Chapter Text
As soon as Poe’s feet hit the pavement, before he even takes his helmet off, he's sprinting. General Organa says something to him, but it's too quick for him to catch — and besides, he has more important things to attend to.
Finn. He looks so small, so vulnerable, on the stretcher — the second he had been carried out, he looked dead , and Poe’s heart panged to the bottom of his stomach. Now, up close, he can see the thin, shallow breaths he’s taking.
His first instinct is to take Finn’s hand and count his heartbeats until he wakes up, and Poe almost does. But his entire squadron is still watching him, still celebrating, so he keeps his arms firmly at his sides.
In the corner of his eye, he can see General Organa gently pulling the girl close — Rey. Neither of them are facing his direction, but he can still see the tension in Rey’s shoulders, the dirt and blood marking their way up her arms. He takes an uncertain step towards them, half a thought forming in his head …
Then the stretcher moves towards the MedBay, medical droids already crowding Finn, and it’s all Poe can do to follow.
**
He’s been standing there for a while. A medi-droid may have offered him a seat — he knows that several have gently pushed him out of the way with a [sir, this is an urgent matter we must attend to], but he can’t seem to leave.
BB-8 rolls next to him silently. [MD6-1 says he will be better soon.] It’s all Poe can do to nod.
Up, down . Finn’s chest rises evenly, his vitals blinking on the holo-panel to the side. Poe barely knows this man, but he feels like if he leaves Finn’s side, something terrible will happen. Poe can’t risk that. Not again.
A lightsaber to the spine . Poe’s hands tighten. Kriffin’ hell, buddy.
Very, very slowly, Poe reaches out. His hand hovers over Finn’s still palm, and after a moment, he laces their fingers together.
Poe feels his heartbeat in his mouth, and his other hand slips with sweat against his uniform, and even though Finn is still unconscious, Poe feels like he’s in zero-G: swooping and falling and flying at all once.
He thinks that BB-8 makes a soft, cooing noise, but the world’s a dull roar.
“I’m sorry,” Poe says, softly. “I’m sorry I left you on Jakku. I’m sorry that Ren got to you, too.”
He squeezes Finn’s hand.
“What are you doing?” The voice behind Poe is sharp, inquisitive. Poe drops Finn’s hand, startled, and turns to face the doorway.
BB-8 squeals [FRIEND-REY!], and rolls forward fast, tucking itself under her hand. Rey pats its head absently, eyes still focused on Poe. Rey looks unsettled. She’s still covered in sweat and dirt and blood, still reeking of battle. Poe notices the metal cylinder hanging off her belt, but it’s not the time to succumb to curiosity.
“Nothing,” Poe says. “I knew Finn. Before this. And. I —”
[You can trust Friend-Poe], BB-8 informs Rey earnestly. Rey spares a moment to smile down at it, and her shoulders relax. “You're that pilot. General Organa’s. The best one in the Resistance.”
“Is that what they’re all saying about me now?”
“Yes. It’s the only thing I’ve heard about you,” Rey says uncertainly. “I just — Finn is … I’m sorry for yelling, I suppose.”
Poe realizes that there’s no possible way she hadn’t seen him holding Finn’s hand, like some kind of lost lover, and he freezes up — oh. Then he looks at Rey: all sharp angles and muscle, beautiful like a desert storm, and thinks — oh .
“No, no, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been holding Finn like that. Oh, kriff , I should’ve known. I’m so sorry. I’ll — I’ll see myself out. You’ll be wanting privacy, of course,” Poe babbles, inching towards the door.
Of course. There’s Finn, all brave and brilliant, and of course Rey would love him, who wouldn’t? And why wouldn’t he love her back? She’s … everything, apparently.
Poe wonders if this is what dying feels like.
“What?” Rey asks. Her eyebrows slant up. “What are you talking about?” BB-8 squeaks under her fingers; they seem to have dug in.
Poe wants the ground to swallow him up. Or to be launched into space — whatever’s less painful. He gestures to Finn, still lying prone on the bed, “You and Finn. You know. You’re together, and I shouldn’t have touched him, I’m so sorry... ”
“Together? Isn’t that a state of being?” Rey steps towards Poe. “Currently, you and I are together.”
“No — I mean … romantically involved. With Finn.” Poe’s face flames.
Rey’s eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, no.” Rey suddenly smiles — it’s small, private. “No, not at all. Finn’s just my …”
Rey’s brow furrows, and Poe can suddenly see the emotions flicker across her face — loyalty, love, concern. “Finn’s just my … my best. He’s my Finn. That’s all.”
From what Poe’s heard, “friendship” is too shallow a word to describe what they have, “blood brothers” too common, and his heart breaks a little from the way Rey looks — too tired, too beaten, too worried.
But they’re not together , a nagging part of his brain reminds him. Shut up , the other part replies .
“I’m sorry,” Poe says softly. “But it’ll be okay. The medi-droids say that he’ll be up and about in no time.”
“I know. I’ve already talked to them,” Rey says distractedly. She stares straight ahead, as if she can see something he can’t — and to be honest, Poe wouldn’t be surprised. They stand there in silence; Poe watching the rise and fall of Finn’s chest.
Rey suddenly looks up. “I have to find Luke Skywalker. I’ll have to leave soon.”
Before Finn even wakes? Poe wants to ask, but he can see the desperate urgency in her eyes.
“When I’m gone,” she continues, “Will you look after him?”
Poe doesn’t even have to think. “Of course.”
Rey studies him, her dark eyes veiled, and Poe feels like he’s taking some sort of test.
After a (very long, very terrifying) minute, she dips her head in acknowledgement, and walks over to Finn’s side. Poe hears her say something very quietly, kiss Finn’s forehead, and sweep out of the room. Poe sees the set of her shoulders, the way her head bows, and knows that she’s carrying something far more than Finn’s injury on her shoulders.
Poe looks back over at Finn. Finn still looks so sick, so small.
Get better soon, Finn . For Rey’s sake… and mine.
BB-8, to itself, makes a note — [perhaps keep notes on Friend-Poe’s health. He never seems to be perfectly in CODE: OPTIMUM HEALTH around Friend-Finn. Perhaps it is CODE: FEVER or CODE: SEVERAL MINOR HEART ATTACKS . ]
**
Poe Dameron is old enough to be able to hide his grief well — he’s had more than two decades of practice to not think about his mother, and he’s the best goddamn pilot in the Resistance. He does not sit by Finn’s bedside waiting for him to wake up.
So he asks General Organa for every mission that can possibly come by — patrols, scouting bases, checking up on allies, and takes all of them, no matter how tedious. He doesn’t miss the way the General’s eyebrows lift, but he’s more than determined to ignore all of it.
“Are you sure you’re not overworking yourself, Dameron?” she asks.
“I need this,” Poe answers. She must see something in his eyes, because she doesn’t ask again.
Poe doesn’t exhaust himself for a distraction — that’s ridiculous. He’s an adult . He can handle this.
Poe doesn’t crawl home from every single mission, so tired he can barely blink. He doesn’t check on Finn when the night is still lingering, when the MedBay so silent he can hear every blip on the holo-panel. He doesn’t look at Finn, doesn’t count his pulses, doesn’t silently pray — get better, get better, get better, please.
He doesn’t stand there, his legs aching, until BB-8 has to nudge him towards his quarters.
(He always takes Finn’s hand.)
**
Poe’s on another patrol when it happens.
It’s standard protocol, a 22:00 scan of the horizon, dusting off his X-wing in the outer atmosphere. It’s usually his favorite type of patrol: dark and quiet and the stars glimmering like water in streams of twin sunlight. He’s always alone on these trips. There’s nothing big to worry about, so he never needs backup.
He even leaves BB-8 back at base — it’s not particularly fond of the complete lack of action, and BB-8 likes staying at Finn’s bedside.
So when his headset crackles to life, he expects the worst. His hands automatically leap to the triggers.
“At ease, soldier,” General Organa’s voice is dry, amused. “There’s no danger.”
Poe scowls, his pulse slowing. “Why you are contacting me, General?”
He starts at how rough he sounds, how casual he’s become with his commanding officer. But the General seems to appreciate it — how people are finally perceiving her as something other than Alderaan royalty or a commanding officer. It’s as if she’s asking for people to view her as human again, especially after the grief she’s experienced …
“Your boy is awake.”
“What?” Poe doesn’t think he’s heard her correctly. “My what?”
“The boy you always see in the middle of the night, Dameron.” She sounds fondly exasperated. “I have access to all the cameras, as I’m sure you’re aware. His hand’s going to fall off at one point from all your squeezing.”
“He’s awake?” Poe’s so excited, he can barely breathe. “Is he alright? Is he talking? Is he hurt —”
“See for yourself,” the General says. Then she cuts the call.
After all I’ve done for the Resistance … Poe grits his teeth so hard he’s sure he’s ground some of the enamel to dust, and flicks his thrusters on, going as fast as his engines allow.
**
Before he gets into the room, he can already hear him speaking — “BB, you know I don’t understand droid — what does that mean?” Finn laughs, bright like starlight, and Poe’s heart rate picks up.
Finn’s eyes light up when he sees Poe, and Poe feels like the world is falling back into place.
“Poe Dameron!” Finn says, all excitement. He always says Poe’s full name, and Poe thinks about how Finn, until recently, never even had one . He feels sick.
But he’s here now , Poe reminds himself resolutely. He’s here now, and if anyone wants to hurt him, I’ll run them down with my X-wing. And BB-8.
“Finn!” Poe answers, equally excited. “I missed you, buddy.”
Finn’s face is bright — still sick, but well on his way to being healthy again. “So this is the Resistance base, huh?” His eyes flit around the room, taking it all in. “It’s … different. From what I expected it to be.”
“Yeah?”
Finn shrugs. “The First Order didn’t exactly go into deep detail. I thought that there were, like … enormous posters of Luke Skywalker everywhere, or something.”
Poe laughs, “Yeah, no. From the stories General Organa tells, Luke would’ve pitched a fit. He’s a drama queen, apparently.” From the side, BB-8 hums in agreement. [R2 says so, too.]
Finn laughs with him, but he isn’t able to hide the concern in his eyes, and it surprises Poe how well he can read Finn — the fear of not belonging, the fear of being thrown out again. It’s clear that making an abrupt turn in allegiance is beginning to take its toll.
Without thinking, Poe takes his hand. It’s reflex by now, after weeks and weeks of waiting. It’s not until he’s done it that he realizes, and he lets go immediately.
“Oh, kriff , I’m so sorry — I…,” To his horror, he feels his face flush. BB-8 nudges his legs — [Friend-Poe, are you doing alright? It seems as if you are getting ill. You’re far too overheated.]
Finn tilts his head to the side. “What’s it saying?”
“Nothing. Nothing!” Poe laughs, nervously. God-kriffing-damn it, I’ve messed up everything, Finn’s never going to want to see me again . “Just some ridiculous binary. BB-8’s always doing that.”
BB-8 rolls over Poe’s foot in retaliation. Poe half-heartedly kicks in its direction.
“Anyway, I’m … so sorry. I didn’t mean to hold your hand, it’s just that …” Poe has no way to explain this. Not even an excuse.
“It’s alright,” Finn says. “It was … it was nice, actually.” He smiles, and Poe feels his stomach swoop.
Very tentatively, he reaches his hand out. Finn takes it, clumsily lacing their fingers together. He smiles up at Poe.
This is how I die, Poe thinks. I’m completely okay with this.
[MASTER-POE], BB-8 yells, [YOUR TEMPERATURE LEVEL IS UNREASONABLY HIGH. THIS IS CAUSE FOR CONCERN].
Hush, Poe thinks, because he can’t bring himself to talk. He’s still marveling over holding Finn’s hand when he’s awake ; he can feel every breath Finn takes, every little twitch of his fingers. All these sensations — it feels real, and this is more than Poe has ever hoped for.
He looks at Finn, and Finn looks slightly stricken.
Finn speaks first. “This is new. In The First Order, contact … wasn’t permitted. Not affectionate contact, anyway.” He squeezes Poe’s hand. “Thank you.”
The second Finn lets go of his hand, Poe resolves to hunt down the First Order and personally bomb the hell out of them. But for now: “Of course,” and Poe squeezes back.
When he leaves, letting Finn rest, Poe thinks that he’s ascended to a higher plane of existence.
BB-8 very angrily puts in a few notes for the medi-droids [since MASTER-POE can no longer TAKE CARE OF HIMSELF.]
**
When he reports to General Organa for duty, she looks up from her paperwork and says, “I don’t think so.”
“Excuse me?” Poe pauses halfway through putting on his helmet. “It’s my slot for patrol.”
“No. Now it’s Wexley’s.”
“What do you mean? Have I done something?”
General Organa pauses in the middle of singing something, and stares at him. “Have you done something.”
She puts her pen down, and Poe suddenly gets the same feeling he used to get when he tracked mud into the living quarters as a kid. “Dameron. You’ve been taking every last mission — every last opportunity to get off base for the past month and a half.”
“I’m doing my duty as a pilot for the Resistance.”
General Organa sighs. “No, Dameron. What you have been doing is working yourself to the bone to distract yourself from Finn.”
“What?”
“You’re transparent, Poe. And your fellow pilots have done their best to put up with it, handing over all their assignments — not that they complained much about it, of course — but even they’re itching to go for a patrol, now. You’re off-duty until further notice.”
“ Transparent?”
“As a deflector shield.” General Organa holds his gaze. “Your assignment now? Make sure Finn is comfortable in the Resistance base. That’s all.” She turns her attention back to her work, and it’s clear that he’s dismissed.
**
Poe can’t live. Not with Finn around.
Finn doesn’t take off the jacket: he wears it every day, even when he sleeps. He curls himself in it, as if he’s scared someone’s going to take it away. Finn, who practically skips through the halls because he doesn't have to walk in a perfect double file anymore. Finn, who’s always excited for meals: this time around, food is here to taste good , not just for Maximum Efficiency.
Poe tries to help the best he can, but every time he sees Finn do … anything , his heart breaks a little more. If he thinks that Finn can’t possibly become any more endearing, he’s always proven wrong.
Because Poe’s heart clenches when he sees Finn in his jacket. Because though Finn is marveling his newfound freedom in the simplest of things, he still walks next to Poe, never leaving him behind. Because Finn will offer bits of of the most ordinary things — bread, juice — because taste it, Poe, it’s amazing.
And as Finn is exploring all of this, he’ll always look back, eyes shining, and shit, Poe can’t catch a break.
Because Finn keeps thanking him for everything that Poe’s doing, and Poe can’t choose between You saved my life first, remember? or You’re the hero of the Resistance, how am I not thanking you , or, Whatever you’re doing to me. Make it stop.
**
Finn has his own bunk, but he usually stays at Poe’s living quarters. Usually Poe will be tucked on the side of his cot, and no matter how much Poe protests, Finn curls up on the floor. Poe knows it’s because Finn’s never slept alone — ‘troopers were lumped together in barracks, and this new silence would be stifling. Poe doesn’t mind the company.
This is Poe’s favorite time of the day: lazy stories in the quiet hum of his quarters. Poe will spin his best piloting experiences, and Finn will laugh and pull out a tale that’s even more outrageous.
“You didn’t tame a womp rat on Yavin-4. Those only live on Tatooine, and I would know.”
“Hey, when you’re a pilot, you do some crazy things.”
“ Yeah , sure — let me tell you about the time I saw Kylo Ren literally cry into Darth Vader’s mask …”
Sometimes, Poe will let his left hand dangle to the floor, and most times, Finn will take it. And this: laughing in the dark, his fingers tingling — this is the happiest Poe thinks he has ever been.
**
It all goes to hell with BB-8. Of course.
Poe wakes up with a medi-droid standing over him, in his living quarters. In the entrance, BB-8 lolls from side to side, looking almost smug.
“Yes?” Poe asks. “May I help you?”
“Your droid tells me that you are ill. Please submit to evaluation.”
Poe suddenly sits up, and on the floor, Finn stirs. “What? I’m not sick.”
[CODE: FEVER], BB-8 beeps from the doorway, [or perhaps CODE: HEART PALPITATIONS. Either way, Friend-Poe is not well.]
Finn sits up, and blearily looks around him. “Poe? What’s going on?”
“BB-8 thinks I’m sick, or something. Nothing bad is happening, I promise.” Poe turns back to the droid. “I can assure you that there’s nothing wrong with me. This is all a mistake.”
[NOT A MISTAKE].
Oh, Poe is going to have words with BB-8 after this.
“Perhaps you should just submit to an evaluation.”
Finn sleepily stands up, and moves to sit down on Poe’s bed. “Poe. Make them go away. It’s too early.”
“I’m trying,” Poe responds, but Finn’s proximity sears heat into his body, and his cheeks flame. Finn has no right to look like this in the morning, all wide eyes and shining skin and his face holding nothing but open trust.
[OVERHEATING! OVERHEATING!] BB-8 practically howls . [SEE!]
“Ah,” the medical droid says. “Yes, I see.” The medi-droid turns to BB-8. “It’s not fever, I am pleased to report. Your master is also not showing any signs of … several heart attacks happening all at once.”
Finn sits up straighter. “Several heart attacks? What’s going on?”
BB-8 rolls back. [No?]
“No.” The medi-droid turns back to Poe. “However … a heightened body temperature, elevated heart rate — these are signs of attraction and infatuation.”
Poe suddenly feels Finn stiffen next to him, and also suddenly wishes for a quick death. He can feel the blood rushing to his face, oh, God — not here, not now.
“Infatuation?” Finn asks, softly. “Poe?”
“I … I.” Why does this always happen to me? Was I a Sith Lord in a past life? “I’m so sorry if this makes you uncomfortable. I swear I didn’t do this on purpose, I’m so — ”
“Poe. Look at me.”
Poe turns slowly, almost too scared to look up, and Finn kisses him.
It’s not a good kiss: it’s fast and clumsy, and Finn’s hands are knotting missing in his hair and oh, who’s he kidding? This is the best kiss Poe has ever gotten, and he grins against Finn’s mouth.
“I thought it was only me,” Finn whispers, their foreheads touching. “I thought … I mean, you’re the best pilot in the galaxy, and I was a stormtrooper, and you’re always so kind …”
“You’re a hero.” You’re a hero, and you’re talented and brilliant and I never had a chance, I lost the second I met you, Finn, and Poe leans forward again.
**
There is no death, and Friend-Poe and Friend-Finn are both flooded with endorphins. They are both happy, and so BB-8 is happy. They’re still touching each other’s faces and talking softly to each other.
BB-8 beeps gently, and decides to take notes to send to Friend-Rey. This is most likely a development she would be interested in knowing, along with the fact that Friend-Poe, is, in fact, not on his deathbed.
[Yes], BB-8 thinks, and it rolls silently out of the room.