[The Old Man]

[Insta-rad = microwave. This is not good advice on how to properly prepare crab. 1) Chewbacca isn't a great cook, and 2) their supplies and setup constrain their cooking options.]

"You know," the Old Man said to Teller as she crouched next to the burner, "I've never in my life had the opportunity to shoot a Rebel until today and I didn't do it. Had him in my sights and everything. I had the perfect excuse."

"Couldn't do it?" She poked at the crab meat on the grate. Not being a fatty meat, it was sticking and scorching onto it.

"Oh, I could have. That Dameron guy being between us and saying he'd kill me if I did had something to do with it. A lot to do with it. But, you see- Uh, you're cooking that too hot."

"Fire is fire. I can't change that."

"Yeah, but the grating needs to be higher."

"I can't change that either."

"You're supposed to be cooking it. Not charring it."

Her voice developed an edge. "You're supposed to be giving directions. Not standing around complaining."

"You're the sergeant. I'm only a corporal. It's your job to figure things out."

"You were ordered to supervise. It's your job to tell me how to do this!"

"I am supervising. And I'm telling you to stop burning the food!"

Teller lifted the grate off the fire and set it aside with an exasperated sigh. "This is not working. You said you knew how to cook."

"I know how to cook … stuff, yeah," he said. "But I was a dock worker, not a chef." They both jumped as FN-9037 stun-blasted some bugs which had come too close to their perimeter. H-482's voice turned loud as a sudden tension ran through him, though he did not make any conscious connection between his unease and the blaster-fire. He gestured expansively with one arm and said, "Not everyone from the larger galaxy knows how to do everything!"

The Wookiee, who'd earlier helped Finn inside, came over and harrumphed what the Old Man knew meant, "What's going on?"

Still loud, he answered, "I don't know how to cook this stuff like this! The fire's too hot, there's no insta-rad, and I don't want to eat it raw like I saw you doing over there!"

"You understand him?" Teller said in shock.

The Old Man paused, calming down. "Yes. Sometimes." Chewbacca said something longer and incomprehensible. H-482 shook his head and waved a negating hand toward him. "Listen, I know like a handful of common phrases, 'yes', 'no', 'maybe', and some numbers. That's it. Can you show us?"

"Yes," Chewbacca whuffed. He took one of the shallow metal pans that had come in the survival kit and went inside the shuttle. He came back shortly with water in it. He scraped the half-scorched meat off the grate and into the dish, then replaced the grate over the fire (upside down, so the meat that had stuck to the grate wouldn't stick to the pan) and put the pan on top of the grate.

"Oh," the Old Man said. "You boil it." Chewbacca made a bark. "Okay, we boil it. Got it." Then, a whuff. The Wookiee moved over to lean on the side of the ship, watching them.

"So," Teller said, "about that Rebel you didn't shoot. Why not?"

"Well … we're at truce. If that's good enough for General Hux, then that's good enough for me."

"Is that the reason?" Teller stirred the pot with the pair of tongs she'd been using earlier to handle the meat. "I mean, following orders is a good reason, but is it the real reason?"

He was silent for a bit, thinking about how he'd hesitated. He hadn't hesitated on Ten-ten. He jumped at another stun-blast from one of the perimeter guards, feeling jittery and unsettled. "Never had to shoot one of my own guys before today either."

Chewbacca made a short, mournful noise.

They both looked at him briefly, but neither of them understood him and no one was handy to translate. Chewie tilted his head to one side, mouth open slightly in what H-482 knew was intended as a friendly gape. Teller went back to stirring the meat in the now-boiling water.

The Old Man said, "I can see it plain in my mind now – how it could have turned out. One of those Rebels could have put a tourniquet on his arm. We could have put him on the repulsor-lift and just piled the meat on top of him. He'd still be alive. Still be useful for some things. Maybe he could learn to cook or keep records or something."

"What's a tourniquet?"

It was a question that said so much about life in the First Order. He thought about all the things she simply didn't know. From what little he'd been able to tell, she was one of the smarter ones. "It's a thing you tie around a limb when it's bleeding real bad. Just tighten it up to slow down the bleeding." Even he knew that, and he was an idiot. He held up his hand, which was missing a finger. "Amputations can be survived."

"That's a finger. Someone missing an arm – they'd get a medical termination for sure."

He shrugged. She was right and she wasn't right at the same time. He offered back, "Someone shooting at their superior officer – you'd think they'd get a blaster termination."

"What?" She looked at him blankly. "Who did that?"

"I'm just saying, it all depends on the person holding the gun." He was silent, thinking about how he'd chosen not to shoot Spots when she turned on him. Later, he'd chosen not to shoot Finn (or Dameron). And he'd chosen not to reprimand DL-1364 or Spots when they didn't fire on Finn after he'd ordered them to. All three of them had hesitated on pulling the trigger – and Finn was alive because of it. "Maybe I'm just getting soft in my old age. How's that meat coming? Let me try some."