Fresh blooding Who: General Hux and Captain Phasma When: After the destruction of Starkiller base Where: The Finalizer What: Angst. Also, traitors. Rating: Eh, PG
Despite counseling unity in her ranks, Phasma’s rank afforded her private quarters on the Finalizer and she employed them without guilt. After all, too much downtime spent with others fostered camaraderie and familiarity, both of which she wanted nothing to do with. She preferred her soldiers to see her only in a professional capacity, lest they imagine that a personal life was somehow as valuable as their service.
Tonight, she found herself again reviewing the troop assignments, making herself wretched with finding the weakness that had allowed the rebels to escape the base and bring about its ultimate destruction. There was some satisfaction that most had perished, else she would have spent many fulfilling hours making their lives hell before ending them for their failures. The fact that she felt her own failure in there, keenly, was not overlooked. Her sense of shame was likely palpable to those around her, for all that she acted no differently. She clung to the hope that there would come a reckoning in which she could prove herself once more.
A chime sounded at her door, startling her out of the fierce frown she had been directing at the datapad in her hand. Perplexed, she looked at the door before a sinking feeling came, deep in her stomach. The only ones who even ventured near her quarters were a handful of other commanders she spoke with...and General Hux. Had the time for retribution for her failures come? She dared not make him wait, if it was him, but her armor was set aside as she prepared for sleep, and it would take her several minutes to don it once more.
It was not as if he was ignorant of her face, so Phasma set aside the datapad and rose to open the door. She wore the simple black tunic and pants that she exercised in, and it would have to do. Missing the calm facade that her helmet lent her, she straightened her shoulders and placed her palm to the control panel to allow the door to slide aside.
“I am at your disposal, General,” she said, with a respectful incline of her head, forcing away any hint of apprehension.
He moved into the room without a word. The door slid shut behind him: a solid wall that blocked them off from the world at large. His body did not relax when they found themselves alone. His hands were folded neatly behind him, resting at the small of his back. He wore a familiar expression, all downturned lips and hard, glittering eyes. His gaze flicked over her, assessing, appraising. She was well put together, particularly for one who had so recently inhabited a garbage chute. He looked briefly to her armor, but it too was polished and ready for battle. She was ready and willing, as all of his officers and enlisted were. He felt a faint swelling of pride, though he kept it from his face.
"You have been unusually reserved of late," he said. "None have commented on it thus far, but I have noticed. I thought it best we speak of what happened on Starkiller Base before you let that wound fester and erupt when we least need it."
Phasma barely blinked when he came in, merely stepped back and let the door close. At first, she misinterpreted his assessing look, and she stiffened even further. If she was to be censured, she would take it with honor, and be grateful that he chose to do so privately instead of in front of the others. His gaze was sharp, and again, she wished for her armor to guard against that. It always felt that he could slice away any outward defenses when he grew so intense.
But his words surprised her. “I do not fester-” she started, automatically defending herself, before she realized the import of it. He expected that she would break down. When we least need it. He was seeing weakness, and Phasma felt a flush of shame work its way through her. Lifting her chin, she replied, “I would not disappoint you. I would never do that.” Again. The traitorous word slithered through her mind, despite her best efforts to subdue it.
“Then do not insult me by insisting you do not dwell on what your rogue trooper has done.” His eyes darted to one side, indicating the cast aside datapad. “I can see you search for rats on our ship. Perhaps you harbor some doubts that FN-2187 was the only traitor.” His blue eyes lingered on the color that had risen to her pale cheeks. One brow faintly arched. There was a pause -- too long -- before he spoke again.
“Has this shaken your confidence, Captain?”
Yes, she heard, inside her head, but did not voice it. Her glance took in the datapad that he had cleverly noticed. “FN-2187 had shown signs of….sentiment,” she finally admitted, after a long pause. “His work otherwise was exemplary, so I took him to task for the two times he showed familiarity with another trooper, and I thought that was the end of it. Clearly, I was wrong.” Phasma had little issue with admitting an error, as her pride was not greater than her service to the Order, and to him, for that matter. But this went so far beyond an error.
“The truth is, I should have allowed the Resistance and FN-2187 to kill me rather than take the actions I did at their threat,” she continued, her voice level remaining the same but emotion finally coming into her tone. “I...overestimated the response time of my troops.” And she suspected that Kylo Ren had delayed them on purpose, but she wasn’t going to accuse him just to salvage her own responsibility. “I should have been happy to die in the service of the Order.”
Hux’s jaw was drawn tight. His unblinking gaze held hers. He was no cultist, to eschew all emotion; she was right to feel the shame and frustration she did, and he would not begrudge her that. He could well understand both, and indeed had felt both keenly in the wake of his weapon’s destruction. But the moment for self-pity had passed, and now there was work to be done.
“When the time comes for you to do so,” he said, “I’m certain you will. For now the Order needs you and others like you. We demand a higher quality of stormtrooper as we build up what the Resistance tries to destroy. True soldiers to bring order to the chaos they sow. If there is weakness -- sentiment, as you say -- in our troops, we must root it out.” For a moment his tone seemed to soften. The hard line of his shoulders eased; his folded hands flexed at the small of his back. “I know you can provide that, Phasma. Put this energy into setting this right, not useless self-flagellation.”
As his voice gentled slightly, Phasma dropped her gaze, unwilling to let him see the emotions there. Always pride, when he praised her even indirectly, but also doubt, and pain. Had she grown too arrogant in her abilities that she overlooked a weakness in her own troops expecting that she alone could correct it? Unforgivable. But her retreat was only temporary. She lifted her gaze back up, unsure if those feelings had been expunged from her eyes but knowing that she owed him that respect.
“I will,” she answered, her tone less strident than she wished but there was nothing to be done for that, at least for now. “It encourages me to revisit my methods, to ensure all training I do is sound.” Her gaze grew unfocused for a moment, as she thought over her words. “We are fewer in number, and we lost many troops, but I believe we need to be less lenient in allowing for those incapable to catch up, as it were. You may not have as many of my troops at your disposal when you like, unless we get more recruits.”
“Then we will renew our emphasis on recruitment,” he said. “We will continue to focus most heavily on the children, of course. But if there are others who would meet our standards, we can consider them. Those who fail are easily disposed of.” His hands moved to his sides. A flicker of excitement shone in his eyes. “The New Republic has left many floundering for direction. They sacrifice efficiency for diplomacy, and many worlds and people have been left in a lurch because of it. We can capitalize on that. The First Order can provide a home and purpose for those disenfranchised. But if we are to go this route, your training must be more than sound. Not a single infraction could be tolerated. Unwavering loyalty is paramount.”
“Of course.” Her answer was automatic, but Phasma responded to the gleam in his eyes. Her stance has eased a little, now that they were speaking of goals, comfortable ground. “There have always been those who would choose to serve, and absolutely so, if we are allowed to accept those to our side.” Her blue eyes were contemplative now, but more eager. “We must make sure they are not serving for their own selfish goals, however. This is not about revenge, this is about elevating the Order and bringing stability.” She so disliked those who would use the First Order as a tool to punish. No, they were ending war in the galaxy, for all the times that the Republic wished to see it all succumb to chaos. “Are you allowing my troops and myself to recruit on these worlds?” Fresh blood, her favorite kind.
“Not your troops,” he said. “Only you. I trust no other with this. And we have enough cadets coming up to fill the ranks in due time. This must not eclipse our efforts with the children. It is only in the interim, so that we do not lose our edge.” He thought for a moment. “Begin with a small group. Keep them apart from the stormtroopers. Test them more harshly than you would our own cadets. As you say, this is to elevate the Order. We can keep only the most loyal and capable soldiers from the outside. A single failure with this and Snoke will have us both executed.” A mirthless laugh crossed his lips. “And we would both deserve it.”
The pride that swelled inside her as Hux spoke of his trust, was eclipsed by his last words. “You would not deserve it,” she said, without thinking, and regretted the words. She admired Hux, but she had to be careful. She could not give in to sentiment either. Her eyes slid away towards her armor and back to him. “If this is to remain clandestine, I should not go in my uniform. Not always. I will not bring those I cannot trust into this place, and I won’t alert the Resistance to our efforts, as they would notice me without fail. It is clear they have spies in many places.”
Hux let the comment pass, though it remained very present in his mind. He did not wholly disagree with her. He had many years of service left in him, and many contributions still to make to their cause. So did she, he thought; but he put this from his mind as quickly as she had from hers. Only a faint flush stained his cheeks, and only for a moment. He cleared his throat. Raised his chin.
“Spies indeed,” he said. “You may take a small contingent of Special Forces with you when you go planetside. Should you suspect anyone of Resistance ties as you carry out your recruitment, dispatch them. And keep me abreast of what you find. Should the Supreme Leader take issue with your work, I will take full responsibility for having ordered it.” His eyes left hers for an instant, as though what he thought now caused him discomfort. Still, he found a way to put it to words, and in a blink he was once again watching her closely. “You are a valuable asset to the First Order, Phasma. I would not see you wasted or misused.”
Phasma had no time to ponder his pause, as his bright gaze was again fixed on hers, unerringly. For some reason, it made her breath tight in her chest. “I always strive to be worthy of that regard,” she answered, but her tone lacked the crisp military bent it usually held. It was almost….gentle. Still, a contingent, a new mission, and certainly, the leeway she preferred. He was entrusting her with much. Stronger, she added, “When would you have me depart, General?”
He drew a deep breath; released it on a slow exhale. “The sooner the better, I think. Return within three standard days. Consider this a trial run. If it succeeds, we’ll discuss further resources and timing.” He studied the slight changes in her bearing. It helped him that she fell so easily back into that military cadence; he did not know what to do with these strange pauses, these awkward moments where something other than duty began to creep in. He found himself uncertain what to do with his hands, so he folded them once more at his back. In public, he would never have asked what he did then. But they were not in public, and he was not so beholden to the normal way of things.
“Is there anything more you would ask of me? Something I can provide to help you carry this out?”
Phasma was as surprised at his offer as he likely was, but she gave it weight and gravitas, treating his questions as the rare treasure they were. “No,” she finally said, after thinking over everything she might need. And yet, the unusual nature of the offer made her bolder, to request something that had been weighing on her. “Actually…” And here she paused. Dissension was the death of unity, but then, whose dissension was first? “Would you be willing to consider this mission something I only report to you, and not to the Master of the Knights of Ren?” She simply could not shake the sensation that there had been more to Kylo Ren’s reported appearance in the cooling tower. For now, her trust was shaken, and she only believed in General Hux with her life at the time being.
They tread on dangerous ground, and both of them knew it. Hux took a long time in answering. His boots softly creaked as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. “For the time being, yes.” His thin frown somehow grew thinner. “I’d rather find and test these candidates for our own purposes, and not see the most promising among them shuffled off to join his cult. I answer to the Supreme Leader, as Master Ren is well aware.” He smirked. “The time may come when we have to include him in this planning. I will deal with that problem when it comes.”
While he contemplated her request, Phasma had time to acknowledge the difficult position she had put him in with her request, and it was on the the tip of her tongue to withdraw the words. However, the fact still remained that it concerned her greatly, and she trusted no one more than Hux. If he felt that it was inappropriate, or even just impossible, he would have said so swiftly and clearly. That he debated the issue said he shared some of the concerns. After she had been pulled from the sanitation disposal by her troops, just in time to evacuate the exploding base, she had lost her temper spectacularly but had managed to not implicate their erstwhile partner at that time. Not even when she had to rejoin the Finalizer sans her uniform, her armor, because of the filth. At least she had seen firsthand, without her helmet, what she thought was relief in Hux’s eyes as she reached the ship and was accounted for with the others.
“The Knights of Ren are already active on several worlds in flux,” she pointed out, although he already knew of it as well. “They are seeking others to recruit, although with different capabilities. It would not be unheard of for us to do the same.” Justification, to be sure, but it was also the truth. Neither she nor Hux were ignorant of the Knight’s dispersal to several Mid Rim worlds.
Hux nodded. Even now, with his decision made and no room or inclination to back down, he felt warring impulses within him. He would never have called Kylo Ren his friend, but there was more to their relationship than animosity, too. They had shed the blood of worlds together, after all. That was a bond Hux did not take lightly.
“Do not undermine the Knights’ efforts if you can help it,” he said. “But by the same token, do not overlook Force sensitives if you feel they would make a good addition to this new class of cadets.”
“I overlook no one.” Phasma answered automatically, almost unaware of her words as she studied Hux. There was something there, behind his eyes. In a way, she had asked him to choose between her and Kylo, and that was not the divisiveness she wanted, or needed. “Hux,” she said, quieter, one of the rare times she was informal enough to not use his title, “Kylo is loyal to the Order. There is no reason for me to think otherwise. It is only…” She had to tread carefully. “He has his own goals, as well, and his own methods. I would never request that we lie to him. Yet if I am nearer to his goal than he is, he will trample me in an effort to reach it.” It was the most circumspect way she could say that she knew Kylo Ren wouldn’t think twice about sacrificing her to get what he wanted. If she was going to remain alive, she must keep that present in her thoughts, always.
Tension straightened Hux’s spine. He took a step closer to her. He was near enough to her that he might have reached out and touched her. He shifted again; for a moment it seemed he might indeed reach for her. It was exhaustion, perhaps, that put such a soft note in his voice. Or so he told himself.
“Trust that I would not put you in such a position,” he said. “I do not fear him. If you do, you must never show it.”
At first, Phasma thought she might have gone too far, that her suspicion of Kylo had caused Hux to question her, to think less of her. However, the intensity in his posture, the halving of the distance between them, told her something else entirely. “I trust you with my life,” she said, fervently, so he understood. “And I do not fear him.” She paused. “I fear his path.” Her words were quieter only because he was so close, that was all. Or perhaps such a subject did not need to be spoken of too loudly.
“You have no reason to.” Hux gestured behind her, to the chrome armor forged from the remnants of the Empire. The brush of his fingertips past her shoulder was so quick as to be easily written off as unintentional. “Our path is far more solidly built than his. He has a dead religion to see him through. Our foundation rests on governments that spanned the galaxy. When his grip on the Force founders and his order fades into memory as the rest of them did--” Hux sneered at the word, disdain dripping in his voice. “--We, and the source of our power, will remain.”
Seeing her armor, so solidly there, so reliable, along with the red-edged cloak, felt like ballast that was securing her afloat. It stood as a reminder to everything they were trying to accomplish, security and freedom from the imperfect, uneven guardianship of the Republic. She felt kinship with Hux in this, that they did have power that would always remain. Returning her gaze to his, there was a small smile lingering at the corner of her lips.
“I know we will persevere,” she answered his fervor. “This mission will be just the start. I won't fail you.” This time, the treacherous thoughts did not tack on the unwelcome words, did not flush her skin with shame. Hux had been clear; her past failure was forgotten. For now, anyway. If she failed again, it would be cumulative, she understood.
Hux smiled. This time he did reach for her; his hand clasped her arm, his grip warm through the thin material of her tunic. He gave her arm a brief, tight squeeze. “I know,” he said. Then his familiarity was gone as quickly as it had come. His hand fell, and with it the warmth of his tone. “Report to my quarters upon your return.”
It was enough. Phasma straightened up as he did, but her arm was warm where he had clasped it, trust and assurance in that grip. She would carry that with her, as if it had been a brand. “Thank you, General,” she replied, her features firm but her eyes alight. “I will do so.” As he turned for the door, she found herself adding, “Good evening, General.”
The slight nod of his head upon leaving said far more than he had with mere words. Then her door slid shut between them, muffling even the sounds of his retreating bootheels.