Phasma was just glugging down her third cup of honey and lemon when she sneezed so loud that it went right through her helmet and hit a stormtrooper cadet who was mopping the floor right in the face.

A colorful cloud of curses ensued. Phasma found herself wondering what planet the cadet was from. She'd never heard any of some of those curses. She found herself admiring them. Maybe, on a day off, the cadet could teach her a few.

That wasn't Phasma's main problem today. Today, her problem was that she was sneezing and her legs ached and she was sweating profusely under her armor. She was sick with one of the worst colds she'd ever seen.

Why me? She'd thought when she'd first caught it. It had been going around for some time since the beginning of last month. She figured it was just a seasonal bug that would leave when the weather cleared up. But this was a stupid thing to think, because currently she was situated at a base on a desert planet. No cold winds or rains to blame here. If only there were. It would be nice to blame someone other than herself for getting sick.

The worst of it was that Hux kept checking on her and asking her if she was all right. One time, he'd even shoved Millicent into her lap and insisted that she pet her. Hux had said something about cats being good for reducing stress, but she hadn't bought it. The cat was the last straw in a very long line of events that made her wonder if Hux had gone mad. He'd never acted so worried before, and as she insisted on telling him, it was just a normal cold; nothing a glass of orange juice and a box of tissues wouldn't cure.

From Hux's theatrics, you'd think I was dying, Phasma thought with a snort. Then again, there was rarely anything that Hux didn't turn into a display of histrionics. One time, he'd thrown an elaborate-and regrettably expensive-party for Millicent, and the only people invited were her and Kylo Ren. Everyone else had had to stand in a crowded hall for hours as Hux sang 'Happy Birthday' to Millicent and insisted on opening each one of the gifts with a flourish. Phasma was quite embarrassed by the end of it, and she swore never to let such a thing happen again.

Then her wrist communicator beeped, and she gasped and dropped her tea cup. There was a meeting between her and some of the senior members of the stormtrooper corps in just a few minutes. Not even bothering to do anything about the tea and shards of broken porcelain on the floor, Phasma rocketed out of her seat and rushed headlong down the hall towards the meeting room.

In her haste, she bumped into at least five people, none of whom she really cared about. More swearing and shouts of surprise ensued. I've got to get there on time. If I don't, Hux is going to make a joke about me dying again, she thought. She increased her speed, but ran into a stormtrooper and fell down hard. She bit her tongue, trying not to cry. Don't let yourself go soft now that you're part of a rich empire. Back on Parnassos, I would've laughed this off.

She skidded down the hall and knocked down the door, leaving several very startled troopers staring at her. "That woman is like a brick shithouse," muttered one under his breath.

Phasma grinned, in spite of herself. "I'll make you shovel up shit if you don't settle down," she said as intimidatingly as she could. The troopers listened and slunk back to their seats. She had the feeling that they were trying as hard not to laugh as she was.

There were a few giggles throughout the meeting from some of the younger troopers, but she ignored them. All went as planned, and an hour later, Phasma was walking out of the meeting and heading towards the kitchen to see if she could get another cup of tea. As she prepared to stride through the kitchen door, who should she happen to meet except Hux, holding his cat.

"Hux, I'm not petting your stupid tooka ripoff anymore," she grumbled.

Hux looked thoroughly offended. "Does this look like a tooka to you? This is a fine thoroughly-bred cat imported straight from Earth!"

Phasma wanted to snap, "Of course it's a tooka, you miserable fool," but she didn't dare. Instead, she settled for saying, "I've got something to do," before she pushed past him and entered the kitchen. She could just get a glimpse of his shocked expression and bit down a chortle. What was it with that man and his strange beast? Sometimes, she swore he wanted to marry Millie.

She was so busy thinking about Hux's cat that she spit through her helmet again when she put the tea to her lips. "Are you trying to burn me alive?!" Phasma shrieked at the kitchen wench.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry! I thought you heard me tell you that you shouldn't drink it right away!" the servant replied, visibly trembling.

Phasma huffed. "Fine. I won't kill you now," she said. The servant bowed, but Phasma just waved her hand dismissively. "Don't worry about manners. Focus more on making sure what you're cooking isn't making my troopers fat again."

"I will, I will!" the servant said as she rushed back to her work. Phasma pretended she didn't exist as she walked out the door with her tea. She had more important things to do; she was behind schedule on her daily patrol, after all. By the time she was done, the tea would probably be safe to drink, anyway.

Phasma grimaced as she began the patrol. She wasn't worried about the patrol; she was just upset that she was reduced to drinking tea at all. Kylo and Hux loved to tease her about how weird it was that she preferred caf, given that her accent typically went along with a tea-loving personality. But caf wasn't going to help with her cold, and so tea it was. She hated it. It was so bitter and nasty that she felt ill just smelling it.

Phasma almost bumped into someone again. "I'm sor-" she started to say, then stopped. Why should she be the one apologizing? She was above the pitiful officer who gawked at her. She should be demanding an apology from her.

"I'm sorry ma'am, I-" the officer stammered. Phasma just shot her and walked over the smoking corpse like she did it every day-which, in fact, she often did. She was wishing she'd shot the kitchen wench too. Oh well. She could always go back and kill her later. Besides, if today was just a one-kill day, then hopefully the rest of the day wouldn't be too bad.

….

By the middle of the afternoon, when she was beginning her afternoon patrols, Phasma was starting to feel decidedly odd. She wondered if someone had poisoned her tea. She shook her head. That couldn't be it, or she'd have been dead long ago. It was just the blasted cold making her feel crummy again.

Still, she was wondering why everything looked so blurry every few seconds. She'd tried adjusting the settings on her helmet; it wasn't that that was wrong. Sweat was pooling in every spare corner of her armor. She was a disgruntled, stinky mess, and she didn't know what to do about it.

Part of her wondered if she could get away with calling in sick. Then she remembered that she was the one who had banned anyone from calling in sick, because it meant there'd be more work to do when the sick person recovered. She swore softly at herself, not caring if anyone heard. She really should've thought that one through a bit more…

She suddenly felt nauseous. She leaned against a wall, swallowing and trying to pretend this wasn't happening. Was this a stomach bug? She couldn't throw up. She'd make herself look weak in front of her troopers. She unconsciously touched some of the scars she'd gotten from the trash compactor. No way was she going to let that happen again.

Who should walk by and see her in her feebleness but Armitage Hux? "Go away," Phasma growled. The only upside was that he wasn't carrying his stupid cat this time.

"Phasma, I'm worried," Hux said. "I saw you bumping into everyone today. Are you quite sure you're all right? I can walk you to the medbay, if you wish."

Phasma tried to say something along the lines of "Shut up and don't ever talk to me again," but instead, the only thing that came out of her mouth was a rather pathetic-sounding "unh". She blushed. Why couldn't she talk?

She tried to talk again, but once more an "unh" came out. As if he'd taken her 'unh' as a 'yes', Hux grabbed her arm and practically dragged her down the hall.

"Leave me alone!" Phasma shouted, shoving Hux away from her. He almost fell over a railing. He raised an eyebrow, then walked around a corner and vanished. Phasma gnashed her teeth. Who did he think she was? She wasn't some pathetic little damsel who would faint at-

"...uhhh," she groaned after that last thought. Her vision had suddenly started to spin. Well, I'm not helpless, but I think I might faint. Where's Hux when I need him?

She tried calling out for Hux, but she couldn't raise her voice above a squeak. She hated feeling so weak. I deserve whatever will happen to me. I couldn't stand up against my own trainee. I am a failure. I should have died in that trash compactor.

She slid slowly down the wall, grimacing. She curled into a ball on the floor and pulled her knees to her chest. She let out a gasp, then controlled herself. She tried to breathe, but her entire body was shaking and she could only get in small, somewhat regular gasps. She was sweating harder than ever. Once more, she attempted to raise her voice, but she only got out a cough.

She rocked herself as much as she could in her agonised position on the floor. She was scared, and she didn't know if anyone would notice her. Was this how she was finally going to die?

She heard footsteps and shouting. She strained to hear if Hux was coming, but her hearing was going out too. She blinked and shook her head several times as her vision started tunneling inwards to black. She wasn't going to let this happen. She was strong. She was a survivor. She didn't need a ginger idiot to-

…..

Her head…

Phasma groaned. She felt like her brain had split open.

"Snap out of it!" shouted a familiar voice.

Phasma lifted her eyelids, which were surprisingly heavy. She made out a ginger blur somewhere above her. She blinked and saw Hux leaning over the medbay bed, seemingly terrified out of his wits.

Phasma tried to smile. "I'm fine. Now if you'll excuse me…"

Hux grabbed her arms and pushed her back down. "Don't get up. It's too soon. You'll knock yourself out again. And besides, whatever you have is not just a cold. It's a superflu."

"I'm not letting a MAN tell me what to do!" Phasma screeched. Fighting Hux's grasp, she shoved herself to a sitting position and put her feet on the floor. She stumbled upright and headed for the door, feeling dizzy again. She could hear Hux slapping his forehead in the background, but that was the least of her worries. Why was her armor off? What was she doing in bed? Hadn't she already gotten up this mor-

…

"Here you are again," Hux sighed. "Oh Phasma. Always trying to ignore every single piece of good advice you've ever been given."

Phasma was annoyed that Hux was talking very loudly when she was still in bed. "Get out of here! I just woke up, no thanks to you!" she exclaimed.

Hux almost laughed. "Dear Phasma, you're confused. This isn't six in the morning. You just fainted. Twice. In a most spectacular fashion, too, may I add."

Now it was Phasma's turn to laugh. "I'd never do that! Who do you know who would faint in such a manner?"

This time, Hux actually snickered. "You! You should have seen yourself. You fell right on your face, moaning something about me always ruining your plans. It was beautiful. A real tour-de-force."

"I'm not fainting and I never will," Phasma insisted. She managed to sit up a little, but her head still hurt and she wasn't fully awake yet. She let out a tiny whimper and felt Hux squeeze her hand.

"Hold on. Let me get something," Hux said as he hurried off. Phasma sank back in bed and stared at the ceiling. Had anyone seen her? Was she a laughingstock now? Why was she always embarrassing herself like this? She must have had some sort of curse placed on her when she was born.

She didn't have much time to think, because Hux was back with a wet washcloth. He placed it on her forehead, and she sighed and closed her eyes appreciatively. She still felt warm, but it did help a bit.

"Th…" She was having trouble getting the words out. "Thank...ummm, don't tell anyone I said this, but, uh, errr…"

Hux smirked, but didn't say anything. Phasma, to her shock, felt...glad. She was glad she wasn't alone. She didn't mind Hux being here, or squeezing her hand. She wanted more; she just didn't know how to get it. Maybe if she just played up her condition, just a tiny bit…

"Armitage, could you please get me a glass of water?" she asked.

Hux raised an eyebrow. He wasn't used to Phasma addressing anyone by their first name. "Of course," he said, slinking softly out of the room.

When he came back, Phasma almost purred with appreciation as she drank the water. She wondered if there was a way she could brush her hand against his, ever so slightly. If she sat up and leaned over at just such an angle, she might get away with it.

Instead, the only thing that happened was that she said, "I'm so glad your stupid cat isn't with you." She grimaced. Hux wasn't going to take another crack at his cat so well.

"Why would I bring her here?" Hux said, hands behind his back, his words clipped and cold. "You love to remind me almost every day how much you hate her."

"Well, umm…" Was this flirting? If so, she was horrible at it. "I think we can mutually agree that Kylo Ren is a...what's that thing they called him on that Earth television show?"

Hux smirked. "A punk bitch."

Phasma's cheeks felt hot. "Yes, a punk bitch. Thank you, General."

Hux bit his lip, as though holding back a chortle. Phasma found herself biting her lip, too. The two stared at each other until both burst out laughing.

Their laughter caught the attention of a trooper walking by. "Miss, if you're all right, would you mind getting ready for your inspirational speech in an hour?"

Phasma frowned. "Very well, ma'am. Go. Or I'll blast you to pieces."

"Yes, miss!" the trooper says. She gave Phasma a quick salute before rushing down the hallway.

Phasma sighed. "She's right. I really must get ready."

She tried to get out of bed, but Hux held her back. She felt her skin tighten as she processed the fact that his hand was on her and oh it was delightfully cold and the fingernails were so neat and clean-

Hux took his hand away. Phasma wondered if he had noticed her awkwardness. "Maybe you should stay here," Hux advised.

Phasma swallowed a smile. "I feel fine. I'll show you." She got up and stood, a little shakily, but she didn't fall. She felt so vulnerable in the cold room, with her medbay robe barely covering her muscles body. She found herself hovering closer to Hux, as though for warmth.

Strangely, Hux didn't seem to mind. "If you truly feel all right, then there's nothing I can do to stop you. Shall I get you your armor?"

"Yes please," she said, her voice softer than usual.

Hux gave her a look before returning her outfit. He politely turned his back as she changed. She noticed, as she was pulling in her arm guards, that the armor was shinier than usual.

"Hux, did you...polish my armor for me?"

Hux turned his head.

"Hux?"

Hux shrugged. "I might have."

Phasma smiled inside her armor. "Thank you." She wanted to leave, but she wasn't sure what to say to Hux. Should she tell him goodbye? Ignore him? Give him a...hug?

Phasma squelched that last possibility. So she gulped and said, "See you at the rally" and ran off, cape flowing out behind her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Hux watching her flee. Again she blushed. Today has been unusual. These feelings for Hux...was she going soft?

She shook her head. It was just the sickness. Although she could think clearly now, she still felt a snuggle climbing up her nose. Yes, it was the illness that had made her act so odd.

If this was what being sick was like, then...then...she almost wanted to get sick again. Not now, of course. But in the future, and maybe she wouldn't faint that time.

No, she didn't need to faint or get sick to get Hux's attention, she told herself. But just maybe...she'd consider it.