Chapter Text
There’s nothing from home in the house.
It’s the first thing Poe properly notices. There’s a huge window that takes up almost entirely the right side of the wall with a small couch pushed up against it, little rickety tables positioned near the ends of it. The living room also blends into the dining room and kitchen like it did back home, but it’s a lot bigger. Tattered white curtains hang over the window at the far side of the kitchen, little bowls and cups dotting the counters. He can see a small set of stairs leading up to a loft, which he can distantly see is partitioned by a wall. The walls are more neutral than he’s accustomed to, no painting, no beautiful artwork.
And nothing at all from home.
“Did you…” Dad is hovering uncertainly by the doorway as Poe sits at the table, having welcomed him into the house but seeming unsure as to what to do from there. He’d insisted on taking his bag in for him. Poe thinks in an abstract way that it’s sort of sweet. “Want some water?”
“Um.” He pulls the jacket a little tighter around himself, looking around the house again. It’s so much bigger than he expected. “Yeah. Water would be good.”
He watches Dad go to the cabinet and pull out a little earthenware mug, filling it at the sink. He sits next to Poe at the table and puts it on the table in front of him, careful not to touch him, which shouldn’t bother him, and yet.
“Thanks.” Poe takes a sip, more for something to do than anything else. “You left everything at the house.”
“I didn’t want to bring anything noticeable with me. It’s why the house is bigger. It’s too big for me but it’s less conspicuous that way.” Dad pauses. “So we won, huh?”
“Yeah. You hadn’t heard already?”
“Rumors, in the village. But nothing properly confirmed yet. I didn’t want to poke my head out until I knew for sure. Did Leia send you?”
Poe watches his hands tighten around the mug. They’re not white knuckling it but they’re close.
“No,” he whispers, seeing her underneath a white sheet, seeing her leaving him on a beach. “She didn’t.”
“Oh.”
“She left a note behind, so we… followed the note.” What there was of the note to follow.
“I’m…” Poe looks up to see his father at a loss for words. It’s an unusual sight. “I’m sorry.”
“You, too.” He looks back down at the mug. “You knew her better than I did.”
“No. I don’t think I did. Did she die in…”
“It’s complicated. I think it’s the way she would have wanted to go but. We’ll never really know.”
“Who’s in charge now?”
“I am. We were. I don’t know anymore. Someone is.” He swallows, taking a deep and heavy breath. “Dad, we… we have to…” he wants to say stay here. He wants to say take off as soon as we can get a ship. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”
Poe looks up at him. There’s so much compassion in Dad’s face, and the relief at being able to see it is smaller right now than the anger, the hurt, the wanting to know why he didn’t say anything when he knew he would blame himself, why he didn’t feel like he could come to Poe, why didn’t he trust him?
But he can’t let it rise to the surface right now. He’s too tired.
“What do you do here?” he asks instead. “I mean, I know everyone does a little bit of everything here. But what do you do… in general?”
“I’m a potter.”
Whatever Poe was expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?”
“I mean. I do some other stuff. I never had your mother’s hand for ships but I can build something to make an electric fence work or attach a rain shield to a speeder. I hunt and fish a little. I’m no good at the-“ he gestures vaguely. “The skinning and such part of hunting, so I bring the animal into town, the butcher takes care of it for me, he gives me the meat I ask for and sells the rest. Same with the fish. But mostly I’m a potter. I make bowls and cups and stuff for the people in town and for myself. I’ve also been trying out some woodworking. Think it might be good to just… make things these days.”
Poe looks at the mugs on the counter. It’s true that they look handmade, near as he can tell, unpainted but handcrafted. “They look nice, Dad.”
“You can’t see them up close.” He returns his gaze to his father, who has the amused tilt to his lips that he remembers from whenever he was being wry. It’s strange to see it on his face so much older, and Poe wishes for everything he’s missed. “Much worse if you do. They’re the first ones I made, didn’t feel right to try and sell them when all I could see was the errors in them.”
“I couldn’t do it so, uh. They’re better than mine would be.”
“You’re, um.” He gestures. “You’re wearing her jacket.”
“Yeah. As often as I can. My last jacket I… gave away.”
Dad smiles a little. “You always were one to give people the shirt off your back, if they needed it.”
“He deserved it.” He grits his teeth against the onslaught of tears he can feel threatening to burst. “There’s people after me, Dad.”
Concern flashes on Dad’s face so fast it’s like any other expression was never there. “What?” he leans in. “What do you need?”
“I don’t know. It’s been…. a really long day.”
“Are they coming here?”
“They shouldn’t. It’s one of the reasons I’m here. I’m supposed to… go to ground. Until it can be taken care of. I might leave anyway to go and help.” By now Finn may as well be eons away. He has no clue where he’ll have jumped to next, what he’s doing, knows that he can reach out with the communication devices but by the time Finn gets back to him he won’t be there anymore, either. He wants to try anyway. He wants to get up and convince that pod to fly again even if it’s not what they’re designed to do and take off looking. “I’ll probably stay here.”
Dad thinks it over, no doubt taking in how Poe can feel he’s shrunk in on himself, how tightly he’s holding onto the mug. He hopes he doesn’t break it. Not if Dad made it. That’s not fair, just showing up at his house and breaking his stuff.
“You think that pod will fly again?” he asks.
Poe shakes his head. “No. I ran schematics on the way back. It’s not designed for that and I don’t think I can rewire it to fly safely.” He’d tried to figure out way after way he could get it to take off or maybe just turn around. No dice.
He nods slowly. “Could sell that for scrap valuably in town. Is it gonna make you feel better to start dismantling it while talking to me?”
Immediately Poe can feel the weight of the tools in his hand, the feeling of being able to pull on a part and know what it does, slightly greasy fingers able to deconstruct something and carrying with it the knowledge that he knows who he is when he’s building or rebuilding something. Dad still knows him so well. He pushes past the lump in his throat.
“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I would like to do that.”
“Okay.” Dad stands. “Come on.”
Poe stands, gently tugging off Mom’s jacket, folding it, and resting it on the table. This may be one of the few times in his life he’s ever folded a jacket. Finn won’t believe him, when he tells him.
“I keep the tools in the barn.” Dad opens the door for him. “Tell me all of it, right from the beginning.”