Chapter Text
One more day.
That’s all you had to make it through. Just 24 more hours until you’d step off of the Finalizer, Fent’s hand in yours, the both of you destined for a planet with an actual sun--maybe even two. 24 more hours until you’d be able to breathe, free of anxiety and stress and the excessive demands of the medbay director. 24 more hours until you’d be able to make sure every single one of his needs was met--that he’d want for nothing, that there’d be no chance of failure or relapse. 24 hours until you’d be able to ensure his recovery.
24 hours until your life could return to normal.
“Excuse me, doctor--”
“I’m not a doctor,” you groaned, rubbing your temples--but when you peeled open your eyes, you cleared your throat, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, uh, sorry. Yes, um. Can I help you?”
The Stormtrooper at your office door appeared conflicted himself--on one hand, you weren’t a doctor, but on the other hand, what other prefix suited you? He straightened his shoulders. “General Hux requests you in his office immediately, ma’am.”
“Really?” You’d arranged for a clean departure a week earlier. There shouldn’t have been anything left of him to demand of you. Today, you were just closing up stragglers. Mostly the noncompliant ones. They’d have to just deal with it. “Can it wait?”
“I don’t think so,” the Stormtrooper replied. “I believe that’s why he included immediately.”
You sighed. The sass was unnecessary. “Fine.” Nothing saying you couldn’t stay and finish up your closures. Or tidy up your office. Or plan out Fent’s next meal. “I’ll be on my way.” Eventually.
“No.” The Stormtrooper shifted, uncomfortable with exercising his authority. “The General wanted me to escort you, ma’am.”
“I’m sorry?”
“He wanted me to escort you. Said that you’d avoid showing up if you could.”
“Dammit,” you muttered. He was good. “Fine.” Blowing air out through your nose, you stood, straightening out your skirt, and marched past the trooper. “Come on, then!” You heard the shuffle of his armor behind you.
At least you could take solace in the fact that this would be your last visit to the General’s office, your last-ever interruption at work, your last 20-minute traipse through the tiled halls of the Finalizer. The shine of the floors was more soulless than when you’d first been stationed. They were like mirrors, now, mirrors that could see beyond your flesh and muscle and bone, mirrors that reflected blackness into blackness, gleaming only when an infinity of emptiness swallowed the glass.
Or, you know, they were just some black pieces of fucking tile. Whatever.
It wouldn’t be right to say that the trooper had escorted you--no, really, it was you who had escorted the trooper, leading him straight through the doors on the bridge and right up to Hux’s office yourself. Clucking your tongue, you cast a look over your shoulder, watching as the soldier caught up. The bridge was busy, yet silent, the transparisteel panels clear of any absent-minded gazers. No sound but for the quiet adherence to the anal-retentive policies of the general. You’d only been standing there for a moment when the door opened, and before you could move, the Stormtrooper stumbled to try and jump in front of you, to--
“General, I’ve brought--”
“Let’s get this over with, General,” you said, crossing to behind one of the chairs. The trooper stood at the door, shoulders slumped. “What can I help you with?”
Hux scanned you, head to toe and back again. “An awfully bold entrance, today, doctor.”
You rolled your eyes. “All due respect, sir, but how many times do I have to tell you strategy nerds that I’m not a doctor, I’m a therapist.” You pointed to your lack of medbay insignia. “No medical training required.”
Lacing his fingers together, Hux glanced at the trooper, still stationed in his doorway. “Dismissed.” The Stormtrooper scampered off, and the blast door slid shut, leaving only you and the general. “Your impudence will not go unaddressed.”
“Okay.” You shrugged. “I’m out of here tomorrow, anyway.”
A tiny smirk crept onto his face. Oh, no. Not a smirk. Why a smirk? “And that’s exactly what I wanted to address with you.”
“Really.” The sudden urge to sit sank you into a chair. Your hands and feet felt heavy. “What, um, do you mean by that, sir?”
Hux’s eyes fell to his desk, and his lip twitched, as if he were remembering something unpleasant. “Do you know Commander Ren?”
You blinked. What kind of question was what? Did he think you were so rapt by your work you couldn’t be bothered to ever learn the basic chain of command at your station? “Um. I know of him, but, no, I’ve never met him.”
“Right.” He frowned. “Then you’re familiar with his--what will I call them--abilities?”
“I mean… he uses the Force, right? And has the laser sword?”
Another twitch. “Yes. Then you’re familiar.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “The Supreme Leader wishes for Ren to channel these abilities more effectively. To use them in a way that is more… efficient than how Ren uses them now. Is what I’m to understand.”
“Okay…”
“The work done with Leader Snoke alone has not achieved a sufficient level of progress. Is what I’m also to understand.”
You raised an eyebrow. “O-kay…” The pounding of your heart was audible by now, you were certain, the dread inside of it hijacking your nerves. You were leaving. You were supposed to be leaving.
“You,” said Hux, “are the solution.”
If only you had water to choke on--you’d spray it all over his stupid ginger face. “I’m sorry?” You shook your head. “No, no, sir, I’m--”
“What the Supreme Leader has devised,” he continued, apparently unaware that you already had plans, “is a plan for Ren to deliberately access these… abilities. With you as an assistant.”
This was already completely stupid. “Sir, I absolutely respect the Supreme Leader’s will,” you said, “but uh, I mean, this just wouldn’t work. I’m a therapist, after all, the only thing I’d be able to do would be to, like, psychoanalyze him, or something.”
“And that’s precisely why someone in your occupation is fit for the position.” Hux cocked a disinterested brow. “Yet another point I am to communicate to you is that this will not be therapy. Rather--it will be an… anti-therapy, of sorts.”
You snorted. “Anti-therapy?”
His face was dull. “Yes. Rather than looking to solve Ren’s issues, Leader Snoke wishes for you to dig them up. Force Ren to use them.”
Laughter almost erupted from you. Almost. Pulling it back, you stood, waving off his suggestion like a gnat, something inconvenient and irritating, something that buzzed in your ear and tickled your nose and made the acid in your stomach bubble.
Well, maybe not that last one.
“Ha-ha, okay, General.” You held out your hand. “We’ve had a good laugh, but, really, my flight off of this ship leaves in less than twenty-four hours, and I really must get back to my quarters to prepare--”
“You are not being discharged,” Hux spat. “All preparations for you and Mr. Hawkens’ departure have been cancelled. This is your assignment, now. So I suggest you sit and listen to the only time I’ll have the patience to explain it to you.”
Your jaw stiffened, your heart shattering in silence. Your departure. Your safety. His recovery. Your normality. All of it, gone--because of some ridiculous proposition that you conduct some sort of anti-therapy with the Commander of the First Order? No. This couldn’t be. Why did it have to fall on the day of your discharge? And why you?
Trembling, you collapsed into your seat, staring at Hux from across the mile-long berth of his pristine desk. It was made of the same material of which the Finalizer floor tiles were composed. It had to be. That was the only explanation as to why you couldn’t see yourself in the reflection of the glossy black surface. Why the only image, stretching out further and further, like a pale shadow, was the ghoulish imitation of Hux’s face, twisted in a sadistic smile. It could echo only a person’s truth, this substance. And that was why when you stared into it, a void stared back.
You swallowed--not just your bile, but everything else, too. “Yes, sir,” you replied. “I understand.” Was there no other way out? “I just--well--couldn’t there be someone better suited for the job? Other than me? Maybe we could reach a… compromise?”
Hux sighed. “When I asked the medbay director which one of his therapists had produced the most impressive results, he gave me your name.” His hands--thin, reedy fingers encased in leather--swiped away a screen. “When your coworkers were asked who they considered the most competent…” He met your eyes. “Their replies were, unanimously, you.”
“Maybe that used to be true,” you said, “but the past few months, the mistakes I’ve made have been--”
“Yet your record is still more impressive than all others.”
Dammit. Dammit. You grit your teeth. “W-well,” you replied, “Fent Hawkens, sir, this means his medical discharge request is being denied, and--”
“Not denied,” he said. “Delayed.”
“Delayed?” You frowned. “How much longer can it be delayed? He is very ill, sir, and--”
“And you are his caregiver, are you not?” Hux replied. “It seems that he is your responsibility--not ours.”
“Well, then.” There wasn’t arguing with that. The details had been decided before you’d even had a chance. “Of course.”
“At the request of the Supreme Leader, I’ve already arranged your first session for tomorrow morning upon Ren’s return. After which point, it will be your responsibility.” He turned. “Additional information will be sent to your datapad. Dismissed.”
Nodding, you said nothing else. You stood, pulled your skirt down, and you left.
The rest of your shift was spent in distraction, attempting to figure out how you’d explain to Fent why you wouldn’t be leaving, why his medical discharge request--despite Hux’s insistence--had been, essentially, denied. The mere thought of breaking the news made your fingers shake, made your palms sweat. You wondered if you’d be able to deliver it in holomessage. Or maybe bribe a Stormtrooper. Or maybe just mention it over dinner, a throwaway comment, totally meaningless apart from the entire meaning.
When you entered your shared quarters, Fent was curled on his side, blankets tugged over his head, the only sign of the life the quiet shifting of the mattress underneath his steady, unconscious breath. Chewing at your lip, you released a chestful of air, tiptoeing over to the side of your bed and nudging him. He didn’t stir, and you nudged him again.
“Fent,” you whispered. “Come on, sweetheart, it’s time to wake up.” I’ve got some great news for you, you didn’t add.
Like a beast rattled from its winter slumber, he groaned, tearing the covers from his head to reveal his face--handsome, still, even under the eleven-day shadow beard and four-day hair grease. You’d been trying to motivate him to basic hygiene tasks for days, now. He only seemed to respond to food. His sea-green eyes blinked at you through the veil of sleep as he sat up onto his palms, and you smiled.
“Hey.”
Fent blinked again, scanning your hands. “Hey,” he said. “Did you wake me up without making me dinner?”
You looked at the floor. “Um. I’m sorry, sweetie,” you said, “but there’s something I really needed to tell you.”
He sighed, flopping back onto the bed and rolling away from you. “Okay. What is it.”
“Well…”
“Did you pack all of my things for tomorrow, yet?”
“That’s the thing, actually--”
“Don’t forget my holovid collection,” he said. “There’s some really important stuff on there. Stuff from my first missions.”
“Okay, well--”
“And don’t--”
“Fent!” You hadn’t yelled, but you hadn’t whispered, either. “We’re not going.” The anxiety tumbled off of you like a waterfall. This isn’t how you wanted this to go. “We’re not leaving, tomorrow. We’re staying.”
Fent’s body was a rubber band, stretched tight over your words, muscles poised to snap back and crack you across the mouth. But he hadn’t done that to you, before. Not yet. “Why are you yelling at me?”
“I’m not yelling,” you said, “I’m just... speaking forcefully. Because you weren’t listening.”
“Okay, sure, whatever. What is it?”
“I’m sorry,” you said, shrinking in on yourself. “Hux has given me a special assignment. I tried to argue my way out of it, but he wasn’t having it. I have to stay. We have to stay. But he said that your discharge--”
“Are you serious?” His voice cut through yours like a forged sword. When you didn’t respond, he turned, meeting your eyes from the bed with a gaze that made your blood thin. “What happened?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Your fingers were knitting together like sweaty needles. “I’ve been given a new assignment. And--”
Fent frowned. “Did you fuck something up, or something?”
You shook your head, frowning. “I didn’t fuck up anything, thanks. In fact,” you paused, using this burden as armor, “I was chosen because of my hard work.”
“This is bullshit. I want to leave.” He stared into the wall. He looked broken. You wanted to pull him into your arms forever. Keep him safe. “I’m… I’m tired.”
“I know,” you said, “but Hux promised me that it was only a delay, that--”
Fent rolled his eyes and flipped over, motioning you away. “Okay, fine. Whatever. I’m done talking about this.” He sighed, his back swelling with a wave of repressed disappointment. You wanted to fall into the floor. “Do you think you could get dinner started, please?” He was almost whining, now. “I’m hungry.”
All of the resistance you’d built melted at your feet, the steam of your anger dissipating into the air. Mold spores of surrender were thick on the walls and in your throat. This wouldn’t be forever, you assured yourself. Tomorrow you’d meet with the Commander and turn him into the quickest case closure you’d ever had. Then Fent could be the center of your universe. And he’d get better, and everything would go back to like it had been when you’d first been stationed. It had to.
You patted his shoulder and trudged into the tiny kitchen. It wouldn’t be much, dinner--but it didn’t matter. You hadn’t planned on eating, anyway.
The meal passed in silence, with Fent falling back asleep soon after you’d cleaned. You had been hoping the medication would make a difference in his demeanor, but it’d been weeks, now, and there’d been no change. It was a few hours until the beginning of the sleep cycle, but you crawled into bed, anyway, sliding next to Fent’s near-comatose body and staring into the ceiling, your pupils still adjusting to the dark.
In your dreams, you were running in space, stars passing you like windowed cities, above and below you like the sky and sea. And something was chasing you--something black, red, black, shooting like a spear for you, hunting you, its breath behind you, its body consuming you, devouring you in a mess of teeth and hair and hunger and lust--
You screamed, waking into a slime of sweat. Fent was still asleep. You were still on the Finalizer.