The facts: his heart kicks and sputters; he is fever-flush and glazed with sweat; he can't sleep; he can't eat.
Finn knows what this means. He's ill, he's dying, and it's only a matter of time before the Resistance put him out of his misery.
FN-4545 is the best soldier in the squad. She's always at the front for the morning speeches from Hux, her chin tipped up, her pale eyes bright with fervour. Her salutes are crisp and clean and sharp. Her uniform is always immaculate. She keeps her boots shined better than the commissioned officers. She obeys, promptly and swiftly, doing precisely what she is told -- no more and no less. She is utterly free from the sin of innovation. Her marksmanship is second to none; she can strip a blaster down to its bones and reassemble it in less than a minute.
They say she might be officer material.
Stormtroopers do not have friends, of course, but her comrades are ready and eager to listen to her when she speaks of the Order's glorious purpose. No Stormtrooper would ever tell a bedtime story -- such things are blasphemy! -- but before they sleep, FN-4545 recites the speech they heard that morning. Her memory is all but flawless.
She does not like FN-2187. Thus, the rest of the squad do not like him.
FN-4545 is always awake when the lights turn on. She is always the first dressed. They rotate beds, to prevent the forming of unpatriotic ties, and today FN-2187 is in the bunk above her. He wakes as the lights turn on, bright white glare cutting into the black of sleep. Automatic, he swings out of bed, landing light-footed.
FN-4545 is still in bed.
This is strange. She is never in bed when he wakes.
No talking is permitted before morning inspection. No one ever breaks this rule; but there are looks spared to FN-4545, who is still in bed; and remains so even as the others straighten their bedding, pull on their uniforms.
She is well-liked. They listen to her. And yet not one of them nudges her awake.
If she doesn't wake up, she will be punished.
Her back is to FN-2187. Her breathing sounds strange: thick and laboured.
He clears his throat. She doesn't respond. He does so again, louder, and draws a couple of odd looks from his fellow cadets. FN-1222, known as Gaptooth (he is losing his teeth; they have been told that this is all very normal; that humans do lose teeth as they grow up, but FN-2187 still is frightened by it, and dreads the day when he wakes up with wobbly canines and the taste of blood in his mouth) glowers at him.
He doesn't talk. He can't. His throat closes up at the very thought of it, because he knows what happens if you break the rules.
Instead, he plants his palm between her shoulderblades and pushes her.
Her skin is very hot and very wet. He yanks his hand back, astonished, and she finally responds, rolling to face him. Normally, her skin is sunless, near translucent, but there's a bright flush on it now, red smears on her cheeks.
"FN," she rasps.
He puts his finger to his lips and shushes her. Her eyes fly wide in panic when she realises that she almost broke the rule.
Wordlessly, FN-2187 pushes her uniform at her. She shucks off her sleeping tunic, pulls on the blacks, and rakes her fingers through her hair. It sticks up in sweaty red spikes.
When the Captain comes, she stands straight and proud as ever.
--
She does not eat her breakfast. She cuts it up, pushes it around, grey nutrition bar crumbling. She stares at it. Her eyes are wet. Her skin is wet and red.
