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For Finn, adapting to life on base was a slow process.
General Organa had commended him on his bravery as soon as he was released from the med bay, insisting that a man like him would “fit in perfectly with the Resistance,” and not wanting to disappoint her, he’d joined. By then, he’d already become somewhat famous on base for being the one who helped take down Starkiller by facing down Kylo Ren himself, so he was welcomed with open arms.
And yet… Finn still felt like an imposter. Few people knew of his past life on the Finalizer, and he was afraid that once the truth came out, all the admiration people had of him would collapse. Worse still was if the Order itself sought him out, ready to reprimand him… He’d be reconditioned, or worse, forced to betray his newfound friends and allies.
For now, High Command trusted him, regardless of his background. And still, Finn felt as if they were making a mistake.
“FN-2187.”
“The name’s Finn,” he says, glaring at the woman who had stolen his life away, “and I’m in charge now.”
Phasma doesn’t react, continuing to look him down through her chrome-plated visor.
“What?” he snarls. “Afraid that I’m right?”
“You know you’re wrong, FN-2187,” she says coldly.
He hesitates. “You’re lying,” he says, even though the sinking feeling in his stomach proves otherwise. “I’m never coming back.”
“You don’t need to,” she says. “Not when you never left.”
Shaking, Finn looks down at his hands to reveal what he’s been fearing—white armored hands. “No,” he whispers, as if trying to convince himself that what he’s seeing isn’t real. “No, no, no.” He looks down. White boots, white plating. Everywhere he looks, he’s all white.
With trembling white hands, he reaches to feel his head—bulky and plastoid. His breathing is muffled and hot. “No,” he says again, muffled by the helmet.
Phasma raises a chrome-plated hand. “Come here, FN-2187.”
“No.”
“Come.”
“No, I—”
Something inside him collapses.
“Yes, sir,” whispers FN-2187, marching towards her.
Finn woke up with a gasp.
Startled, he looked around, confused at the lack of sterile white walls and rows of bunks. This wasn’t Starkiller, wasn’t the Finalizer—
“You ok, buddy?” Startled, Finn turned to face Poe, who was looking at him with a worried expression.
Shakily, he nodded as reality came crashing back. He was on D’Qar, on the Resistance base. He defected. He defected.
“Nightmare?” asked Poe softly.
Finn nodded again, before reaching out and wrapping his arms around Poe. He didn't seem surprised, hugging back as Finn sobbed onto his shoulder.
For a while, there was no talking. Poe soothingly rubbed Finn’s back with every shudder, letting him get everything out of his system.
“I'm sorry,” whispered Finn as soon as he could speak again.
“Don't be,” said Poe gently. “I can't imagine how hard it must be for you.”
Finn exhaled. “I dreamt I was back in the Order.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, buddy.”
“No, I mean, I was a Stormtrooper again—” He squeezed his eyes shut as a few more tears escaped. “Like I never left.” Hearing Poe’s silence, he continued. “I just—I still feel like I don’t belong here. What if the training—”
“Finn, stop it,” said Poe, holding him closer.
Finn could only hold him back.
“I understand why you might think that,” he continued, “but I promise that you belong here. You defected, remember? You made the choice to leave the Order.”
Finn nodded.
“You saved my life, Finn,” he said, in an almost reverent tone. “You didn’t have to, but you did anyways. And in my book, that makes you more than welcome here.”
“Even if I was a—”
“Even then,” said Poe, sliding his hands to Finn’s shoulders to look at him. “You’re a good man, Finn.”
“I guess one of these days I’ll finally believe it,” said Finn, heart aching with emotion.
Poe kissed his forehead. “You better believe it.”
With the main shocks of the nightmare having worn off, Finn felt comfortable to fall back asleep with Poe’s arms gently wrapped around his waist.
Maybe one day he’d fully convince himself. But until then, having Poe remind him was good enough.