PROMPT POST #6- CLOSED

[themodawakens]

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Comments

(Fill) The Look (2/3)

[(Anonymous)]

Jessika’s redress for her actions is to help babysit the new hostages.

Okay, so they’re adorable baby death machines with perfect smiles and perfect abs, but they’re still hostages. Seriously, how are they so cute?

When she arrives three minutes late for their second week of PT, Finn gives her the look. The one that says: Man, I trusted you. You’re supposed to show up on time; I’m supposed to look authoritative. I T R U S T E D Y O U. The raised eyebrow punctuates each letter of the sentiment.

She winces. PT is going to be extra brutal with a frustrated Finn leading the charge.

One of the troopers rescues her from the accusing stare with a crisp salute. “Sir! Good morning, sir!”

“That’s cute.” Jessika states, gesturing at the display. “They’ve adopted you as their commanding officer.”

This time, Finn’s the one bubbling with excitement about a really bad idea. He giggles.

Jess’s eyebrows quirk in concern. “What?”

Finn leans in closer to hint at the conspiracy. “They’ve already greeted me.”

Jessika steals a quick glance at the array of attentive cadets, then whips a hand up to shield her whispers from potential lip-reading. “What does that mean?”

Finn flashes her a thousand-watt smile. “They’ve adopted you as their commanding officer.”

Jessika stares at Finn as she absorbs the comment. She rolls the concept around in her mind. She’s not a commanding officer; she’s not anyone’s officer. Finn’s the trooper. Finn’s … beaming at her like an idiot.

The soldiers all stand, patiently awaiting her every command. They’re all bright, eager, and -- gosh, what is that goofy expression? -- waiting for her every command.

She’d kill for one of Snap’s nerdy lectures right about now.

+

The hostages are more like house-guests under Poe and Finn’s regime. They have their own (secured) quarters, they attend (secured) drills, and they attend mess (secured) with the rest of the Resistance. Finn even insists on referring to them as ‘cadets’ instead of ‘stormies’.

Jessika catches General Organa giving Commander Dameron the look. It’s the one that says: If any one of these children endanger my babies, I will personally scold them. Permanently. And it may be the only time she’s ever seen Poe even a little bit intimidated. His answering gesture is the one that says: Yes, mom.

After that exchange, Jess mentally relaxes a bit regarding the whole scenario; it’s childish to remain anxious of the stormtroopers if both General Organa and Commander Dameron are taking responsibility for their actions. Maybe they really are defectors. Maybe they’re her defectors.

At the squadron’s next visit to the mess hall, Jessika carefully positions herself three tables away from the stormtroopers and avoids eye contact. She’s been quietly assessing each cadet for personality traits and committing their features to memory; trying to compile the information into something resembling human interaction. The act requires a lot of silence and distant observation on her part.

Which, naturally, means Poe beelines for the seat directly adjacent to her. He has a sixth sense for detecting her desire for isolation.

He smiles. “How are the ducklings?”

“Ducklings, sir?” She asks, mid forkfull.

“The cadets.” He waves Finn over to their bench for outsiders, which has quickly evolved into the cool kids’ table. “Finn says they’ve taken to you. Have they picked out real names yet?”

Jessika gulps, mentally stricken by the fact that she’s been referring to them by their First Order squad designations like droids. Droids are referred to by their model names. Occasionally, droids are even named after their model names. Has she been committing a social faux-pas this entire time? Kriff.

Finn rescues her from the conversation. “We were thinking ‘Foolie’ for FO-0175 and GM-0404 has been smitten with ‘Grump’, but I think he’s more of a ‘Greg’.”

Jessika frowns. “I’d go with something more like ‘Nofo’, you know -- ‘Files not found’...”

Poe slaps the table. “I like it! Would he like it?”

“No.” Jess admits to her reconstituted MRAs. “I mean, I haven’t asked.”

“Well, you should.” Poe slaps her on the back with a firm encompassing pat. “And if he doesn’t take it, I’ll take it. ‘Commander Nofo Dameron’ has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

Finn laughs, and Jessika can’t help but crack a smile.

“Talk to them, Testor,” Poe encourages, with a look that suggests utmost faith in her abilities. “I think they’re ready for assignments, but it’s up to you. Once you clear them, we can put them to use.”

The weight of the future of the Resistance is just enough to smash her levity into her mental shields and bring her crashing back to reality. “Yes, sir.”

+

In an effort to commune with her ducklings, Jessika requests their assistance for routine vehicle maintenance. It’s an excuse, really: every pilot takes personal pride in the cleanliness and upkeep of their ships, and she’s personally seen to half of the astromechs on the base, but it’s a familiar territory for her excursion into social interaction.

They arrive five minutes early and stand straight as sabers in a neatly formed line. Their unfocused stares are frankly unnerving.

“At ease,” she says, straightening her posture because she’s pretty sure that’s an order.

Their attentions shift from somewhere off toward Corellia and affix directly at her eyeline. It does not help with her mounting anxiety. She wants them to relax. To let loose. To talk to her like people instead of adorable baby death machines.

“No, more ease.”

In unison, their shoulders sag just noticeably and their stances shift uncomfortably. It’s almost as if they’re just as nervous about relaxing as she is about leading.

She sighs and gives them the look: The one that says communicating with humans would be easier if everyone had reset buttons.

“I need help,” Jess starts, eliciting a variety of excitement from the cadets. “I need to run a diagnosis on the rest of these ships and make sure their astromechs are ready to go; have any of you worked with snubfighters before?”

FO-0175, the tall man with broad shoulders, raises his hand. She’s pretty sure the FO designation indicates he’s from the flight deck, but she’s surprised to see FN-2410, the short one with curly hair, raise his hand.

“Wizard!” Jessika claps her hands in excitement. “How about droids?”

FN-2464 and FN-2415, the dark skinned woman with the perfect nose, both raise their hands. The display leaves GM-0404, the stout one with the grumpy demeanor, frowning.

Jessika realizes which member of her flock has not raised her hand and giggles. This manages to raise an eyebrow. FN-2464 clears his throat. “Ma’am?”

“I mentioned to the commander that GM-0404’s designation reminds me of a data return error and, well.” Jess weighs 0404’s dismay and reconsiders her words. “I suggested that I thought we could call him ‘Nofo’ based on the --”

The magic word has been uttered, Jess discovers. All of the cadets spring into life, suddenly brimming with enthusiasm and warmth. 0404’s disposition makes a complete about-face. “You’ve named me,” he prods excitedly.

FO-0175 interjects next: “What about Fifteen and Thirds?”

“Do you have names for the rest of us?” FN-2410 finishes.

Jessika takes an involuntary step back, shocked by the wave of questions. She feels around behind her for the support of a bench and stammers. The words pour over her like alarms and whistles: out of sync and disorienting.

“Stand down,” FN-2415 commands, noting her superior officer’s distress. “One at a time.”

GM-0404 beams in delight at his closest companion. “I like ‘Nofo’.”

“Jealous,” FN-2464 remarks, slugging the newly dubbed cadet in the arm.

FN-2415 rolls her eyes. “We have orders; we should act on them.”

“No, wait,” Jess regains her ground and stops the cadets from leaving. This is exactly the kind of interaction that Poe was suggesting, right? Right. She shakes her head to clear it. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to impose. Finn said you had already begun choosing names for yourselves.”

“No. No!” FN-2464 waves emphatically, “My name’s stupid. I want yours.”

“But, I --”

“Roger.” FN-2015 holds out her hand, graceful and strong. “My name’s Roger, sir.”

Jessika takes the muscular woman’s hand and shakes it, smitten by the show of confidence. “Roger. It’s nice to meet you, Roger. Why ‘Roger’?”

Roger smiles, the lines around her eyes smiling though her lips remain serious. “It’s strong. Thoughtful. I like it.”

“It’s because of the battle droids,” FO-0175 mutters with a sneer. “She knows you like droids. Come on. Name me next.”

Roger shoots FO-0175 an icy battery of body language.

“Foolie,” Jess blurts before she can think of anything better to say. “Finn said you were considering the name ‘Foolie’. I think it sounds cute.”

She’s pretty sure the wailing that Foolie emits as a result of the declaration is a positive response, although she’s still convinced this conversation would go more smoothly if it involved reset buttons.

Jess points to FN-2464. “I don’t think ‘Thirds’ is stupid.”

“It is,” the chorus chimes.

“But I like the name ‘Beta’.” FN-2464 contemplates the name and Jess continues, “It’s the fours. They remind me of alephs, and if you were droid, I’d call you ‘Beta’.”

“Deal.” Beta confirms.

“And ‘Spike’,” Jessika dubs the last cadet. She blushes, “No reason, really. It’s another splicer word that doubles as a petname.”

Spike grins at her, lips curling around an impressive set of teeth. “Spike. Sounds vicious. Perfect.”

“Vicious?” Her eyes widen at the phrasing. She starts, realizing she’s just named four fully grown adults as if they’re pet projects, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I meant to get to know you all better before naming you. I mean, you’re people, and --”

“And we’re all very appreciative of your consideration,” Roger finishes, interrupting Jessika’s attempt to sabotage the moment. “Foolie and Spike can assist with ship diagnostics, and Nofo will be most useful with ammunition and thrusters -- he’s an artillery specialist.”

“Yes,” Jessika agrees, happy to have someone to share the burden of command with. “And Beta and yourself can assist with astromech preparation?”

Roger snaps her superior officer a crisp salute. “Roger, roger.”

Jessika almost falls over from laughter.

+