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He’s not running.
He’s really not. Just got his hands in his pockets because if he didn’t, they’d get a mind of their own and crawl under Finn’s clothes and all over his skin. He’s itching to see Finn’s tattoo again, so badly he bolts. But what’s he supposed to do? Just come right out with Hey, I’m your soulmate, let’s get dinner? Part of him thinks, yeah actually, that would probably work. But half-formed excuses are already on the tip of his tongue. I didn’t think you’d understand. Or, There’s a war on. Or the worst, I didn’t want to scare you. But he doesn’t have to say them, because Finn doesn’t ask. So now is the time for a strategic retreat. Get-his-thoughts-together sort of thing.
Poe finally ducks back into his own room, dropping to his bed and rubbing an irked hand over his jaw. Maybe he shouldn’t have assumed Finn wouldn’t know anything about soulmates. Of course he would do some digging. That’s part of what Poe likes most about him, that need to understand, to come up with a plan. But he is surprised Finn has a mark, more so that it’s coming back. First Order can’t keep him down, apparently. Maybe he doesn’t have to worry about Finn being scared. He’s usually able to roll with whatever the galaxy throws at them. If Poe really thinks about it, he’s the one just a little terrified. Which that needs some dissection all on its own. He scrubs at his face, stripping off his sticky clothes and heading for the ‘fresher.
Why not? It’s always a good place for a think.
As the water runs, he catches sight of the mark in the mirror and turns to it, pensive. He always thought it would be another pilot, someone who loves the stars just as much as he does. Who else would commit to memory something like it? Now that he knows the story, half of the tattoo should’ve told him otherwise. He runs a thoughtful finger down its familiar edges. Over his sternum is the blackest part. Space, dotted with stars of different colors. Poe’s still a little flummoxed at how well Finn was able to call it to memory. Against black is the blue-green planet, splashed in watercolor in his skin, a halo of white and yellow. But the left-most part is a transition. A tree, rooted above his nipple and nearly to his armpit, extends upward to his collarbone, sprouting the same sap-green. Sea meets space behind it, transitioning from pale blue to navy to black. Even—or maybe especially—now, it leaves him a little breathless.
He keeps the water cool, stepping in with a little shiver as he stares down at his feet. His mother’s ring sways, drips in the spray, bumping into the mark. Just the idea that he’s finally found its owner is all at once terrifying and exhilarating. Though now, he has another thing to consider. Part of Finn’s favorite childhood memory was a dream. The tree, and the sea. The part he’d never actually seen was still so impactful it worked itself to memory. Poe’s heart breaks a bit. He meant what he said, too. To go there, wherever it is.
Stars, why didn’t he just tell Finn up front?
He sighs. Ok, think through it logically. What are all the pieces? To really understand his gut reactions, sometimes he has to put himself together like a puzzle. It’s kind of strange, and he doesn’t do it often, but Leia would be proud. Probably. Practicing those leader skills, after all. He soaps up his hair, considers.
It starts with a suspicion. Even before Finn shared his memory, or Poe saw his tattoo, there was a feeling Finn would be important. He frowns, thinking, trying to find out just when that suspicion took root. When they first met? No, he was too focused on escape to even consider it. Before Starkiller? No, not then either, though he was so relieved to find Finn alive. After Finn fought Ren? Poe pauses washing out his hair. Actually, maybe that was it. It was then he really realized just how brave Finn was, and didn’t that just twist him up. He did fix Finn’s jacket. The one you gave him, his brain helpfully supplies. Seeing Finn on that stretcher, then later laid up in Medical—it made a tiny voice say don’t go, you just got here. Poe’s not sure it’s fair to say it really had anything to do with the mark, but it certainly fed a little hope that just grew and grew as the Resistance ran.
Ah.
That’s it. He lathers up, maybe a little rougher than need be at the realization. There’s the crux of it. What if he’s wrong? What if it’s just him flying this ship, no co-pilot? A one-sided romance is not anywhere near what he wants and he’s sure to crash and burn. Soulmate marks aren’t a guarantee of one kind of love. He’d rather have Finn as a friend than not at all. What they’ve got now, their cohesive way of working together, Finn’s sharp dry humor and bright smile—he doesn’t want to lose that.
Poe purses his lips, shuts off the ‘fresher. As he dries, he decides. They’ll talk tomorrow. Finn’s a grown-ass man and Poe is, too. And Poe himself is a man of action so something has to be done. Otherwise, he might combust. Finn might be able to wait for someday but Poe’s pretty sure he can’t. If he thinks about it long enough, love seems to be an apt label for what he’s feeling. Home, maybe. The question is, can he get that across without making an ass of himself? They communicate well in so many other aspects, might as well extend it to this. If he can finagle a way to talk where they both still have space, it’d be perfect. But how would that work? The base is crawling with people and Poe doesn’t exactly want a huge audience for something so private. He frowns. Whatever. He’ll make it work, somehow. And whatever Finn decides, wherever this ends up going, Poe can be happy with it.
He hopes.
—
“Medical has requested someone on reconnaissance today,” Leia says in the morning debrief. “Should be a routine scan for new species, resources. A single fighter should be sufficient. I don’t want to send a whole team, that’s too recognizable for now. If anything’s picked up, I need all hands available to get us on the move.” She turns to Poe. “Intelligence has the coordinates of the areas that still need examined. Send someone and have them stay in contact during the run. Captain Kin will put you in touch with his officer for the job.”
Poe sighs an easy breath and nods. Simple job, really. Could be anyone. When Beaumont assigns Finn for the mission, a plan starts forming. Poe’s not sure what deity or force in the universe is looking out for him but the ideal opportunity to talk drops into his lap. And it makes perfect sense. Finn’s been working with Intelligence for nearly six months, he’s known to work well with Poe. Who says Poe can’t make the run himself? He’s already in his flight suit for training maneuvers, and Snap can take those for the rest of the day. It’s ideal; Poe’s always bravest in the air. He can make this work. Across the briefing room, Finn gives him a little smile. It swims in Poe’s gut for the rest of the meeting.
Surely this’ll work.
When the meeting adjourns, Poe snags Finn and heads for the tarmac. The former ‘trooper’s already flipping through his datapad with one hand, fitting a long-range comm set in his ear with the other, intent on actually doing his job without ulterior motives. Poe, not so much.
Finn’s chattering, “Dr. Kalonia’s asking that you scan the southern reaches. We haven’t been able to fully chart that yet, but the bordering readouts show promise. Whatever that means. It just looks like caves to me.”
“Uh huh, sounds good, buddy,” Poe says, preoccupied with finding the ship he’s after.
Already on the same wavelength, Finn asks, “What ship are you taking? You need to make sure it has a depth scanner.”
“Ah!” Poe spots the exact one. “There she is!”
And there she is. An old RZ-2, classic A-wing. A newer model than Poe’s mother had flown, but still recognizable. Reminiscent of where he first learned to fly. His best memory, and hopefully the spark to get this all in the direction he wants. Poe takes a couple steps ahead of Finn, eager to get a look at him before take-off, to see if there’s any of that spark. Finn slows, boots dragging a bit on the tarmac. He eyes the ship. Admittedly, it’s decades old, probably older than Poe himself. But, it’s a favorite for reconnaissance, light and incredibly fast. Apparently, Finn knows about patented A-wing fickleness because he asks,
“You’re gonna take that thing?”
His voice sounds skeptical but he’s regarding the ship with a long, thoughtful gaze. That seems promising.
Poe smiles. “Absolutely. Nothing faster, and I’d like to be back here quick.”
Finn’s eyes narrow. “Why? You got somewhere to be?”
Poe lets his smile get a little wider, even if it’s somewhat lacking in its usual confidence. “I hope so.”
Before Finn can clarify, the floor techs are rolling out. It’s time for work. Poe feels a little jittery, probably more than he should as he jumps into the RZ’s cockpit. Finn’s still watching him through the transparisteel and after a second, his voice crackles in Poe’s ear.
“You sure you wanna fly that deathtrap?”
Poe smirks, offering Finn a spritely salute through the canopy. “Just watch. I can fly anything, remember?”
He sees Finn shake his head, but he’s smiling, and that makes Poe grin harder.
“Yeah, I guess you can, hotshot. Just focus on your takeoff, you can tell me the story of how you mastered that one later.”
Kriff, is that the sign he’s hoping for? Poe tingles at the nickname but he’s not entirely sure. Finn’s vacated the premises, presumably to go back to his post and track data like he’s supposed to. So, Poe takes his advice and sets his focus. The RZ jumps to life, trembling a bit in ascent. Stars, it brings back memories. It’s been a while since he sat in an A-wing. This one makes even his late, beloved Black One feel sluggish in comparison. There’s nothing but power in her handling, barely restrained speed that has him itching to lay down the stick. He grins. Maybe it’s because Finn’s watching, maybe it’s the memory—or both—but as soon as he hits flight altitude, he guns it.
The RZ lurches under his hands, jungle blurs beneath him, and excitement spills over and out of him in a joyous shout. Stars, that feels good.
“Poe! What the hell are you doing?”
Finn’s back in his ear and Poe gives him a breathless laugh. “You’ve never lived ’til you’ve put an A-wing flat out, buddy.” Poe glances at the deck, adjusting minutely here and there and setting a flight path. “Trust me, if I could ever get you in one, I’d show you.”
“They don’t make two-seat RZs, Poe.”
Poe bites his lip. Of course Finn knows some ship history; that pushes too many of his buttons.
“Maybe not. Feels kind of like that TIE we stole, though. You remember how that felt?”
This is the whole point of it. The history. The feeling. He knows Finn knows about feelings, about intuition. That’s why Poe’s convinced this whole maneuver will work.
“Yeah, because I was so focused on the flying and not the shooting and the crashing.”
Finn sounds sardonic, but Poe knows him well enough to hear a fond edge.
“Ha ha, you’re a riot, pal.”
Ok, time to change tactics. For a while, he lets the comm sit quiet. It’s a comfortable quiet, though. He can hear Finn pecking away at his datapad, tracking Poe’s progress. It’s kind of soothing. Finn’s always at his back, even on a simple mission. Speeding along at full break, feeling every jerk and bump in atmo has his heart thrumming and that tidbit makes it worse. Or better. Whichever. Poe feels like he could take on the whole First Order himself. Realistically, he knows he’s not invincible. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel like it. It doesn’t take long to get there, even less time to activate the scanner and start his run. He eases off the thrusters as he asks,
“You gettin’ the readouts on your end?”
“All clear,” Finn crackles.
Well, here goes. Finn likes history. He’s a detail guy. So, reel him in with details. To Finn, it might seem apropos of nothing, but there’s a point to all this so Poe says lightly, “You know the Rebel Alliance designed A-wings to outmaneuver standard TIEs, right?”
“Yeah? That why there’s no droid pit?”
Poe snorts.
“It’s a point of pride, Finn. Not just anyone can fly an A, you know. These babies can reach 1,350 kilometers an hour in atmo, 125 megalights in realspace. Helluva lot faster than anything else we’ve got on hand.”
“Don’t First Order Silencers reach over 150 megalights?”
Gods, that starfighter knowledge is really doing it for him.
“Yeah,” Poe groans, “but they’re cheating. They’ve got way more tech on their side. Not like ours. Without a droid, all the precision and maneuvering is left to the pilot. Old Rebel pilots used to try to outfly each other when they weren’t fighting the Empire.”
“Somehow, that just sounds more dangerous. Does that mean Resistance pilots do, too?”
Stars, Poe can hear that smirk.
“You bet your ass we do,” he tosses back.
“You ever lose?”
Poe snorts. “Not a chance. I had the best teacher.”
“Who’s that?”
Ok, here’s the crux of it. The whole point of doing all this in the first place. He sets the scanner going as instructed, following a flight path all his own. He’ll still get to the destination, just maybe he’ll take a few turns to shorten it up. He takes a deep breath and eases back off the thrusters a little more, just to make sure his hands stay steady.
“My mom,” he murmurs.
Finn’s gone quiet on his end, no snappy comeback to that. Poe presses on.
“She’s the one who taught me to fly, basically. Now that takes some focus, trying to pilot one of these things with an antsy kid on board.” Not unlike the type of focus it might take to do what he’s doing now, Poe muses. Mom, be with me. “She died when I was eight, but some of my favorite memories are with her in that A-wing.”
Finn takes a sharp breath over the comms, Poe grips the controls a little tighter.
“In fact, my best memory as a kid was with her. The first time I ever flew. Took me up for my first flight when I was barely six. I’d sit in her lap, learn the controls. I’ll never forget the feeling, you know?” He knows Finn knows. It had to have been the same feeling Finn felt when he looked out that damn window. “It felt like—”
“Like home,” Finn finishes softly. “The best place you could ever be.”
Poe nods, even though Finn can’t see him. “One of the only things that ever made me feel whole. It was something that pushed me through a lot of shit, but it wasn’t the only place that made me feel like that. Just the first. I always feel a little piece of it when I’m back in the air again.”
And with you, is what he wants to add. But he keeps it in, just for now. They’re still in hypothetical territory, no one’s said anything truly revealing yet. He could still walk away unscathed, though part of him rails against the idea. There’s a tight silence. Damn, maybe Finn’s not on the same page. Shit. Shit, he could’ve sworn—
“Do you…ever feel that way?” he asks tentatively. “Like with your memory?”
Quiet on the comms. Then—
“Yes,” Finn murmurs. “What about you? Is there anything you’ll ever love more than the air? Any other place that feels like home?”
Kriff, what a question. It’s terrifying, but Poe’s glad they’re here.
Go for broke? He sighs, lets his head fall back against the headrest. Yeah. For broke.
“I think it might be you.”
Silence.
Poe clenches his jaw. He can’t go any farther now. The ball’s in Finn’s court, and all he can do is wait.
Nothing.
Aw fuck, he can’t help it.
“You still there, Finn? Don’t leave me hangin’ here.”
“You finish your scan?”
Finn sounds a little brusque and Poe just crumples. Shit. He glances at the scanner.
“Yeah.” His voice sounds tired, even to his own ears. “Yeah, you should have what you need.”
“Good. Because I’d really like you to get your ass back here.”
“I—” Poe’s heart leaps but his mouth hasn’t quite caught the realization yet. “What—”
“Come on, flyboy,” Finn murmurs. “Show me how fast you can go.”
Kriff, it’s a good thing Poe has as much practice as he does. The RZ shrieks over the jungle. He banks left, left again to get on course to base. He’s got the stick buried, running as fast as the damn thing will do, when he hears,
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I didn’t—” Poe sucks his teeth, trying to focus and answer at the same time. “Ah, I was scared.”
Once he says it out loud, it’s easier to admit.
“Poe Dameron? Scared?”
The RZ rattles around him; Poe’s not wholly convinced it’s the machine rattling and not his heart. “I don’t want to mess this up.”
There’s a pause over the comms. Then, Finn softly says, “You didn’t.”
Just that simple statement is enough. If Poe weren’t already flying, he’s positive he would be now. Coming up quick is the base, the landing pad just below. Maybe he takes the A-wing down harder than he should, but it’s worth it when he pops out the cockpit and Finn’s already waiting. There are other people still around, milling about the tarmac. Not exactly a good place for what Poe hopes is going to happen. Luckily, Finn seems to have thought of that.
“Welcome back, Commander. I have a couple questions about your findings, if you’d come with me.”
Finn tosses his head toward the barracks. Poe raises an eyebrow and follows. At this point, Poe’s bunk is closest and when they duck inside, it feels like all the air’s traded places with them. The space between them sparks. Or it feels like it, anyway. Finn’s only an arm’s length away but it’s all the vastness of space from where Poe’s standing. Well, what now? Before Poe can even open his mouth to say something smart, Finn’s stumbling over a question, his confidence diminished in the intimate space.
“Can I—” Finn shuffles anxiously on his feet, hands shoved in his pockets. “Can I see it?”
He doesn’t have to clarify. Poe knows exactly what he’s asking for. Poe looks at Finn as evenly as he can, some of that edge that finds in him flight makes its way to his fingers.
“You sure, buddy?”
Maybe he shouldn’t have put it out there, but he just wants to be certain. He wants to give Finn every chance to back out, and maybe leave himself an escape, too. But Finn just nods, eyes fixed somewhere around Poe’s collarbone. There’s nowhere to go now. Poe would never admit it but his hands shake. Just a little. He remembers how it goes though, what pieces to take off first. It’s amazing, really, given how distracted he is by the heat in Finn’s gaze. In short order, he shucks the life support unit and ejection harness. His fingers fit around the tab at his throat; Finn’s breath hitches. The zipper hisses to his navel; Finn’s eyes follow it all the way down. Poe swallows. Somehow, he manages to get his arms out of the sleeves and at this point, he knows the tattoo is creeping out of his undershirt. The top half of the suit hangs limp around his hips—he really should secure it but Finn’s taking a step toward him and Poe freezes up.
Huh. Not his usual response.
Finn brushes over the upper part of the planet in the tattoo, as if he were handling something precious. Poe’s breath stutters when Finn’s index finger pulls down the fabric of his shirt to get a better look. Poe feels his lips peel apart, Finn’s eyes dart up from his chest to his mouth, stay there for a second or two longer than is strictly necessary.
“Could you…Can I?”
All Poe can do is nod dumbly. Yeah. Sure. Whatever it is, you can have it, is what he means to say. Only he can’t get the words out and he just hopes Finn gets the message. Apparently, he does. Finn pulls at the hem of his shirt, the touch of his hands along Poe’s navel making his stomach quiver. Poe lifts his arms, obliging, and the fabric hits the floor somewhere.
Finn breathes, “Poe…” and the pilot melts.
Finn’s eyes widen with wonder, so close into his space Poe can feel the heat of him. The tip of his finger traces the tattoo’s edges, just like Poe’s would when he sees it himself. Thoughtful. Familiar. Poe leans into him, delighted at the pressure of Finn’s fingers in his skin.
“Is it what you hoped it’d be?” Poe murmurs.
“It’s more than that.” Finn’s breath whispers over his skin and Poe shivers. “I never thought I’d see this tree outside my dreams.”
“We could still find out. If it’s real, I mean. I meant what I said, you know.”
Finn finally tears his gaze away from the tattoo and fixes it on Poe, and oh doesn’t that just feel electric. Poe scans Finn’s face quick, dropping his eyes to Finn’s lips, his chin, then back. Kriff, what to do, what to do? Unconsciously, he wets his lip and he doesn’t fully register the action until Finn fixates on the motion.
“I thought we’d look for it ‘someday,’” Finn says softly.
Poe doesn’t miss the double meaning in his words.
“I didn’t want to wait for someday.”
Finn takes a step closer. The fabric of his shirt barely tickles Poe’s chest. “So, I could find out if it’s real today?”
Shit. Shit shit, um— “Yeah. You could. If you wanted to.”
Finn blinks at him, dark eyes half hidden under his lashes. “I really, really want to.”
Without hesitation, the same feeling that spurred him to touch Finn’s tattoo in the first place commandeers his limbs. He’s in flight again, total control. Poe’s hands come up on either side of Finn’s face, fingers fitting in the soft skin under the ‘trooper’s ears, thumbs framing the line of his jaw. There’s not more than centimeters, Poe pulls them together. The air’s damp, Finn gasps, their noses slide tenderly past. Then, Finn’s lips are against his, the whole world is spiraling to a point, all Poe registers is the firm give and gentle pull as Finn parts and takes him in. He’s molten, too much to fathom—Poe takes any air Finn has left, sucking him down his lungs, burning against Finn’s tongue. Distantly, he registers Finn’s hands resting above his hips, thumbing the skin exposed there. He can’t last—not like this, when every fiber is alight—but he kisses Finn until he pulls away, resting their foreheads together.
Finn sighs against him, sliding his hands past Poe’s hips to the small of his back, anchoring himself there.
“Is that what you hoped it’d be?”
“More than.” Poe grins. It’s cheesy, but he knows the perfect line: “Feels like home to me.”