FN-2187 ducked under the arm swinging towards him and struck out with his leg, knocking his opponent to the floor. Before the dazed Resistance fighter could rise, FN-2187 had him pinned on the floor, blaster against his temple. “You will remain still and silent until you are retrieved for questioning. Speak or move and I will pull the trigger.” Wide brown eyes stared up at him in unfeigned shock. FN-2187 stared back impassively. He had his orders, and would follow them. It was up to the man he currently had pinned whether he lived or died. His mouth opened. FN-2187’s finger tightened on the trigger.
“That’s enough,” Captain Phasma barked. Immediately, FN-2187 pulled the blaster from the man’s head, and rose. He stood to attention, blaster lowered, and did not offer to help the man up. He rose gingerly, favoring his right leg, to face the Captain as well.
“FN-1526, you will put on your uniform and rejoin your unit.” He turned to obey, limping slightly. “Wrap your leg. I trust that it won’t be a lasting injury.” FN-1526 straightened his spine and visibly forced himself to walk normally, clenching his jaw against whatever pain he might be feeling. FN-2187 didn’t see this play, having not turned to look, but he knew well enough what was happening. He would not have shown such weakness before the Captain.
Captain Phasma gave him a long look. At last she remarked, “You have shown remarkable progress over the past few weeks. I believe you are almost ready for a mission.”
His face remained impassive. He was behind his helmet and did not have to keep it that way, but he found that it was easy to do, lately. There was no particular pride that came with hearing the Captain’s words; he was willing to do whatever was required of him by the First Order.
She studied him a moment longer, then asked, “How are you feeling?”
He frowned behind his mask, confused. “Sir?”
“Have you been experiencing any headaches? Nausea? They can be common enough symptoms after a reconditioning.”
It was odd for her to be asking such questions, but FN-2187 did not question it. It was not his place to question a superior officer. “No, sir.”
“And as for the reconditioning itself?”
FN-2187 looked at the ground, clenching his jaw. “I am ashamed that it was needed, sir. I will not disgrace you or the First Order again.”
“Do you feel that you are ready for a mission? Do you believe that you would be able to handle fighting the real Resistance?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And should you be sent out, would you be willing to use that blaster?” she nodded to the hand still holding it.
“With extreme prejudice, sir. As I would on any other enemy of the glorious Order.”
Captain Phasma backed away. “Very good. Report back to your station. Your training for today is over.” She held out her hand, and FN-2187 placed the blaster in it before leaving the room. He was pleased that he had proved himself. Pleased that he was regaining the Captain's favor after having lost it so horribly. They'd never told him what he'd done to earn his reconditioning, and it didn't really matter. He'd been insubordinate; a failure. That was all he needed to know.
Halfway to his destination, he was grabbed and pulled into a small room. He blinked in confusion at the two stormtroopers inside, who regarded him silently.
“This is against regulations-“
“Finn, it’s us,” one of the troopers said impatiently, raising his hands to his helmet and pulling it off. Despite himself, FN-2187 looked. He was handsome, with brown hair and brown eyes that grew increasingly more worried the longer he looked at Finn. “Buddy?” he asked, and that shocked him into action.
He backed away from the trooper. “Removing your helmet without direction is also against regulations,” he said firmly. “What is your designation?”
The man’s eyes widened, and he stepped forward. “My what? You know who I am.“
“What is your designation?” FN-2187 demanded again. He frowned. He felt…odd. He shook his head to clear it, and a faint throbbing started up behind his eyes.
“Finn, buddy –“
“Stop calling me that!” FN-2187 said, louder than he had intended. The headache was getting worse…he heard Captain Phasma’s voice as if from far away:
“…common enough symptoms after reconditioning…”
He turned to flee, but not fast enough. They’d both forgotten the second trooper, but now they grabbed him and kept him still. “Are you sure this is him? He doesn’t seem to know you at all, Dameron, and I’m not going to keep grabbing random stormtroopers until we find the right guy.”
Dameron…another bolt of pain, and this time FN-2187 cried out with it, bringing his hands to his head. Of course, they hit only helmet. Past the point of caring about protocol, only needing to hold his head together before it exploded, he tore his helmet off and dropped it on the floor, raising his hands to clutch at his head.
The trooper without his helmet (Dameron, she called him Dameron) made a soft, wounded sound and reached towards him. FN-2187 flinched away, dislodging the other trooper from his side. “Get away from me,” he yelled, tried to yell, but his voice came out a strengthless whisper. His head ached so badly that he could barely think past it, and every time he heard this man, this Dameron – speak, it only grew worse. The last thing he wanted was for the man to touch him.
“Finn…” Dameron said softly, face stricken, and FN-2187 crashed to his knees as the ache in his head grew even worse. His stomach heaved suddenly, and he closed his eyes as he began to be sick.
“Kriff, they really messed him up,” the other trooper said. “If we ever needed proof that the First Order is a bunch of –“
“Not helping, Pava,” Dameron snapped, then, his voice much closer and softer than before, “It’s okay, buddy. You’re going to be okay.” A hand landed on his back, rubbing, and FN-2187 retched again.
“Please, please don’t touch me,” he said, hating how weak his voice sounded. Hating that he was begging. The hand left his back immediately, and Dameron stepped away.
The other trooper, Pava, sighed. “Right. As much fun as this has been, we seriously don’t have the time. Finn, I’m really sorry about this.”
Stop calling me that, he opened his mouth to say, but something hit the back of his head and that was the last thing he knew for some time.
His head felt a bit better, was FN-2187’s first thought upon waking. His second was that he was no longer on the Finalizer. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to assess his surroundings.
He was lying on some sort of flat surface, not soft but not as hard as his bunk. The weight and bulkiness of his uniform was missing, and someone had placed a blanket over him. It was scratchy against his exposed neck and fingers. He could hear voices, but muffled, so he surmised that he was in a room of some sort, kept away from everyone else. Smart of them, he thought, and he didn't need to look at his surroundings to know that he was currently on the Resistance Base.
“How are you feeling?” The voice was male, gentle, and close. He didn’t answer. There was a soft sigh. “I know that you are awake.”
FN-2187 opened his eyes. The man sitting next to him was older, clad in heavy robes. The eyes on FN-2187 were sad but very kind. He looked away, choosing instead to observe his current prison. It was white and sparse, and behind the man sitting next to him there was an opening leading out into what he realized was a medical area, without even a door to make his capture complete. He could see figures beyond that door, paying them no mind as they went about their business. He turned his gaze back to the man next to him.
“Do you know who I am?” the man asked. FN-2187 remained silent. The man gave him a small smile. “No, I suppose you do not. My name is Luke.” He paused, watching FN-2187’s face for a reaction, but he remained impassive. You will not break me, FN-2187 thought. I will give you nothing. He could never go back to the First Order, not now, but he could keep the Resistance scum from learning anything about them from him. He could do that much.
“Do you know where you are?”
He considered, then gave a short nod. “Resistance base.”
“Yes, that’s right. And do you know who you are?”
He rolled his eyes before he could help himself. “Designation FN-2187.”
Luke nodded. “FN-2187,” he repeated. “Good to meet you
(Finn)
FN-2187.”
FN-2187 frowned. For a moment, he had been sure that he heard something else, some other name spoken by someone else, but Luke’s face showed no reaction. If there had been such a voice, he was the only one who had heard it.
“I won’t tell you anything,” he said, after a period of silence, “so if that’s why you brought me here you might as well kill me.”
“Lucky for us that is not why you were brought here,” Luke replied in a dry tone. “You were brought here to heal. Once that is done I suppose it will be your choice where to go.”
FN-2187 snorted humorlessly. “Heal? I was fine; your people made me sick, and then they knocked me out and dragged me here. And now you’re saying that once my head feels better I can just leave?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”
“How is your head feeling, FN-2187?”
He frowned. “Better, actually. Does that mean I can leave now?”
The corner of Luke’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps after some rest; you’ve been through quite the ordeal.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Another twitch. “I’ll make you a deal. If you can walk out of this room on your own power, I will personally see to it that you get a ride wherever you want to go.”
FN-2187 studied him a moment. He seemed sincere. Of course he knew better than to trust any Resistance scum, but it might be beneficial to see something outside the room. He nodded. “Deal.”
His head swam when he stood and he swayed a little on his feet, but after he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths he was able to steady himself. He felt one stab of pain in his head, but then it settled into an almost gentle throbbing, and he was able to ignore it. He took a step.
He was almost at the door when he saw him. Dameron. At first it was just a flash of curly brown hair, but then someone moved and he was right there, speaking rapidly, his hands moving as he talked. Even though he hardly knew him, FN-2187 could see that he was keyed up, practically vibrating with a weird sort of tension, and he paused, confused by how little he liked to see him look that way. He shook his head to clear it and took another shuffling step forward.
Dameron must have seen him move out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head to look at him, and FN-2187 was caught by wide brown eyes. Dameron’s mouth shaped a name, that name, Finn, the one that he’d called him over and over, and pain once again sliced through his head, worse than before. His knees buckled; he cried out and flung a hand towards the door, knowing it was too far to catch himself on but reaching anyway, desperate not to fall.
He didn’t. Another, smaller person darted through the doorway and got her shoulder underneath him before he could hit the ground. She staggered a little under his weight, but held him up. “Oh, Finn,” she whispered, almost to herself, and another bolt of pain shot through his head. He wanted to tell this girl that Finn was not his name, he didn’t have a name and didn’t want one, FN-2187 was all he had ever been and all he ever wanted to be, but there was something about her…instead, he found himself clutching at her for support and letting her lead him back to the bed. She got him to sit down and then sat beside him, fidgeting.
“Are you all right?” she asked, then her face twisted. “Well, obviously not, but does sitting help, at least?”
He stared at her. “Why did you help me?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Because we’re friends. Or were. Before you forgot,” she glanced at Luke. “Is that okay to say?”
Luke gave her a smile. “I’m not the one you should be asking.”
She looked back at FN-2187, her face unsure. For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to be anything but gentle with her. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I think you have me confused with someone else. I’ve never seen you before.” He glanced back at the door, where Dameron was standing. “Either of you,” he added for his benefit, not actually meeting their eyes. He didn’t want to see the reaction of either to his words. For reasons he couldn’t understand, it bothered him to disappoint them. He flicked his eyes back towards the girl. “I don’t even know your name.”
She hesitated, then reached out and took one of his hands. “I’m Rey,” she said, and pain exploded in his head. He might have screamed, but he couldn’t hear it over the roaring in his ears. He had enough time to take in Rey’s panicked face and to see Dameron dart towards him with a hand outstretched as he started to pitch forward, then the agony overcame him and he sank gratefully into the black.
Fill: Poe/Finn- Poe is Finn's anchor 3a/3
“That’s enough,” Captain Phasma barked. Immediately, FN-2187 pulled the blaster from the man’s head, and rose. He stood to attention, blaster lowered, and did not offer to help the man up. He rose gingerly, favoring his right leg, to face the Captain as well.
“FN-1526, you will put on your uniform and rejoin your unit.” He turned to obey, limping slightly. “Wrap your leg. I trust that it won’t be a lasting injury.” FN-1526 straightened his spine and visibly forced himself to walk normally, clenching his jaw against whatever pain he might be feeling. FN-2187 didn’t see this play, having not turned to look, but he knew well enough what was happening. He would not have shown such weakness before the Captain.
Captain Phasma gave him a long look. At last she remarked, “You have shown remarkable progress over the past few weeks. I believe you are almost ready for a mission.”
His face remained impassive. He was behind his helmet and did not have to keep it that way, but he found that it was easy to do, lately. There was no particular pride that came with hearing the Captain’s words; he was willing to do whatever was required of him by the First Order.
She studied him a moment longer, then asked, “How are you feeling?”
He frowned behind his mask, confused. “Sir?”
“Have you been experiencing any headaches? Nausea? They can be common enough symptoms after a reconditioning.”
It was odd for her to be asking such questions, but FN-2187 did not question it. It was not his place to question a superior officer. “No, sir.”
“And as for the reconditioning itself?”
FN-2187 looked at the ground, clenching his jaw. “I am ashamed that it was needed, sir. I will not disgrace you or the First Order again.”
“Do you feel that you are ready for a mission? Do you believe that you would be able to handle fighting the real Resistance?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And should you be sent out, would you be willing to use that blaster?” she nodded to the hand still holding it.
“With extreme prejudice, sir. As I would on any other enemy of the glorious Order.”
Captain Phasma backed away. “Very good. Report back to your station. Your training for today is over.” She held out her hand, and FN-2187 placed the blaster in it before leaving the room. He was pleased that he had proved himself. Pleased that he was regaining the Captain's favor after having lost it so horribly. They'd never told him what he'd done to earn his reconditioning, and it didn't really matter. He'd been insubordinate; a failure. That was all he needed to know.
Halfway to his destination, he was grabbed and pulled into a small room. He blinked in confusion at the two stormtroopers inside, who regarded him silently.
“This is against regulations-“
“Finn, it’s us,” one of the troopers said impatiently, raising his hands to his helmet and pulling it off. Despite himself, FN-2187 looked. He was handsome, with brown hair and brown eyes that grew increasingly more worried the longer he looked at Finn. “Buddy?” he asked, and that shocked him into action.
He backed away from the trooper. “Removing your helmet without direction is also against regulations,” he said firmly. “What is your designation?”
The man’s eyes widened, and he stepped forward. “My what? You know who I am.“
“What is your designation?” FN-2187 demanded again. He frowned. He felt…odd. He shook his head to clear it, and a faint throbbing started up behind his eyes.
“Finn, buddy –“
“Stop calling me that!” FN-2187 said, louder than he had intended. The headache was getting worse…he heard Captain Phasma’s voice as if from far away:
“…common enough symptoms after reconditioning…”
He turned to flee, but not fast enough. They’d both forgotten the second trooper, but now they grabbed him and kept him still. “Are you sure this is him? He doesn’t seem to know you at all, Dameron, and I’m not going to keep grabbing random stormtroopers until we find the right guy.”
Dameron…another bolt of pain, and this time FN-2187 cried out with it, bringing his hands to his head. Of course, they hit only helmet. Past the point of caring about protocol, only needing to hold his head together before it exploded, he tore his helmet off and dropped it on the floor, raising his hands to clutch at his head.
The trooper without his helmet (Dameron, she called him Dameron) made a soft, wounded sound and reached towards him. FN-2187 flinched away, dislodging the other trooper from his side. “Get away from me,” he yelled, tried to yell, but his voice came out a strengthless whisper. His head ached so badly that he could barely think past it, and every time he heard this man, this Dameron – speak, it only grew worse. The last thing he wanted was for the man to touch him.
“Finn…” Dameron said softly, face stricken, and FN-2187 crashed to his knees as the ache in his head grew even worse. His stomach heaved suddenly, and he closed his eyes as he began to be sick.
“Kriff, they really messed him up,” the other trooper said. “If we ever needed proof that the First Order is a bunch of –“
“Not helping, Pava,” Dameron snapped, then, his voice much closer and softer than before, “It’s okay, buddy. You’re going to be okay.” A hand landed on his back, rubbing, and FN-2187 retched again.
“Please, please don’t touch me,” he said, hating how weak his voice sounded. Hating that he was begging. The hand left his back immediately, and Dameron stepped away.
The other trooper, Pava, sighed. “Right. As much fun as this has been, we seriously don’t have the time. Finn, I’m really sorry about this.”
Stop calling me that, he opened his mouth to say, but something hit the back of his head and that was the last thing he knew for some time.
His head felt a bit better, was FN-2187’s first thought upon waking. His second was that he was no longer on the Finalizer. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to assess his surroundings.
He was lying on some sort of flat surface, not soft but not as hard as his bunk. The weight and bulkiness of his uniform was missing, and someone had placed a blanket over him. It was scratchy against his exposed neck and fingers. He could hear voices, but muffled, so he surmised that he was in a room of some sort, kept away from everyone else. Smart of them, he thought, and he didn't need to look at his surroundings to know that he was currently on the Resistance Base.
“How are you feeling?” The voice was male, gentle, and close. He didn’t answer. There was a soft sigh. “I know that you are awake.”
FN-2187 opened his eyes. The man sitting next to him was older, clad in heavy robes. The eyes on FN-2187 were sad but very kind. He looked away, choosing instead to observe his current prison. It was white and sparse, and behind the man sitting next to him there was an opening leading out into what he realized was a medical area, without even a door to make his capture complete. He could see figures beyond that door, paying them no mind as they went about their business. He turned his gaze back to the man next to him.
“Do you know who I am?” the man asked. FN-2187 remained silent. The man gave him a small smile. “No, I suppose you do not. My name is Luke.” He paused, watching FN-2187’s face for a reaction, but he remained impassive. You will not break me, FN-2187 thought. I will give you nothing. He could never go back to the First Order, not now, but he could keep the Resistance scum from learning anything about them from him. He could do that much.
“Do you know where you are?”
He considered, then gave a short nod. “Resistance base.”
“Yes, that’s right. And do you know who you are?”
He rolled his eyes before he could help himself. “Designation FN-2187.”
Luke nodded. “FN-2187,” he repeated. “Good to meet you
(Finn)
FN-2187.”
FN-2187 frowned. For a moment, he had been sure that he heard something else, some other name spoken by someone else, but Luke’s face showed no reaction. If there had been such a voice, he was the only one who had heard it.
“I won’t tell you anything,” he said, after a period of silence, “so if that’s why you brought me here you might as well kill me.”
“Lucky for us that is not why you were brought here,” Luke replied in a dry tone. “You were brought here to heal. Once that is done I suppose it will be your choice where to go.”
FN-2187 snorted humorlessly. “Heal? I was fine; your people made me sick, and then they knocked me out and dragged me here. And now you’re saying that once my head feels better I can just leave?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”
“How is your head feeling, FN-2187?”
He frowned. “Better, actually. Does that mean I can leave now?”
The corner of Luke’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps after some rest; you’ve been through quite the ordeal.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Another twitch. “I’ll make you a deal. If you can walk out of this room on your own power, I will personally see to it that you get a ride wherever you want to go.”
FN-2187 studied him a moment. He seemed sincere. Of course he knew better than to trust any Resistance scum, but it might be beneficial to see something outside the room. He nodded. “Deal.”
His head swam when he stood and he swayed a little on his feet, but after he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths he was able to steady himself. He felt one stab of pain in his head, but then it settled into an almost gentle throbbing, and he was able to ignore it. He took a step.
He was almost at the door when he saw him. Dameron. At first it was just a flash of curly brown hair, but then someone moved and he was right there, speaking rapidly, his hands moving as he talked. Even though he hardly knew him, FN-2187 could see that he was keyed up, practically vibrating with a weird sort of tension, and he paused, confused by how little he liked to see him look that way. He shook his head to clear it and took another shuffling step forward.
Dameron must have seen him move out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head to look at him, and FN-2187 was caught by wide brown eyes. Dameron’s mouth shaped a name, that name, Finn, the one that he’d called him over and over, and pain once again sliced through his head, worse than before. His knees buckled; he cried out and flung a hand towards the door, knowing it was too far to catch himself on but reaching anyway, desperate not to fall.
He didn’t. Another, smaller person darted through the doorway and got her shoulder underneath him before he could hit the ground. She staggered a little under his weight, but held him up. “Oh, Finn,” she whispered, almost to herself, and another bolt of pain shot through his head. He wanted to tell this girl that Finn was not his name, he didn’t have a name and didn’t want one, FN-2187 was all he had ever been and all he ever wanted to be, but there was something about her…instead, he found himself clutching at her for support and letting her lead him back to the bed. She got him to sit down and then sat beside him, fidgeting.
“Are you all right?” she asked, then her face twisted. “Well, obviously not, but does sitting help, at least?”
He stared at her. “Why did you help me?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Because we’re friends. Or were. Before you forgot,” she glanced at Luke. “Is that okay to say?”
Luke gave her a smile. “I’m not the one you should be asking.”
She looked back at FN-2187, her face unsure. For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to be anything but gentle with her. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I think you have me confused with someone else. I’ve never seen you before.” He glanced back at the door, where Dameron was standing. “Either of you,” he added for his benefit, not actually meeting their eyes. He didn’t want to see the reaction of either to his words. For reasons he couldn’t understand, it bothered him to disappoint them. He flicked his eyes back towards the girl. “I don’t even know your name.”
She hesitated, then reached out and took one of his hands. “I’m Rey,” she said, and pain exploded in his head. He might have screamed, but he couldn’t hear it over the roaring in his ears. He had enough time to take in Rey’s panicked face and to see Dameron dart towards him with a hand outstretched as he started to pitch forward, then the agony overcame him and he sank gratefully into the black.