albinomilksnake | STAR WARS: possible spoiler warning

[One of the biggest questions during reconditioning was whether or not to give him a new designation. On the one hand, reestablishment of his previous identity before defecting - his proper identity - would be a smoother process than with a new one was the thought. On the other hand, "Finn" was so closely inspired that he wondered if it wouldn't someday be the cause of future error.

The dreams did little to instill confidence against his suspicions, but it was in these moments that he knew how crucial it was to assert how important FN-2187 was to the Order. To inspire faith in him and keep his allegiance strong.

He steps closer, purpose in every step he takes but right now with less forceful intensity than he'd use with the others. His footfalls are softer, his presence isn't demanding to be followed: it's inviting him to.]

We all saw the worst of things on Starkiller Base, in ourselves and those around us. It's no surprise that it would stay with you. [His eyes move from the scenery outside to the trooper's eyes. Catering to the part of him that needed emotional connection that wouldn't go away no matter what they tried.]

I can see all that it did to make you stronger, and what you draw from your experience is what matters, not what you've forgotten. Trust me.

Thank you, General. [Stiff and formal a response as it is, like most everything 2187 does, it's emotionally charged. This time for the better, given how direct his glance upwards is in return without prompting or obligation - he'd never worked with Hux before they lost their primary base of operations, but there's a part of him that wishes it'd come sooner. Captain Phasma was a machine. A woman with a mission, and enough discipline to see it through without balking at the idea of managing thousands of soldiers. She knew them personally-- she knew him personally-- and in a way that made her the closest thing to family he had outside of his team, but she was hard and unfeeling, too devoted to the cause and not the people in it.

Hux wouldn't have sent Slip off to die.

Finn curls a few fingers, feeling the resilient seamline of his helmet.] I apologize for any inconvenience you suffered on my part. I try not to let them interfere with my performance.

[Because he knows they're both young, and every action FN-2187 takes reflects on the man that vouched for him: all the medical sessions he needed to recover from his near-fatal injuries on Starkiller, all the psych evals that came after it - he's not about to let it all fall through. That's not him.]

[There's something in his eyes and his words that pierces right through Hux's carefully maintained sense of detachment balanced with his sense of responsibility. It inspires a sense of warmth he'd long been unfamiliar with, the sort of feeling that tugs the phantom of a proud smile on his lips - and it makes him sick. He has to turn to sever the link, to patch up the crack letting light through.

This must have been the flaw that had set him apart from the others, what caused him to move away from the vision of the First Order. To feel it firsthand is briefly crippling for sure, but he has grown accustomed to recovering face quickly given his often immediate company.]

Think nothing of it. [The words come out more intense than planned, a symptom of his sudden slip, but he draws in a breath. Control.]

I will give you nothing but the truth, FN-2187: Phasma believes this whole ordeal to be linked with your wavering loyalty to the Order, that you value camaraderie over our vision. [He cannot fold under the trooper's emotional sway from this moment forward, no matter what happens, Hux tells himself, before turning back to him. Advances towards 2187, closing up what space was between them so that there is nothing but intimacy there. His words are softer, but with no less intensity than before. It's clear that while he's ruled by logic, he is also driven by his passion.]

If that is your only issue, then I want you to be loyal to me - not the First Order.

[Spoken from someone else, those words would be treason - reason enough to qualify for reconditioning-- or worse. 2187's attention shifts sharply, fingers gone still over polished armor, stare searching. It could be a test, Phasma was always fond of them, and Hux is sharp, intelligent enough to do the same. There's a chance that if FN-2187 says yes, he'll be shooting himself for nothing more than a ruse.

So he waits a moment, and then adds, earnestly:] I owe you my life, sir.

The way I see it, that means I've got a long way to go to return the favor. [Which is why he decides to close the distance between them without permission, dropping his voice low in the process. Someone could be listening in.]

So my answer is yes.

Good. [He couldn't have anticipated the thrill of satisfaction FN-2187's answer gave him, but he knows that's the kind of feeling that could overtake him if he let it. This whole thing ultimately totals up to a game of control, and he has to be careful not to lose his.

He doesn't move back now that the connection's made, instead one gloved hand is placed to rest on the forehead of 2187's helmet.]

You know better than anyone that individuality isn't prized in a Stormtrooper, but you also know that you aren't like the others. You can't be like the others. You were meant for greater things, and I can help you have them.

[Words used to deepen the foundation of faith between them. It helped that he believed his own words, not a single doubt in his mind that as long as he moved in the right direction, he could do great things for the First Order.

Even if that meant someone holding his hand in the process. Hux would take that responsibility if that's what it took.]

[His expression goes momentarily taut, tense down to his shoulders as he tries to picture in his head what 'greater things' translates to: more stripes on his arm, maybe, or the polished chrome that decorates Phasma's prized armor, taken from the Emperor's destroyed cruiser. It's the latter that has him uneasy, but why he can't place.

It doesn't matter.

He's here for the Order-- for its beating, guarded heart-- for Hux, above all else, and whatever comes from that, he'll take.] Permission to speak freely, sir?

[That moment doesn't go unnoticed and he wonders what thoughts inspired it, though he would guess it probably has something to do with remnants that can't be overwritten by the reconditioning process. Something to worry about, keep an eye out for.

For now, though, things are under control so Hux takes a moment to look over all the notes in his face. Always sizing up those around him. Always.]

Go ahead then.

[Another pause; he's back to scuffing at his visor and then-- decisively-- it's down atop Hux's desk, hands free and at his side. Because he means this, more than he's meant a lot of things he's said or done in his life. Trust doesn't come easy for anyone among the First Order's ranks.]

If that's what you want out of this, then that's good enough for me. [He never wanted to be a leader, he just had the right tools for the job according to the system and all its calculations. But if that's what it takes to prove just how loyal he is (how much he's willing to do for the only family he's got) then he's fine. He's good.

Better than fine, he's happy to do it.]

[That.

Is not what he was expecting in the least. To ask to speak just so he can say words of acceptance for whatever vision he had of the young man's future, rather than words of skepticism or contrary nature. Again, he's pulled into 2187's unique way of connecting with others, so tickled by what just came out of his mouth that he doesn't even realize there's a flabbergasted smile on his face.

The feeling of laughter about to burst out of him snaps him out of his trance and he brings a hand to his lips, elbow resting on the hand of his opposite arm crossed over his chest: a barrier and reminder to not do that. It's becoming more and more clear why Phasma could foresee trouble with this one.

He shakes his head, hand still lingering over his lips, hovering away only when he speaks.]

Power is useless to reach for unless you want it for yourself. I can't tell you to want more. That kind of hunger should be in you naturally. If being a pillar suits your interests more, then it would be a poor decision of me to place you in a different position.

What are your interests here, FN-2187? [It's a risk, encouraging him to think about his role in the Order, and he knows this, but it feels vital to establishing an equal level of trust here.]

[He's smiling, too. Can't help it when the stern image of General Hux is broken down with a brief, sincere grin, but then the subject changes, and 2187's expression evens out again like something automatic and pre-programmed. Mostly because it is, and aside from that because he-- ]

To serve the First Order, sir. However it needs me, whatever it takes. [FN-2187 doesn't look away when he says it, doesn't even blink until it's all been said, chin high, stare focused. If he was being evaluated on his delivery, even Captain Phasma would have to concede top marks.]

[A quiet exhale of relief that he hides behind scrutinizing eyes. It's good to know that even with the flashbacks the reconditioning process has a firm hold on him. Still, it's not the kind of answer he was hoping for.]

Something not rehearsed.

The space of my office is sacred - your words and mine don't leave these walls. [Underlined and bolded.]

[But that's the problem: everything he was, everything he wanted conflicted too much. There's nothing synonymous with freedom in the First Order's hierarchy (even Phasma, Kylo Ren and Hux serve within careful, guarded spaces) and all that Finn had craved, all he felt drawn to, was little more than the ability to live beyond rank and file. No more orders he was unable to refuse, no more innocent lives taken because he stood by someone else's side. Affection drives him, but morality-- that was always the root of the issue.

It had to go.

FN-2187 stops for an unsteady moment, blinking in mild, temporary confusion.] I was serious.

[His eyebrows raise ever so slightly as he watches, takes in all the notes in his expression, in the way that he speaks. It's almost a bit disappointing that they'd done such a good job, but then again, he did also say yes earlier, and that was enough to get him walking versus standing still. He just wasn't sure what sort of path to put him on yet.

Hux straightens again, hands tucked with regal grace behind his back as he moves to circle around the subject of his attention.]

"However it needs me, whatever it takes." [Stops, leaning over his shoulder from behind him with his lips hovering close to FN-2187's ear.

Voice low, not quite a whisper but a deep vibration:] If that need was understanding - intimately - what exactly makes you different from the others, would you still do whatever it takes?

[Finn is a contrast in comparison, but not something as monstrous as Kylo Ren or something as massively imposing as Captain Phasma in her full, radiant glory. His armor catches the light that comes across broad shoulders, and what he lacks in height, he makes up for in the sharpness of his stare. How, despite his obvious youth, he can look the part of a pristine soldier.]

I'm not an anomaly, sir. [His focus stays fixed dead ahead, entirely unaffected on a surface level-- but the answer's deflective. Denial. Like the armor he wears, it keeps the weight of everything else at bay.

He needs it kept at bay; he knows his place.]

There's nothing ot be afraid of, FN-2187. [He still hovers over his shoulder, presence heavy and unwavering - but also standing around him just so, like he could lean into Hux and it'd be a perfect fit. A feeling like at any moment he might completely close the distance between them, and it'd be fine if that happened.]

You can trust me. I know those walls must be built so high, - [he isn't one for physical contact but he has to commit to this, so he places a hand on Finn's shoulder]

- but you can let me in.

[It isn't like dealing with Ren. The way he'd buckled and balked, swapping back and forth between sympathy and hardened ultimatums: most of the memories and habits 2187 housed had been wiped clean like data from a hard drive, but it was Ren that urged him to talk about his dreams in order to lock out any room for doubt or error. It made sense at the time.

Hux, though, is different.

Encourages where everything else favors erosion, like he's nursing along dying embers between his hands. If it wasn't for him, FN-2187 might not remember anything about who he was, or what he'd done to get here; the thought's unpleasant enough that 2187 leans back, easily, into the set of Hux's palm. Something real, something grounding.] Like I said, General: I owe you my life.

And I trust you. [The idea of more psych tests, though, more evaluations...] If you think I somehow matter more, or that it'll help the First Order then it's...yeah.

I'd be in.

[The way he leans into his hand is encouraging, enough that Hux places his hand on the other shoulder, grips down on the plates of his armor, index finger pressed into the groove that more clearly pronounces the thicker protection over the sternum.

Honestly, he's not even sure himself what he's doing at this point, but he's pulling from what he knows to be considered a comfort, things that connect and encourage emotion. Phasma had warned him of this, considered it a weakness to be removed, but perhaps used the right way something like this could make them stronger. This was not so different from all the speeches he'd given for the morale of the troops, just a more personalized experience - is what he was telling himself.]

All I ask is that you come to me with your thoughts. When you're feeling conflicted about what we do, when you're unsure about the path we're on, or even just to share moments where you feel good about the work you've done for the Order.

Confide in me, FN-2187.

Edited 2016-01-18 04:57 (UTC)

[It's familiar in a way. Not the contact itself (that has his spine set rigid and tight, nerves alight under his skin) but the idea of having someone to lean on, someone to watch his back, feels second nature. Maybe that's wrong-- but Hux's word is as good as law in both his eyes and the eyes of the First Order: if he says something that doesn't align with the rest of it, then 2187 knows to recalibrate. Adjust his course and steer into it as if he were coming to heel.]

I do, sir. [Which is why when he shifts, turning his head enough to catch the General in his peripheral vision.] I know you might think it's because you're in charge of my division, or because these sessions are mandatory, but with all due respect neither Captain Phasma or Kylo Ren would understand.

You think about what's best for the First Order, you keep yourself focused on what that takes and never forget the bigger picture-- [He stops himself there, too close to implying something about Hux's compatriots that he doesn't for a second mean: they have their merits and strengths, General Hux's doesn't belittle either of there's.]

[There's no hesitation before he walks back to 2187's front, a light tap of his knuckle under his chin to direct his eyes upward into Hux's own instead of leaning over him to meet his eye level. The look in his eyes and way he speaks shows that he follows along exactly with what he'd been getting at.]

I understand what you mean. Like anyone, they can get caught up in their own directives, in the world that they see before them. Even I struggle with it.

As leaders, we have to continually challenge ourselves to step back and reevaluate our point of view. See things from where we stand as well as from where people like you, the cadets who are still training, and everyone in between that see the world too.

But, it's important to pay attention to the finer details as well, 2187, which can be easy to miss when you look at the bigger picture too much.

[There's no question of it, FN-2187 instantly follows his recalibrated alignment, meeting Hux's stare with no small amount of unwavering dedication.] I can't imagine that being a problem for you, sir.

[In this case, it isn't flattery. It's sincere. Affectionate, even, but entirely sincere: he believes in their General as much as he believes in their cause; he hasn't got a choice.]

But if there's anything I can do to help keep you informed, I will.

[There's that warm feeling again that he has to hold at arms length. It's one thing to know one's own capabilities and be confident, to face those who'd question him with unwavering resolve, and something entirely different to see it reflected in someone's eyes. To be validated in your beliefs.

It's difficult to not feel a sense of gratitude for the recognition, which is ridiculous since he is the superior officer.]

We all have faults, FN-2187. If I denied that, I wouldn't be very good at my job.

Then let me deny it for you. [If he can't see the field, if he's too much of a risk, if he can't benefit the First Order in any other way than making sure its backbone stays secure, respected, appreciated, it's fine. It's more than fine. His duty is defined by the Order, his worth by his ability to commit, and his life by the fact that he belongs here, at his general's side, more than anywhere else in the entire galaxy.]

[He can't turn away from this, can't stop, can't second guess what's happening because this is what he asked for. He asked for FN-2187's devotion and here it is. If this was a mistake, he had to accept the consequences of placing himself dead center in the focal lens of infectious empathy.

What he can do is adapt to it, or try. He just has to remember that no matter what happens, he cannot let this become an issue should anything happen that would rattle the cage. Let the attachment exist, but be strong enough to cut it off or rip it out when the time comes.

So, with that thought, he knowingly takes the metaphorical leap right into his own grave.

The look on his face has all the gravity of someone who has seen death, but with all the serenity of someone who has accepted it a long time ago as he reaches out to take 2187's hand in his own, thumb running over the armor plating before gripping tightly.]

Thank you. [For believing in him, for believing in what he's doing here, unspoken but implied in his gaze.]

[All the half-formed remnants of his old life still pooling under his skin only rarely show their colors. It's part of the program: efficiency first, unwavering allegiance to the cause they all serve - conformity to his last drop of blood while on duty. Moments like this, though (few and far between as they are) expose those weathered edges. Let him breathe again with an old, familiar rhythm that shouldn't come as easy as it does (he doesn't remember thumbing someone else's hand in the dark, doesn't remember what it was like carrying someone's broken bones to success under Phasma's heel) but his armored fingers don't shrug off Hux's grip.

Instead it's something like pride that swells up in his chest, between his guarded ribs. Like being needed-- wanted-- a single trooper singled out for something he can't possibly fathom.

Another beat, and he leans in, leaving too little room between them - unblinking.] You don't need to thank me, sir.

Ever.

[He lives for the First Order, it's true, but he'd die for its brilliant, unparalleled General.]

STAR WARS: possible spoiler warning

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rips out my own heart with my bare hands and throws it in the garbage

oops

gently blames u but really

I know I know

turns the seduction up to eleven

yo Hux YO

B) eyyyy

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honestly i think this might be more gay than the gag tag

just makes it worse nbd