A/N: This fic contains implied one-sided Finn/Phasma and Finn/Kylo. Reviews, no matter how short, make my day!

Phasma never showed the slightest signs of Force aptitude. She knew this because everyone was barraged with tests before being allowed to serve in the First Order, and Phasma failed them with flying colors. She hadn't known the tests's purpose until recently - it still made her skin crawl.

But even so, she could sense when FN-2187's focus began to waver. She wished she could confront him about it, but FN-2187 wasn't breaking any specific regulations. And he still showed great skill in leadership, and obeyed her every command, and completed his tasks with care.

But that was only on the outside.

The first sign, to Phasma, was when he became further isolated from his squadmates. It was good that Slip wasn't clinging to him anymore. Good that their group had more structure. But Captain Phasma was astute, and did her job, and knew when one of her soldiers' morale had fallen.

Then the right hand of the Supreme Leader had come aboard. Lord Kylo Ren. Phasma did not like him; he was too unpredictable, and if she couldn't depend on her superiors she couldn't depend on anything. She looked forward to the day he left the Finalizer.

FN-2187's attitude, however, had changed ever since the knight's arrival. As though he had put his plummeting hopes into the knight's dangerous hands. As though the knight could fix everything with his rumored magic. His focus was not on his duty, but instead on Kylo Ren and everything he could do.

Now Phasma felt FN-2187 slipping through her fingers, as she talked to him about the upcoming battle.

The worst part, at first, was that it didn't make sense. 2187 was a good soldier: powerful, yes, but more importantly, unambitious. He was not the type to seek glory or to take the easy track; even if Kylo Ren reciprocated the interest, FN-2187 would not expect elevated status or rewards. So why?

Phasma had puzzled over the question until finally realizing how simple it was.

He was desperate, even if he himself didn't know.

That wouldn't do.

"I don't normally say this," Phasma said, raising her voice when she thought she was losing him. "But I expect great things from you and your squad, FN-2187." She rarely complimented troopers to their faces - morale boosts were not required as often as people said - but she could make exceptions. "You have no room for disorganization."

2187 took a beat longer than normal to reply, and Phasma frowned. "Yes, sir."

Phasma enunciated her every word. "No more sims. You must focus on what's really happening, and what you should do to uphold the glory of the First Order. No one else needs your attention as much as you do. Not even your captain, or your squad." Or certain knights of Ren.

2187 hesitated again. "Yes, sir," he said. Then he suddenly straightened up, his helmet tilting slightly.

Phasma didn't have to turn towards the windows behind her to know who was walking past. She could almost hear the deep modified voice and thumping footsteps, smell the clear burnt aroma of a lightsaber, see his black cloak sweeping after him.

Phasma leaned forward, desperate to recapture her trooper's attention. "Soldier, take off your helmet."

She could sense how his attention angled back towards her, a little fuzzy. "Uh - yes, sir." And he did.

FN-2187 had a strong, lovely face, composed of straight lines and a set of sharp black eyes and dark skin that gleamed even in the harsh light of the room. It was good that he wore a helmet: if the uppers ever got glimpse of him, they would make him a posterboy and retire him from any actual active duty. And what a waste that would be.

She wanted him to succeed, and she was doing everything she could to ensure it. But this was what the her life had done: trapped her, so that Phasma had to speak in layers upon layers and hope other people understood.

"What," she said calmly, "do you think of Lord Ren?"

2187 started. "He's . . . very powerful, sir, and I'm glad he's on the side of the First Order." He hesitated. "What - what do you think of him, sir?"

Phasma nearly lurched backwards. "What do I - well. I value his strength, too. But he has his own agenda, one that's not the same as ours. He has his own path. And you cannot expect a man like him to value loyalty like ours; he is not nearly as concerned with our cause as you are, 2187." Pointedly - "Or as you should be."

FN-2187's expression didn't even twitch, but there was embarrassment radiating off of him like warmth. "Sir." He saluted.

Phasma glanced back behind her. The knight was gone. "Put your helmet back on," she said, as she backed away, knowing that the coast was clear now. "You'll remember what I said."

FN-2187 was back to being inscrutable. "Yes, sir."

FN-2187 dashed out of the ship with his squad, trying to see nothing but targets. All he had to do was treat this like training, like a sim, and he would get through this.

The sand crunched under his boots, and people were yelling, and all around him there were blasters being fired - but the only thing FN-2187 could hear was a mantra. Take a breath. Look to your squadmates. Duck. Take a breath.

He thought of Kylo Ren. The security of him. He was rumored to be able to best hundreds on his own. If we survive this battle, FN-2187 thought hazily, I'm going to kneel at his feet and thank him over and over.

It was a fantasy he'd had many times before. Kylo Ren would touch FN-2187's shoulder, tell him, Rise, in that deep voice, and then he'd remove FN-2187's helmet and FN-2187's would remove his, and they'd . . .

This was not the time. FN-2187 narrowed his focus further, until there was nothing in his mind but determination. Run. Cover Nines. Take a breath. Run.

But in a single shot, his concentration fell apart. The blood on 2187's armor was real. After the battle, Slip would not be waiting for them, sheepish that he hadn't stuck around. He was gone.

Who was to blame? Who?

He looked around wildly and couldn't see targets anymore, only blasterfire and bodies toppling, sickeningly like Slip's.

2187's body shook and his feet skidded on the sand, as he looked for something else. And there he was. Kylo Ren. Huge and imposing and awe-inspiring, striding purposefully from his shuttle through the battlefield, nothing touching him.

Surely he'd fix this. With all his power in the Force, he must know to stop all the bodies from falling like this, so permanently.

And Kylo Ren looked right back at him. Something deep and terrible began to open up in 2187's chest, and all his instincts screamed at him, to run as far as he could, not only from the carnage, but from the vortex of darkness wrenching from Kylo Ren's presence.

2187 was frozen in fear, until Kylo Ren's attention was drawn away by blaster fire. And by an old man who stood, waiting. Why didn't he flee? Did anyone else notice what 2187 had?

FN-2187 swallowed the turmoil of emotions within him, and turned away, out of the corner of his eye he saw a red arc of light. He had to look back, and his stomach flipped. His mind desperately tried to process what was going on before him. The old man must have been responsible for something terrible. He had to have deserved his death.

Someone shot their blaster at Kylo Ren; FN-2187 hated how his heart still jumped for the knight.

The man who fired at Kylo Ren was hauled forward, but it didn't seem to matter anymore. FN-2187 wanted someone to blame for everything, for the turmoil he was feeling, but as he watched Kylo Ren stand over the man, it all felt deeply wrong.

The pilot was carried away to the ship. FN-2187 watched them go, with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Captain Phasma looked to Kylo Ren. "Sir, the villagers."

FN-2187 felt his throat turn dry as he waited for Kylo Ren's verdict. Despite everything, he hoped against hope that the answer would not be . . .

Dismissively: "Kill them all."

Captain Phasma nodded and stepped forward. "On my command!"

He couldn't. The blaster was too heavy. Or his arms were too stiff. He tried; he tried with all his might, and managed to raise his weapon.

In one of the villagers's eyes, he thought he could see fire and himself reflected in them. He thought he could feel Slip's blood through the helmet, wet on his face.

"Fire!"

FN-2187 hefted the blaster again, but could not stop staring. A second too late, and the other soldiers had already fired, and sparks flew everywhere, and the villagers's screams were hardly audible over the roaring in his ears.

Dazedly, his eyes drifted. Captain Phasma was staring at him. FN-2187 should care more. But he was too numb and too cold to do so. It was all he could do to look away.

Finally, the battle was over. FN-2187 still couldn't comprehend what had just happened. He paused, his neck prickling suddenly, and looked up, only to feel his blood run cold.

Kylo Ren was looking at him. Looking straight at him. The blaster-fire was still frozen in the air, crackling, and FN-2187 jumped when the knight released, letting it explode a safe distance away.

He knows, FN-2187 thought, panicking. He knows he knows he knows . . .

Terror continued to course through his veins during the short journey back to the Finalizer. He nearly had a heart attack when Captain Phasma appeared, asking him to submit his blaster for inspection. There was something in her voice, he realized. Disappointment. And anger.

FN-2187 knew he had to do something.

Coming to a halt just outside of where the pilot was being kept, FN-2187 took a shaky breath. He could still turn away. He could still go back and face whatever punishment inevitably awaited him.

But no. Phasma had tried to mold him into something he wasn't, and Kylo Ren had failed him, and he could not get the screams of the villagers out of his ears.

FN-2187 took a step forward, then another, past the point of no return.