… long time ago…
"I believe it's just exhaustion, captain. She should be back to normal once she gets some rest…"
Those were not the most reassuring words to hear first thing in the morning. Well, first thing after waking up – who knew what time it was, anyway…? I haven't seen the sun for what felt like at least a week, if not more. And on top of that I woke up in the med bay. After not remembering falling asleep. That probably meant I just collapsed somewhere after putting in yet another twenty-five hours long workday.
I opened one eye to survey the room. I was not surprised to find Phasma in full armor leaning against the nearest wall. I felt like pretending I'm still nowhere near conscious enough to be dealing with this, but unfortunately she caught the change in my expression. "Oh what…?" I said as she walked closer to the cot I was stretched out on. "You look ready to give me a speech. It better not be about how I shouldn't be doing stuff like this, because last time I checked stuff like this was exactly why you people took me in the first place. To work until I drop, right?"
"Wrong," she said, sounding a lot less angry than I expected.
"Whatever you say, cap. We both know I better keep supplying you with reasons not to shoot me if I want to live to see the sunlight again," I said and closed my eyes again. I was clearly not up to having this conversation. I needed another nap or two before getting back to some semblance of normal.
"Are you trying to kill yourself?" asked Phasma. And it almost sounded like a serious question, so I decided to give her a serious answer.
"What gave me away? The way I have of not taking safety precautions? The fact I tried to start a fist fight with a radar technician the other day…? Or was it the fact that I stopped eating three days ago, to protest that you refuse to supply me with the kind of food I need for my brain to function properly…?"
"First Order is a military organization. Do you actually imagine you can bully us into supplying you with sweets…?"
"No. But that alone won't stop me from trying," I said, raising myself up on an elbow. As pleasant as this was I couldn't just lie here all day. I had work to do – places to go, machinery to fix… people to insult… "How long was I out anyway…?"
"Four hours."
"Oh. Back to work then," I said looking down at what I was wearing. "The second I'll get back into my uniform. And whichever of you pervs had the idea to help me into a white, sacrificial robe…"
"That's just protocol…" said one of the human medics in a defensive tone that told me I had the culprit. I gave him a you-sure-you-want-to-go-with-that-one look before starting to look around for my pants.
"Sure. Protocol. I see all the other patients here are wearing damsel-in-distress nightgowns," I said pointedly, nodding to the severely burned trooper in the next cot. I was the only person in the room dressed up like I was about to be sacrificed to appease a space monster and he knew it.
"You're going to need a new uniform anyway. This one was burnt in a few places…" he protested.
"That's part of my look. Oh fine, bring me a new one then. Quickly though. The longer it takes you the longer I have to compose a sexual harassment complaint…" I said with a wicked grin before turning my attention back to Phasma. "Oh what? Why do you always stand over me and act like you're taking everything I do personally…? So I work until I can't anymore. Nothing to do with you."
"You're a threat to yourself and others," replied Phasma.
"Why do I have the feeling it's the second part that bothers you more…? You know I can tell when you're frowning at me, right? I can't believe you're standing there and judging me. For something that should actually endear me to the First Order, come to think of it. I mean this shows some serious commitment – even if I'm only doing it so I don't get shot first time I give you people the slightest excuse."
"If we were going to do that, you'd be dead a week ago," she pointed out.
"Well yeah – but the only reason you didn't is because it's so hard to dig graves in ground that's frozen solid. Even shallow ones."
She had no answer to that, or so it seemed. Which was great, because the medic just came back into the room with a new uniform. I could swear this one had slightly more severe cut, if that was even possible. And it was definitely a lot darker shade of black.
"You know, normally I can tell what you're thinking," I said, letting the ridiculous sacrificial garb of a nightgown slip to the ground and kicking it aside for good measure. "But I'm kind of struggling right now. A hint…?"
"We might have to have an emergency meeting about you," said Phasma in a tone that sounded a good deal more annoyed than I expected. "Again."
"Oh…" I said. The statement surprised me so much it actually made me shut up for a second. Just a second, though. "Just out of curiosity… what happened at the last one?"
"We were told not to shoot you just for speaking your mind. If we can't handle a single civilian with a little attitude we need to rethink how well our conditioning works, apparently."
I grinned as I struggled with the jacket that was once again a size too small. I needed to have a talk with whoever designed these, honestly… "That is a good point, though. Also I saw what you did there. Next time I'll need a nap I'll just take one instead of having a double dose of stimulants and working on… I'm not going to kill myself over this. Dying from exhaustion as I work for a cause I oppose on principle, that's about the most idiotic way to go. Don't worry. Not the death I have planned out."
She didn't reply. I told her anyway, of course. "I'll drown in moonlight, strangled by my own bra," I said with a smirk as I walked out of the med bay. It would be a very impressive exit line, too, if only I wasn't immediately caught by Phasma and pointed in the right direction.
If I didn't know better I'd think she couldn't believe it. A whole week on Starkiller and I still didn't know my way around. Well, if she had a problem with it, she could always bring it up on their next emergency meeting. One I obviously won't be invited to…
… a long time later, in the Ileenium system…
"That's all very interesting, but what I actually asked you was why are you attacking that punching bag like he murdered your father right before your eyes," said the rebel captain who has been my patron ever since that first debriefing right after my escape from the First Order.
So that was his original question, then… I somehow managed to forget it, as I got busy retelling that particular episode from my past. But now that I remembered, I realized I did have an answer for him. "I'm punching it this hard because I take this seriously. I mean look how seriously I took a job I hated… And this one I actually like. A lot," I said and punched again. Harder.
Inflicting pain, even in this metaphoric way, made me forget just how much pain I was in. Who knew that getting in shape after years of not doing my own heavy lifting and living mostly on sweets and spite would be this hard…?
"You know… if it turns out that only the heroes get to have any good fights around here after I went into these lengths, I'll be really pissed," I said, seeing that he wasn't leaving even though he got the answer he was after.
"We're all heroes, you know," he said, though he clearly knew what I meant.
"We're not all outright magic, though. And the rest of us mere mortals deserve an opportunity to kick some ass too," I said, slightly out of breath. There was part of me that felt certain I did my best for today – yet here I still was, refusing to stop. "I don't even want a fancy weapon. Or a proper battle, really. Just one chance to get all of this out of my system, you know…"
"I do," he said. "It was literally the first thing I put into my report."
"Oh…?" I stopped my attack and looked at him with some curiosity.
"Emotionally unstable. Do not recommend her for active service," he said. I wasn't entirely sure he was joking either – in which case, great judge of character. If the First Order had someone like him they'd just dispose of me back when they were busy burning down my neighborhood.
"So how come I'm on the list now…? Because I am on the list. I've been eavesdropping on strategic meetings since I got here. I know I'm being considered for field assignments."
"There is one thing we can absolutely trust you to do. Isn't that why you're here, getting it all out of your system so you don't have to worry about it when you're actually on a mission…?" he asked.
"Part of it," I admitted. "Also I refuse to suppress my emotions. That's a very Jedi thing to do. And just look at their track record."
"So what is all this anger, anyway?"
"You're not going to like it," I said, as I briefly considered not telling him. "Alright, it's like this…"
"You miss them," he guessed.
"What? No. Absolutely not. Who told you that…? I almost miss Phasma, sure. Sometimes. Very rarely. We had this almost friendly kind of enmity… And sure, that doesn't sound like an argument for taking me along for missions, but think about it. It'll give you the element of surprise. She'll hesitate before shooting me. I'm almost sure. And that's your I-don't-know-why-I-believe-you-but-I-do expression, so I know you think so too," I said, studying him.
"I do believe you. Just don't ask me to justify it. It makes absolutely no sense."
"Must be the force, then," I said, going back to punching with renewed energy.