(Author's note: Sorry for the extreme angst. I think there may be future chapters to this story, once I figure out what's going on with "TR-8R," but for now, this is enough backstory for me to go on with telling what happened with Finn and Poe. I think it will not be pretty (but it will be sexy).
There's a soundtrack to this series now. The more I listen to it, the more I'm convinced this will be a jedistormpilot story somehow, but I'm not sure what it will look like yet. -amy)
They didn't do it every night. FN-2187 was more cautious than Slip. But every night, when he returned to their barracks after his sanitation shift, he would see Slip's face when he took his helmet off, his eyes following him around, and it was almost impossible to say no. Whatever changes Pi had made to their supplements certainly hadn't dampened their desire for one another.
The hardest part, as it happened, wasn't keeping their actions from Captain Phasma. It was the way that Nines and Zeroes had become obviously, acutely aware of what was going on — and clearly didn't understand it one bit.
"It wasn't anything other than what you expected, baby," Slip whispered to him one night in the supply closet. "You knew they weren't going to get it."
"No." FN-2187 sighed, "but I feel like there should be a way that we could make them get it. Something to make Zeroes stop giving us those dirty looks. I almost feel worse about him than I do about Nines, and he's the one who's covering for us at night."
Slip slid a hand down the center of his chest, to rest on his abdomen. "Do you think you would have believed it, before you'd felt… any of this?"
Even so soon after completing their most recent activities, Slip's touch made him feel quivery inside. He shook his head. "I don't. I didn't." He let out an unwilling laugh. "Some days I still don't quite believe it."
"I know. So just — don't push it. They'll come around."
It didn't seem to be happening with any speed. Every time FN-2187 approached him about covering up another one of their nighttime disappearances, Nines continued to nod, bewildered and somewhat scared.
The only time he'd ever attempted to talk to Zeroes about it, the look of anger and disgust on his face had been so acute that FN-2187 thought Zeroes might actually punch him. Instead, he got in real close against FN-2187's cheek.
"It's not okay," he told FN-2187 in a low voice. "For the two of you to be gone like that. We're supposed to be together, all of us. That's what makes us strong. That's what a fire-troop needs."
"I know." He seized Zeroes' arm in one hand. "But you have to understand… we wouldn't be risking your safety if it wasn't important. Please, can't you trust us?"
Zeroes glanced over his shoulder, as though Phasma might be right there next to them, listening. "How can I? You've taken more liberties with the code of conduct than I know what to do with." He scowled at FN-2187. "You've got to let this go."
FN-2187 had no response to that, nothing that would make sense to Zeroes. All he could do was walk away before they came to blows, and continue doing his job as best as he could.
It wasn't easy. The things he felt, off the regulation of his old dose of supplements, were often intense and distracting. In addition to an increased temper, FN-2187 found himself watching the movements of other troopers, their bodies, the way they shifted and bent and brushed up against one another. Even through the armor, it was compelling. With some frequency, he'd get an erection even without any other stimulation, and he'd have no recourse other than to wait for it to subside.
He wasn't sure how to address this with Pi in their first medical checkup. But just as she had been when FN-2187 had originally asked her about modifying his dose of supplements, she turned out to be unconcerned.
"It's normal," she assured him. "Ordinary, unregulated humans get sexually stimulated all the time. We've just forgotten what that's like, off the chemical castration cocktail. It's not bad for us to experience it. So if this is still working for you —"
"Yes," FN-2187 said quickly. She nodded soberly.
"I told Tonic," she said, after a pause. "About the two of you. She thinks I'm risking too much by helping you. Risking what we have." She watched his face. "Do you understand?"
"I — yeah. I understand. I won't tell anybody. Neither of us will." He hesitated. "How long have…?"
Now she smiled, busying herself with putting supplies back into storage. "Since pilot school. I caught a stomach virus and went off solid foods for a week. The medic on duty wasn't paying very close attention to my hormone levels. Tonic came every day to visit me, to keep me company. We ended up with enough time alone together to discover what we'd been missing, and she was smart enough to figure out what we could do about it."
FN-2187 swallowed. "Six years ago?"
"There's others, too. You think you're the only one to have these feelings? Everybody used to. People still write stories about them and use the old names. Romance, passion. Love. But they're all really just the effects of different levels of chemicals."
"Then why don't I feel this way about everybody?" FN-2187 wanted to know. "I mean, I — maybe I have thoughts about others, but… Slip…"
"He's special," Pi said quietly. FN-2187 nodded, and she shrugged. "I don't have all the answers. I wish I could tell you more."
He shrugged back, and gave her a smile. "I'm grateful for this much. Thank you. I know it's a risk."
"It is," she said. "And I know exactly why it's worth it."
Pi monitored Slip's reaction to the alteration in his daily cocktail, as well as FN-2187's own, but it wasn't until several weeks had gone by that she spoke with him directly about the results.
He arrived at medical as requested, waiting for her to be ready to talk. She had a good poker face, but the moment he saw it, he knew something wasn't right. He took off his helmet and sat down across from her.
"Tell me," he said immediately.
She sighed, her eyes on the floor. "Slip… I saw his reaction time dip. During your hand-to-hand combat drills, this week and last. I imagine you saw it too."
FN-2187 nodded, swallowing on a dry throat. "He was a little distracted."
"It was more than that." Pi looked at him until he nodded again, reluctantly, then went on. "So I dug into his medical history. I had to go back to childhood, before training." She handed him the datapad. "There were discrepancies in his biochemistry. Discrepancies they treated in his daily cocktail."
FN-2187 stared at the first few lines of text, scanning them quickly, then again, more slowly. "A genetic anomaly?"
"Devron's ataxia," she said. "It's a mutation in a mitochondrial gene that leads to a defective expression of the haataxin protein. A rare inherited neurodegenerative disease. If gone untreated, it's characterized by progressive damage of the nervous system. Slip's was caught at birth, of course, but without continual supplements of haataxin, he will eventually experience a delayed disease onset."
He couldn't rationalize the pounding of his heart or the sour sickness in his stomach. All he could do was try to calm himself down and try not to be sick. Eventually, he managed to say, "And what does that look like?"
Pi spoke softly, gently. "Progressive disability, with degeneration of the spinal cord and peripheral nerves that leads to muscle weakness, sensory loss, balance deficits and lack of voluntary coordination of muscle movements. Eventually, dependence on a wheelchair and reduced life expectancy." She gave her head a little shake. "As much as that means for troopers."
It was a cheap joke, but he smiled weakly anyway. The average trooper's life expectancy was less than two years following their first assignment. They all knew the cost of becoming an Imperial trooper — and FN-2187 didn't know one person who wouldn't have begged to be in his position.
"How long until he would start showing symptoms?"
"He already has. It'll be subtle for a while, probably not enough to slow him down so much that you and your fire-troop couldn't cover for him. But it's not going to get any better. I'd estimate six to eight months before it becomes obvious. And, FN-2187…" She touched his hand. "It's not reversible."
He had to close his eyes, rather than face the sympathy in her face. It wasn't something he was used to seeing, not from anyone. The way it made him feel was almost worse than the rending fear of her diagnosis.
"Are you going to tell him, or am I?"
She sighed. "I already did. Last week. He said it didn't matter, he wasn't going back on the cocktail."
FN-2187's eyes flew open. "What? He — he can't do that!"
"I thought you should know, but it's his decision."
"Pi, it's going to kill him!" he shouted.
She held on tighter to his hand. With the other, she handed him a cloth. He wasn't sure why at first. Then he felt the tears slipping off his chin and onto his arm. He mopped furiously at his eyes and nose.
"Since when are you afraid of death?" She sounded so reasonable, but he was past caring about that.
"I'm not scared of my death!" He dropped Pi's hand and stood up, pacing the length of the room and back. "Look, this is — this can't happen. Just put him back on the meds. Don't tell him, just — do it."
She shook her head immediately, just as he knew she would. "I won't. If he wants to end his own life tomorrow, he can do that, FN-2187. You can't stop him." She watched him walk back and forth once more, then stood to intercept him. "And the truth is, your fire-troop will be deployed in less than a month."
"So?" He heard his own voice shaking, and he hated it. He stopped where he was, rather than run her over, and stood there, clenching his fists hard enough to dig bloody half-moons into his palm.
"So," she said, still softly, "you know you've got this time together. Give him a chance to decide what's important to him."
He didn't let her touch him as he stood there, scowling at the floor. She didn't seem like she wanted to. Eventually, he handed the datapad back to her and walked out.
FN-2187 managed to avoid being alone with Slip for the rest of the evening. They ate dinner with Nines and Zeroes and two other fire-troops. He was even able to ignore the concerned looks they were getting from Pi and Tonic from the adjacent table.
It was just before lights-out that he met Slip in the corridor.
"Tonight," FN-2187 said, before Slip could say anything.
Slip closed his mouth and nodded, his eyes wide and startled. That was all.
Nines took the watch without comment. They went separately to the supply closet. Slip knew the route as well as FN-2187 did now. When he arrived, FN-2187 let him in.
The way Slip was looking at him, the love on his face, it drove FN-2187 into a kind of furious action, kissing him hard enough to leave bruises. The noises Slip made, and the way he grappled with FN-2187's arms, made FN-2187 think it wasn't entirely one-sided.
"Your skin," FN-2187 said, more of a demand than a request.
Slip complied without hesitation, stripping off his jumpsuit, and with a few impassioned shoves, FN-2187 had him on his hands and knees on the bedroll. He sent a look over his shoulder at FN-2187, and it wasn't one of distress.
FN-2187's fingers slid over the curve of his thigh and came to rest on his lower back. Slip let out a low moan.
"Like this?"
FN-2187 nodded, struggling for breath as he undid the fastenings on his own jumpsuit. He draped his body over Slip's, feeling the heat and slide of their sweaty skin, and had to pause there for several moments to contain the sobs that threatened to break loose.
"Baby," Slip whispered. Then he said it again, but now sounded more like a groan. FN-2187 shifted lower on his knees, pressing up with his hips. "Oh — are you —?"
FN-2187 thought it would be something he would have asked for, this invasion of Slip's body with something other than a cautious finger or his probing tongue. Instead, he reached for the packet of lubricant and coated his hand with it, feeling nearly desperate to be closer, closer, as close as he could be. To be inside him. He pressed with one finger, thrust inside, then withdrew and added a second. Slip's moan erupted into a gasp, and only then did FN-2187 hesitate.
"Tell me you're okay," he begged.
"I'm okay," Slip said, and then, without a pause, "again, please."
That's not what I meant, he wanted to say, but his body was already answering, his fingers driving into Slip again, harder this time. I mean, tell me you're okay. Tell me you're going to be okay. I'm not going to have this with you only to kill you with it.
He had to use his fingers to guide himself inside Slip, and by then they were both shuddering. FN-2187 made himself wait, the pulsing of his own body in counterpoint to the contraction of Slip's muscles around him.
"Not too scary?" he ventured to ask.
Slip burst out an hysterical laugh. "Terrifying," he affirmed, "and — don't stop."
For some reason, that made it easier to continue. When he pressed all the way into Slip, then nudged deeper, and deeper still, it set them both into a cascade, one that sent them within minutes into a messy, urgent climax. FN-2187 collapsed beside Slip, breathing hard with more than just exertion.
"I can't believe," Slip mumbled, his face pressed into the bedroll, "we waited this long to do that."
FN-2187 couldn't reply; he just rolled closer and rested his face against Slip's back, feeling his strength, his self-control. It was hard to imagine he would ever be any other way.
"We had other things to do that were important," he said at last. He placed a hand on Slip's body, watching it rise and fall with his breath, and breathed along with him before gathering up the nerve to ask the next question. "What is… important? To you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean… someday. Do you ever think about someday?"
It wasn't a concept that came up much for Imperial troopers, but after a moment, Slip nodded slowly. "I think about it. Do you?"
"I have been. More, now." Now that I have something to hope for, he didn't say.
Slip rolled over to face him. It was even more intense, in a way, than being inside of him, but FN-2187 didn't look away. He figured he owed Slip that.
"I care about our team," Slip said. "That's important. Brotherhood. Loyalty. Teamwork. The things we've always had. You know." He touched FN-2187's shoulder. "Belonging. The way we always have, together."
FN-2187 nodded, feeling the tears start again, but Slip didn't seem to be upset by them. He used his thumb to brush away the wetness on FN-2187's cheek.
"Duty," FN-2187 said haltingly, and sniffed. "Tradition."
"Destiny," added Slip. He smiled when FN-2187 rolled his eyes. "I know you don't believe in it."
"It seems kind of childish. But…" FN-2187 shrugged, still holding his gaze. "I'm not sure I can explain this any other way."
"This connection," Slip murmured, nodding. "This, the way I… love you."
He hugged FN-2187 while he cried, kissing his cheek. They didn't say anything more that night, not about Devron's ataxia or their questionable future or anything else. They just held one another until they fell asleep.