Work Text:
“He’s got your eyes, you know.”
“What do you mean, he’s got my eyes ? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, and you’ve heard the things that Wedge says sometimes. We’re not related . How can he--”
“ I mean , he’s got the same look in his eyes that you did when we first met.”
(A snort.)
“What, fear?”
“Fear, yes, but determination...bravery...the burning need to do good, to atone.”
(A pause.)
“Huh.”
(Another pause.)
“I’m going to go talk to him.”
“You’ll terrify the poor boy.”
“ I will not! ”
(A laugh.)
“Look at him, he’s all alone. He’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
You know how sometimes, you can feel people staring at you?
That’s what Finn feels now, sitting in one corner of the hangar, watching pilots and engineers mill around the ships doing...whatever it is they do. It’s unnerving. It makes him feel like he’s done something wrong. Like he’s doing something wrong, but that’s not possible because all he’s doing is, well, sitting in a corner that he’s certain is out of anyone’s way.
Taking a deep breath, he steals a glance around the hangar, wondering if he’s just imagining things.
But then his eyes land on a pair leaning against a railing on a catwalk two storeys above him -- two older men standing shoulder to shoulder, both with rather attractive salt and pepper facial hair (not that he’s noticing, of course), one with shorter hair that’s a little on the shaggy side, the other with longer hair tied back and hanging over his left shoulder.
As Finn watches them, the man with the longer hair throws a rather indignant look at the other man, who laughs, and the next thing he knows, the man with the longer hair pushes himself off the railing, says something to the one with the shorter hair, and leaves him, looking over at Finn.
Finn quickly diverts his gaze. His heartbeat starts racing. Stay calm, he tells himself. Stay calm . He’s done nothing wrong. He’s not doing anything wrong sitting there, out of everyone’s way, and he’s got no reason to be afraid.
Stay calm.
“Is this seat taken?”
Finn’s head snaps up hard enough at the voice that his neck hurts. Standing above him is the man with the longer hair. He’s close enough to Finn that he notices the streaks of grey in his hair, how the easy smile on his lips creases the corners of his eyes, and Finn? He’s mesmerised.
So mesmerised that he’s forgotten that he’s been asked a question.
He quickly shakes his head to clear his thoughts, bring himself back down. “Yes, sir. I--I mean, no, sir, it’s not. Please.”
He shifts a little to the side. The older man shoots a blinding grin up at the man watching them from the catwalk (who simply raises an eyebrow) and drops down next to Finn. He seats himself against the railing so his legs dangle off the catwalk and turns to Finn, looking him over with that same easy smile.
“You’re Finn, aren’t you? You’re the defector from the First Order who rescued Poe.”
The second part’s a statement rather than a question. The fact that this man knows who Finn is… Finn’s face flushes. He glances over at the older man to find him still watching him, and Finn quickly looks away.
“Yes, sir.”
The man chuckles. “Please, you don’t have to call me sir . Just Bodhi will do. Bodhi Rook.” The man -- Bodhi Rook -- extends a hand to Finn, who looks from the hand to his face and back down to the hand before shaking it.
“Thank you, Mr Rook.”
“Technically it’s General Rook,” Mr Rook -- General Rook, Finn corrects himself -- chuckles again, “but like I said, please , call me Bodhi.”
“Right, sorry,” Finn mutters, looking down. His face feels hotter now, and he wishes he could make it stop.
“Must be hard for you,” Bodhi says. His voice seems to shift -- it’s softer now, gentler, and Finn looks up -- Bodhi’s finally looking away from him, watching the pilots and the engineers and ships that Finn had been watching. “Going from the First Order to the rebel base, it must be a bit of a shock.”
It’s the first time that anyone’s suggested this to him, and Finn realises that yes, that’s what it is .
“I imagine it must be very different. The First Order base, it’s probably clean and sterile and smells of disinfectant. All you see is stormtroopers and officers who barely give you a second look. And then you come here and it’s...different. It smells different, it looks different, there’s so much noise, so much going on all at once...it must be disconcerting for you.”
Bodhi glances over at Finn, the traces of his smile lingering on his lips.
“How do you know that?” Finn whispers. (It’s not that he means to whisper -- it’s just that his voice seems to be caught in his throat.)
Bodhi’s smile grows. “Some of our best recruits are defectors. Myself included,” he adds with a wink.
“Poe’s a defector?” Finn blurts out, brow furrowing.
Bodhi laughs, and Finn blushes.
“Well, Poe defected from the Republic, so I suppose that counts. What I mean to say,” Bodhi continues, “is that you’re not alone. I know what it’s like to come from the Empire -- or the First Order, if you will -- and…” He shrugs, lifts a hand to tuck stray strands of hair behind his ear as he glances over at Finn. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”
For a moment, Finn thinks he’s almost awestruck. Then he nods. “Thank you, Gene--- Bodhi ,” he quickly corrects himself.
Finn is constantly amazed by how warm and friendly people on the rebel base are compared to the First Order, and Bodhi’s smile embodies this strange warmth that Finn is slowly getting used to. He finds himself mirroring the older man’s smile.
“Do you think we could talk now?” Finn asks after a hesitant pause.
This time Bodhi’s smile practically splits his face. He settles a little more comfortably. “I’m all yours."