albinomilksnake | STAR WARS: possible spoiler warning

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

B) eyyyy

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

just makes it worse nbd