[His lip curls, nostrils flaring in an instant - the pivotal turning point punctuating that painfully thin edge Hux is daring to tread. One step, two, and he's closing the distance with oppressive purpose.]

You give them too much credit.

[He does not flinch. He does not blink. In spite of knowing better, pain boils beneath his skin, welling like a blister and the only balm left to him is to share it, to lash out and sink his teeth into vulnerable flesh rather than suffer alone.] Rogers is a frail, broken excuse for a soldier - and yet you cling to him.

[Hux, a man praised for his ability to withdraw into objective, tactical thought, doting on a replacement for what's been lost.] He will disappoint you.