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When they bring her to the General's office, she's still in her armor. She's swaying from side to side, taking clumsy steps. Her hands are bound in front of her, and they've left her gloves on but they've taken her helmet off. Leia stares, openly, and does not get up. The infamous Captain Phasma is not what she expected. Even with her face scratched and bruised, with her lip split, she's almost cherubic. Short blonde hair, wide blue eyes that are blackened and dazed. "I'll only surrender to General Leia Organa," Phasma mumbles. She falters in her steps. "I'll only surrender to General Leia Organa." Phasma's helmet lands on Leia's desk with a metallic thunk sound. A dark brown hand rests on top of it. "I got her, General," Finn says proudly. He has a burn on his cheek and the largest blaster Leia has ever seen tucked under his arm, and he's standing straight as a pin. The aides shove Phasma into a chair. Her head lolls back and forward, and she manages to focus on Finn. "You," she says. "FN-2187. It just had to be you." "Not officer material, Phasma? Huh? That's what you said. Couldn't make the right decisions. Couldn't get people to trust me." Finn steps forward, slamming his foot onto the ground. "Look at me now, Phasma. I'm in charge, I got friends. Real friends. What do you have now, huh? You don't have your troopers, you don't have your General Hux backing up you. You don't have any friends here." Phasma blinks at Finn, and when she speaks, her voice is soft. Almost motherly. "But it is when we have no friends to lean upon, FN-2187, that we truly become strong." "Don't give me that shit." Finn's hand raises above her face, trembling. "Don't you talk to me like that. I don't trust you anymore." "Finn!" Leia jumps up from her chair at the same time Phasma barks out, "The General won't want you harming her property!" "Excuse me?" Leia looks from Finn's dark expression to Phasma's bleeding smile. "Property?" Finn's shoulders slump. "Oh. Yeah. She surrendered." Phasma nods and gives Leia a bright grin. Leia rubs her nose where the headaches always start and makes an executive decision. "Finn, thank you for bringing her to me. I'd like you to go write up a report on her capture for me, please. In your quarters. Everyone else except for Phasma is dismissed." Finn hefts the blaster. "Uh...can I keep this? It's--I mean, it was Phasma's." "Sure. I don't care." Then they're gone, and Leia is alone and face-to-face with one of the most wanted people in the galaxy. Leia steeples her fingers. "So," she says. "You're surrendering to the Resistance. Why?" "Not to the Resistance, General Organa. To you." Leia raises an eyebrow. "And what do you see as the difference here?" "Not your prisoner. Not your ally." Phasma raises her left hand, palm out like an oath. "The New Republic allows for ways of paying debts. Slavery." Leia has a horrible vision of herself lying on cushions, holding a chain that leads to Phasma's collar. Of Phasma kneeling before her in nothing but a few scraps of sheer silk and flimsy metal. Blue to match her eyes, Leia thinks, and then she wrenches her thoughts away. "Monetary debts," Leia corrects her. "War crimes are a different matter." "Only following orders, General." Phasma's mouth twists in what might be a smile. "The New Republic will argue for years over that. You might not like it. Justice delayed." "It's not my business to like it. It's my business to stop the First Order from wreaking any more destruction on the planets of the New Republic." Phasma taps her fingers on the arm of the chair she's in. The chromium gloves knock against the formplast of the cheap furniture. "Exactly." She's breathing heavy, choosing short, simple words so she won't waste her strength. "Captain, you're free to remove your armor," Leia says. Phasma's blackened eyes close. "Thanks. It stays." "That's an order," Leia amends. "See? Good mistress." Phasma flips switches, her fingers shaking, undoes catches. Her armor drops off and clatters to the floor. Leia watches as Phasma pulls her chestplate over her head, thick corded arms shaking with strain. Phasma's sweating, drops trickling down her pale arms, down the soft blue markings of her veins. Leia finds herself thinking of Han's tanned skin that never seemed to fade, the bronze of his arms after a single memorable day on a Corellian beach. Phasma is bigger than Han, arms powerful and toned, but the faint pink tone of her flesh makes her look more vulnerable than Han ever was. Leia hands her a bottle of Vitajuice. Phasma takes it without comment, tilting her head back and chugging the restorative fluid. A red drop of the juice trickles down her chin, landing on the hollow of her throat. Leia watches as it runs down Phasma's chest and soaks into the collar of her white undershirt. "Say I did agree to take you on as an--indentured servant," Leia begins. Phasma wipes her mouth with her forearm. It's a surprisingly indelicate gesture. "If you want to call it that. It's still what it is." Her voice seems back to normal with the help of the Vitajuice. It's surprisingly light and feathery, even with Phasma's metal-edged tone. "A slave." Leia winces internally. How can she think of herself as someone who would own a slave? How can Phasma offer something like that so easily? "You're suggesting that you could help me combat the First Order. Call me cynical, but I don't see you offering up sensitive information to us just to avoid a few decades of boredom on a New Republic planet." "You saw FN-2187 do the same." "Finn was stolen from his family as a baby. He never had a choice." Phasma blinks rapidly. Her eyes seem brighter, wet. "Do you think I did? I was a Stormtrooper like him." "You chose to remain." "Until now." Phasma sits back in the chair, gripping the armrests. Her eyes are bright, feverish, and she looks like she's bracing for interrogation or a crash landing. "Take me as a slave. Or don't." Her eyes flicker back and forth, locking with Leia's eyes before Phasma drops her gaze to the floor. "I do not complain about that which I need not subject myself. I can at least promise that." "I can't do this to you," Leia says. "Regardless of my feelings on the New Republic's justice system. I can't just take you, I can't make you my property. That's not how this works. Not here." Phasma grips the edge of Leia's desk as she levers herself out of the chair. Leia can see the muscles corded out on her arms, the way she shakes. Whatever bruises Finn gave her, they're fresh, only the icing on the cake. Phasma's body speaks of one who's gone without food and sleep for a long time. For a moment Leia is afraid she'll try to stand and then collapse, but then Phasma sinks down to one knee in front of her. Leia bites back a gulping laugh of disbelief. It's such an archaic gesture. Nobody's knelt like that for her since Han proposed to her. (She hates herself a little for thinking of him now.) Phasma's hands are planted on the ground, her head lowered. Leia fights the urge to place a hand on her head, like some kind of benediction. "Please," Phasma says. "Let me serve you. Let me redeem myself." Leia thinks about it for a long moment. She puts two fingers under Phasma's chin and lifts the woman's face up. "Look at me, Phasma, and tell me the truth." Phasma swallows and nods. "The First Order was going to execute you, weren't they?" Phasma squeezes her eyes shut and nods. A tear trickles from the corner of her eye. Leia uses her thumb to wipe it away, gently. She thinks about wiping away Ben's tears after one of his frequent nightmares, the tone of voice she'd use to soothe him back to sleep. She hasn't used that voice for a long time. "But why?" The question hangs in the air for a long moment, and then the words come tumbling out of Phasma. "A mistake. A fucking mistake, because of that traitor, your Finn. They called me a collaborator. Saw the security tapes. It was right there. I could have killed him, could have taken the blast--I dropped the shields and I couldn't help it. I killed JB. Maker forgive me." She scrabbles for Leia's hands. "I held the blaster to his head and threw his body out of an airlock." "What?" Leia curls her hands around Phasma's. "Who's JB?" "They were going to make it a show. A ceremony." Phasma's chest heaves with a choked-back sob. She sits back on her heels, nails digging into Leia's hand. Leia ignores the pain and concentrates on inscribing every word Phasma is saying into her memory. A First Order commandant having a nervous breakdown in her office is a tactical gift, not to be wasted. "In front of every Stormtrooper in the order. Your captain's a traitor. Watch her die." "Were you expecting anything else from the First Order?" "I would die in the service of the First Order. If I failed--if I failed that hard, if I ever did--I would do it myself. For the glory of the First Order. I'd take Ren's lightsaber and run it through my own chest." Phasma jerks her fist to her chest, miming running a sword through herself. She thumps her chest. Her shirt is wet with tears and sweat. Leia can't help but notice the soft swell of the woman's breasts under the fabric, soft and vulnerable next to all that hard muscle and force. She knows suddenly that she's going to touch Phasma later, that unless Phasma leaves D'Qar in a First Order ship before sundown, Leia is going to peel that sodden and ruined shirt off of Phasma's body. Because she can, and because Phasma will let her. "I'm not a traitor," Phasma says. "I'm not." Leia leans forward in her chair and kisses Phasma on the cheek, then puts her lips to Phasma's ear. She speaks slowly, deliberately. "You weren't until now." Leia's soft words seem to hit Phasma like a punch in the gut. The younger woman doubles over, pressing her wet face to Leia's chest. The last person to do that was Ben, pleading for his mother to take away a nightmare she couldn't erase, dark thoughts she couldn't take away. Or was it Han, the night they got the news about Kylo Ren? Was it Rey, weeping over the loss of a man Leia had known for years and Rey for just days? Why do people always want to cry on her bosom? "Kill me, if you want." Phasma's hands clutch at Leia's shoulders. "At least let me die for something I know I did." "Stop it. Stop. Nobody's going to kill you." Leia wrenches Phasma away from her, staring into Phasma's face like it holds any kind of solution. Phasma looks pathetic, her skin a mass of bruises, eyes red and cheeks gleaming. She's a woman at the end of her tolerance. Betrayed, thrown away, sentenced to death, and kneeling before the enemy begging for pity. Leia wonders if she'd be on her knees like that if she were Phasma, if she'd hold up any better. Just the fact that they're both women used to commanding armies doesn't make them the same, doesn't give Leia any right to judge Phasma's wretched state. Princesses are rarely expected to kneel, and isn't kneeling really all Phasma knows? "Please." Phasma's breath is ragged. "Please just tell me what you're going to do with me." She curls her fingers into her palms, turns her wrists up to show them to Leia. It's an offering as much as it is a threat. Leia takes Phasma's hands. "I'll take you on," she says. Her fingers move down to enclose Phasma's wrists, like binders. "You're mine now." The next words stick in her throat, and she forces them through her lips. "You're my slave." Phasma's breath slows, and her hands relax in Leia's. "Thank you," she says. She ducks her head to press a soft, perfunctory kiss to the spot where Leia's thumbs are pressing against her skin. Leia shuts her eyes and prays to the Force that she hasn't made a horrible mistake.