancé." Hux would probably understand that more than if he were to simply say 'everything'. "We… We were together for quite a while." Years, in fact. Many years. The longest he had ever been with anyone before.

The ginger felt his heart stop, felt the absence of a beat, a pulse. He felt his world shift for a moment before he shook his head and forced his vision to balance out again. 'Stop it! Stop having so much in common with me! Stop being so similar! Stop making me feel like I could tell you your own story by telling you parts of mine!' Hux wanted to scream at the pilot.

"Adrian Rodriguez..." He repeated the name that Dameron spoke, as if that would give it life again. As if that would make all this better. As if 'Adrian Rodriguez' could somehow replace 'Marcus Abati' in his own mind and everything would be wiped clean. As if a name of a ghost had any meaning to the living that never knew it existed before this point in time. Hux rubbed his hands over his face. 'Come back, he's not here, come back to yourself,' he thought.

"I'm...sorry...for your loss," he grit out each word as he tried to stop the world from spinning. He didn't like to be out of control, didn't like that he could feel everything. The past was the past, so why couldn't he let it go? Why did the pilot's sorrow resonate and harmonize so well with his own? He wanted to run away and hide. Wanted to recollect himself and harden his defenses, again. Instead, the General spoke again. "How did...How did he...What happened?"

"I-I can't…." Poe was certain at this point that he wouldn't even be able to recite the tale of losing Adrian to anyone, even if his life had depended on it. It was just too much of a painful moment to revisit verbally; bad enough that his sleeping, exhausted mind would sometimes force him to go back to the moment he discovered his world had come crashing down, quite literally, and was gone. Many nights afterwards, he would wake up to himself screaming, sweating bullets, then lose himself into a fit of sobs.

Sitting on the edge of the seat, Poe hunched over all the way, as much as he could, and clasped his hands behind his neck. It was a way he was taught years ago to counteract a growing panic attack. About the only thing that proved to work when his emotions started to get the best of him. The pilot let out a trembling breath after a moment, his eyes shutting in pure shame.

"Ask anybody that's been on the base long enough, they'll know… I just, I can't… N-Not right now…." Another trembling breath left Poe's dried lips as an embarrassed hue tinted his cheeks. "Ask Rhys, he could tell you..."

For nearly the first month after Poe had lost his fiancé, Rhys took it upon himself to move into the other pilot's quarters. If it wasn't for him, none of Adrian's stuff would have ever been packed up. Poe wasn't even entirely sure he would still be around if it wasn't for that man. But he would never admit that to anyone. No matter what. Not too long after Rhys had returned to his own living quarters, Poe decided he couldn't stay in that home anymore. Not alone, not without Adrian. So he moved to the one he currently resides in. One much smaller. Much more equipped for just one single male.

Hux heard the tremble in each breath and he shuddered. He knew that feeling - Damn it! He knew it too well - and how it was to not be able to speak or draw a breath. He scratched his arm again and forced his own panic to calm down, forced his own ghosts to stop whispering to him, forced his own mind to stop asking questions about what he should do or could do because he already knew what he would do.

"Breathe, Poe," he murmured, keeping the quiver out of his voice as best he could. "Breathe in." He paused for a few moments. "Breathe out. Again. Breathe in." This was stupid. This was wrong. This was going to get him caught. "Breathe out." He shouldn't care, couldn't let himself get to close, had already done too much. "Breathe in." He needed to get out. Needed to remember the point of him being here. "Breathe out. One more time." He was standing on crumbling cement. "Breathe in." He had already made his decision. Already dug his own grave and rang the bell. "Breathe out." The pilot was too much like him, yet so different, too. Cut from the same cloth and then sewed into different ragdolls.

Before he could really figure out what was going on, Poe had found himself breathing in rhythm to Hux's instructions. There was no fear, no anger, and no embarrassment as he listened to the soothing tone of the other male's voice. Following his lead was rather easy as well, which had Poe questioning why this man had settled for the position of a fighter pilot and not aimed for something much more in depth and honorable in a leader's position. When he realized his breathing had calmed and mellowed, his mind drifting onto the other subject, he let out a terribly long sigh.

The redhead finally turned back to his mentor - this fucking pilot that had somehow scaled his walls and now stood atop them, waiting to overtake Hux completely. This man that had hair like messy ink drops and skin like parchment. Whose eyes told a story of sorrow and pain without ever needing a quill to write a word.

"I won't ask, unless you want to tell," green eyes tracked each breathe - each rise and fall. "I know...I understand...everything. This is your tale to tell. No one else." The General sighed and slowly moved closer to the other man, resting a pale hand on a shaking shoulder. "I know what it's like to not want to talk about the past, for fear that it will bring the pain to the present."

The warmth of the comforting hand brought a sense of calm washing over the pilot. His body still trembled some, but it had significantly calmed down. Hux had been so amazingly understanding. And so… Where was the sass? The snarky remarks and the 'better than you' attitude? Poe almost wished for that man he had met back on the tarmac. It made it so much easier to stay unattached and blissfully numb to it all. But now, with this. With the ginger caring and making a conscious effort to help his aches and woes…?

"Thanks, Hux." Poe's words were spoken with deep sincerity. His voice still wavered and had a bit of a crack to it, but it was much more reminiscent of his normal tone. As he slowly began to sit straight, he kept his gaze lifted and locked on Hux's deep green eyes. "I, uh… I..I'm sorry, I..." What could he possibly say to that? They were supposed to hate each other, not get each other! Not understand the deep sorrows the other had once felt! Poe felt more of his wall crumbing away; an entire portion now lay shattered at their figurative feet.

He fought so hard for the words to speak, sensing Hux had needed some comfort as well. But as his mind pulled him in several different directions, he allowed silence to fall between them as he lifted his hand and covered Hux's with it. Much like he had earlier with the pale hand residing on his knee.

"Look, I know I'm not exactly your best friend. And I get it, I do. I was… For lack of a better word, a dick to you. But, um.. My door is always open if you need someone to talk to."

"Your door at the end of a labyrinth of hallways and behind about three heavily guarded areas? I'll keep that in mind," the ginger retorted, trying to bring back anything that resembled the banter and sarcasm they had once showered one another in. But why try? This man was already inside his head. He had jumped the defenses and now stood knocking at Hux's mental door. The General, meanwhile, was still hiding under proverbial blankets and hoping the stranger would go away.

His pale thumb had started to rub itself back and forth over the pilot's shoulder absently in gentle motions that didn't even register to it's owner. He swallowed, the knocking growing louder. "I...It's a long story." He stated, mental-self peaking out from under the covers and staring at the door. "And not a pretty one." He glanced away from Dameron, breaking away from near-black eyes and intense emotion. Green eyes flickered to the arm that was still at his own side, then focused on some random place on the floor.

Now wasn't the time. Perhaps never would be the time. But definitely not now.

The hand that covered the ginger's was almost too warm and he tightened his grip on the Commander's shoulder before relaxing the hold again, resisting the urge to both pull away and press closer. He needed someone to hold him up at times, it was true. Like when he was alone in his quarters aboard the Finalizer, listening to his own mind replay scenes and screams until an angry Force-user banged on the actual, physical door to his room and yelled at him to shut his head up.

"It's a very long story."