For An Answer (III)
Part 3 : Losing
Here comes the third part for the series I write with @i-said-goddameron ! It's my turn to write a chapter for this First Order AU, so here we go :)
I hope you all like it :)
Warning for mentions of violence and death
The image for the banner is not ours.
Word count : 3269
Previous chapter
Poe's hands were shaking. Actually, his whole body was shaking, from head to toe. He was trying to stop but couldn't. He couldn't control his trembling muscles, he couldn't control anything... just like he had not been able to control what was going on out there.
His eyes closed, heavy eyelids falling before dark brown eyes. He kept them tightly shut, hoping it would make the images disappear.
No matter how hard he had tried, there was nothing he could have done to help the pilots he was leading.
They had fallen into a trap Poe had predicted, but he had been ignored by his superiors. And only a handful of pilots from his squadron had survived...
Poe's hands clenched into fists, but he forced his breathing to remain even. He couldn't lose his temper, not now. He was awaited by General Hux and several other commanding officers for a debrief. He heaved a frustrated sigh.
He had seen them all dying and he hadn't been able to save them...
A droid all painted in black and dark grey softly touched his leg, requiring the pilot's attention.
A small smile formed on Poe's face as his eyes opened again to land on the BB-9E unit at his feet.
"I'm fine Beebee," Poe whispered. "Just a bit shaken."
The droid beeped softly, clearly worried.
"I don't know what the General will say," Poe shook his head. "It was a trap, but I had warned them... I bet that they will probably forget this part though. But I'm not that much worried about officers it's... I lost so many men today..."
The droid tried to comfort him, but Poe shook his head.
"I just hope they will honour them all the right way, they deserve it," Poe whispered.
He heaved a sigh, knowing that it was time, that he had to get up from his bed and get ready for this meeting.
He finally stood from his bed, grabbing a black shirt on his chair. He looked at himself in the mirror as he dressed up, soon closing the buttons of his clothe. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn't do it.
The blank façade just refused to appear on his features this time.
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Poe hated Hux. He had to obey his orders, as he was General and Poe was Commander, but this didn't diminish the pilot's hatred for the officer. He hated this content expression on his pasty face, he hated the General's perfectly tidy red hair, he hated this little look in Hux's eyes that appeared when he looked at Poe and that clearly told the pilot that he considered him a worthless pawn that he could watch dying any day without feeling any compassion. Poe knew that, to him, he and the men he led out there were nothing but numbers, pawns to place on a chessboard, but nothing valuable. One TIE fighter down didn't mean a dead pilot. It meant one resource destroyed for the First Order. To him, replacing a TIE unit was basically ordering a new ship.
Poe clenched his fists as he was forced to listen to Hux's rage being poured over him, when he had warned them...
"IT WAS AN UTTER FAILURE! I expected so much more from you!"
"We fell into a trap..." Poe tried to defend himself, but the ginger man before him resumed his shouting without paying any attention to Poe's arguments.
"WE HAVE LOST THE CARGO BECAUSE OF YOU AND YOUR INAPTITUDE!"
Poe's jaw clenched.
"THIS IS A CATASTROPHE, AND IT IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"
Poe closed his eyes. He could feel tears rising again inside him. He knew that it was his fault if the men he commanded had died, there was no need to remind him of that...
At the gesture, Hux fell silent, stopping his assault for now. All around the room, the officers were staring at the only two men standing, Hux's face still inches away from Poe's.
The pilot's eyes opened slowly again. Behind his back, his hands were closed so tightly that his knuckles were becoming paler and paler by the second. He stared at the General before him, taking a deep breath before speaking again. His voice was calm but as frozen as ice.
"The men who died today fought like heroes. We were outnumbered, but they put up a fight that gave the Resistance heavy losses as well. They need to be decorated..."
"I am the one to decide who deserves this honour, Commander Dameron," Hux interrupted him, his voice oozing with poison. "And pilots that are shot down because they fell in a stupid trap are not worthy of such an honour."
"They died for the First Order all the same!"
"There was no honour in anything that has happened today!"
Poe clenched his jaw even more tightly, but refrained his urge to shout back. He kept his shaking voice down instead.
"I am asking for the permission to contact their families myself, for those who had one. I know a few of them were married..."
"It is not your role, Commander Dameron."
"They deserve it..."
"They deserve nothing, thanks to the stupidity of the man who led them into this tr..."
"I WARNED YOU!"
Poe was shaking. This time he just couldn't hold it back. All this anger, all this rage, all this hatred. It was unfair, all of it. The way he was treated when he had lost friends, seen them dying before him, disappearing in flames. The way they were treated, these men who had fought bravely even if they knew their chances were growing thin.
Hux was spitting at the faces of these pilots Poe had fought with and was ready to die with, and he couldn't take any more of it.
In the circular room, around the dark table, all officers were silent, staring with wide eyes at this pilot who had dared to shout at the General...
"I told you all that it was a trap before you sent us there, but you didn't listen! It was your fault Hux! It's..."
But he was interrupted as Hux slapped him hard. The action made Poe freeze. It snapped something into him. As if all the restraints around him had been cut. His emotions were bubbling in a way he couldn't control, and there were soon tears in his eyes. He was so lost in emotions he was constantly fighting against that he barely noticed the order Hux shouted at him.
"YOU ARE DEMOTED!"
It reached Poe's ears as a mere whisper.
He didn't wait for any kind of authorization, and turned around to leave the room. His fists were so tightly closed, it was painful...
He walked out of the room, ignoring the strange looks thrown at him as he crossed the corridors in a hurry, his feet carrying him through the ship to a destination that he didn't even know. All he knew was that he had to get away from Hux, or he would soon be unable to stop himself to kill the General.
He finally stopped walking in a deserted corridor. And before he could start thinking again, he threw a powerful punch into the wall.
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This room was different from the two others again. It wasn't blinding, it wasn't dark either. She didn't feel as if she was constantly being spied on. She didn't feel so disorientated anymore. Dyyla had been locked in this bright cell for a while again after her last interrogation with the pilot, but she had been transferred to this new one what seemed to her to be the day before. She wondered why. Clearly she was not about to talk yet. The two previous cells had almost broken her though, so why stop now?
Whatever was the reason for this change in her custody, she was grateful.
She was lying on what served as a bed, a mere piece of metal a few inches above the ground, when the door suddenly opened.
She jumped, sitting up instantly.
She frowned at the sight of Poe Dameron standing before her. She was expecting stormtroopers to carry her to the interrogation room again, not the pilot himself. She stood up, ready to follow him, a determined and defiant expression on her face. But instead of leading her outside, Poe closed the door behind him.
She quirked an eyebrow in surprise.
"So... are we doing the next session here?" she asked.
Poe finally rested his dark brown eyes on hers. She noticed that they were bloodshot and swallowed. He seemed exhausted and... sad.
"Yeah, you can put it that way," he nodded.
He looked around the room for a place to sit down, but there was nothing but the metallic bench she used as a bed. So he made a movement towards the bench, but was stopped by her voice as she spoke again.
"I have no restraints this time. Aren't you afraid that I could kill you?"
"What would that bring you? It won't help you escape. You'll still be locked in that room."
"I bet you have a pass or a key."
"Well, you're wrong. I'll need the stormtroopers to open the door for me to walk out of here. See, it won't bring you anything."
"What about the satisfaction of killing you?"
"I am not the person who seeks to hurt you the most here, I reckon that would be a mistake."
He sat down on the bench, and Dyyla followed his lead, sitting on the opposite side of the piece of metal.
"Are you going to try to scare me and play the tough guy again?" she asked slowly.
But Poe shook his head. And the more she studied his features, the more he seemed exhausted. He was slightly bent, as if he carried a heavy burden on his shoulders.
"No, not today. It didn't really work the last time anyway, right?" he breathed.
"So... what is the new technique? Trying to play friends by paying me a visit in my cell. That won't work, I'm afraid."
But Poe shook his head again.
"I have no clue," he admitted.
She finally noticed his wounded hand. The knuckles were bruised and bleeding.
"What happened to your hand?"
Poe clenched his jaw for a second. He was so lost. Utterly, completely lost. He wanted to hit anything and everyone on this ship, he wanted to strangle this incompetent general, he wanted... to let it all out. All the pain, and the frustration over his inability to protect the men he was to guide, over the lack of recognition from the First Order for these men who had given their lives. No matter what Hux kept on repeating, these men had fought like heroes, they deserved so much more...
But beside his droid, anyone knowing about his thoughts would report him, and Poe was certain to be grounded then, or worse.
Perhaps that was the reason why his feet had guided him to this cell. At least, he was certain that the prisoner would have no way to repeat his words. But he knew deep down inside him that the reason went further on. It was more than just a will to be discreet and yet to let it all out.
She was a pilot after all. She could understand, maybe...
"I punched a wall," he answered earnestly.
"Why?"
He looked at her, and she was shocked to find tears in them.
"I led an operation... and it didn't go well."
He heaved a sigh, running a hand in his hair in frustration.
"How many men have you lost?" he asked.
"I won't answer your questions," she replied.
But there was not much of animosity in her voice. He could hear that despite the two of them fighting on different sides, she could understand. She had been through the same kind of horror after all, the kind that spat out the pilot bruised and unable to ever fully recover from the wounds in its heart.
"I lost 49 pilots today," he whispered.
He swept a tear away from his eyes. Dyyla wondered for a moment if all this was just an act, a way for him to try to get to her through pity. But she couldn't believe that he could be that good at playing an act. She could see that the whole thing was true.
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, her voice still softer than usual.
He shrugged.
"Because no one seems to care about them," he breathed, another tear rolling down his cheek. "No one, except me. I guess... you just can't walk away, you know? You have to listen to me and bare my presence. You're not free to go."
"You're hoping for more than that though."
He intensely stared at her.
"Perhaps," he whispered.
"If you're looking for compassion, you've come to the wrong place. I'm generally happy when a TIE goes down."
He slowly nodded.
"Yeah... I bet you are. Can't blame you. Feel the same for X-Wings."
"Right, so sorry, but I won't mourn with you."
"I understand. And I wasn't expecting you to do so anyway."
He shook his head, letting a shaking breath. Dyyla noticed that his whole being was trembling.
He was probably still in shock after that battle he was talking about. He would probably go through post-traumatic stress.
She wanted to hate him. She was trying, with all her being, and for a part, she could summon those feelings when she looked at him. He was on the wrong side, fighting to defend what she longed to destroy. She was certain that he had been involved in the bombings on Yavin IV.
But on some aspects, she could almost understand him. He was a pilot after all, losing men just like her...
They were fighting for two different sides, but the trauma was no different.
He shook his head, looking at the door.
"I shouldn't have come here. I don't know what I was thinking..."
"Looking for a shoulder to cry on?"
"I would rather cry on the shoulder of a Hutt."
"Who knows, perhaps they are not as ugly and cruel as they say."
He chuckled.
"I've never seen one myself, but I bet that they really are ugly."
"You're still not going to find a shoulder here."
"I don't want your shoulder anyway."
"If you're trying to use this story to get to me and make me answer your questions, you can stop wasting both our times..."
"Can you shut up?"
He was trembling more than before now, tears shining in his eyes and about to fall. He clenched his jaw, searching for a way to keep his feelings at bay.
He just needed to let it all out...
"What do you do when one of your pilots dies?" he asked. "I mean... what does the Resistance do?"
She remained silent, still unwilling to give out any kind of information. His eyes went out of focus, he seemed lost in thought when he spoke again.
"In theory, the First Order can give the pilots honours. A medal, basically. At least, something that shows that this particular pilot fought with bravery. I've never seen any of those being given away though."
A tear rolled down his cheek.
"We fell into a trap that I had predicted. I had warned them all, but they didn't listen. They sent us there anyway. We didn't stand a chance, but these pilots, they fought so bravely! But all that is going to be reported in their files is that they died like idiots that fell in a stupid trap. They won't even let me announce the news to their families myself..."
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
"I shouldn't be here," he whispered.
His brain kept on screaming the same thing over and over again. She was an enemy. She was not to be trusted.
But no one on this ship seemed to feel the same as he did and he was so tired of being all alone...
For just once, he wanted to give up this mask of his. He wanted to be weak for just a minute. He knew he could never show this face to any member of the crew though, he was certain to be reported then. He would probably be grounded, until he was strong enough to put the blank expression back on his face. The mask would have to be back, eventually.
But Dyyla was a prisoner, it didn't matter... and there was also this uncertainty that for some reason saddened him even more. Now that he wasn't Commander anymore, someone else would probably take his place as interrogator.
"I've been demoted," he went on. "I'm not sure that I'll ever see you again. I don't know if I'll be allowed to keep on interrogating you."
Dyyla nodded.
"Which means that it's your last chance not to be tortured," he went on.
"Because you're going to make me think that what I've been through so far was not torture?"
"A soft form of it."
"Why am I in this cell, by the way. It's less... torturing than the previous ones."
"Because I saw that it wasn't working. So what is the point? I'm not in favour of useless violence."
"Funny, for someone fighting for the First Order."
He heaved a sigh.
"What do you do when some of your men die?" he asked again.
He looked at her, drying his cheeks and sniffing.
"It's not like it's a particularly valuable piece of information anyway," he noted, sniffing again, his voice hoarse.
He cleared his throat.
"We have a little ceremony," Dyyla answered slowly. "We can ask to warn the families ourselves, but most of the time, the General takes care of it."
"The General?"
She nodded, and he let out a wry laugh.
"I can't see Hux even considering it."
His jaw trembled as he buried his face in his hands.
"What the hell am I doing?" he asked in a breath, the question pointed at himself.
And hell, Dyyla was trying to hate him, but he wasn't making things easy right now. He seemed so lost...
"I think you're shocked," she said softly.
"Probably. Shocked and... infuriated..."
He heaved a sigh, suddenly standing up and walking towards the door.
"Well... if I never see you again... I guess it's a farewell," he breathed, facing the door but not opening it yet.
"I guess so."
"It's your last chance..."
But she interrupted him.
"If you were the prisoner, would you speak so easily?"
He slowly shook his head.
"Probably not," he admitted. "I guess we're more alike than both of us would wish for us to be."
"I guess so."
He raised his hand to come resting on the doorknob, but the sound of her voice cutting the silence again made him freeze.
"18."
He frowned, turning towards her. But he didn't need to ask for her to go on.
"In total, I've lost 18 men under my direct command."
He nodded slowly, clenching his jaw.
"I've lost more men in just one day..." he breathed.
He turned towards the door again.
"I hope we meet again," he whispered. "I hope you don't have to go through all the pain that you would have to face if it wasn't the case."
"I guess that for my own sake I should hope so too then."
"I guess so..."
He knocked on the door and the stormtroopers outside unlocked it. He opened the door without another word, leaving her alone in the cell again.
And this time, they both felt lonely...
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