Archive of Our Own

You could see the way they looked at you, hear the way they mumbled under their breath whenever your X-Wing hit the landing bays or you turned the corner into the mess hall. You knew they hated you, it was clear to see. Wondering eyes found you during every pre-mission meet, but you tried not to let it get to you. 

The Resistance could be a cruel place sometimes, but you knew it was all part of the job.

Dameron was no different—which was the worst part of all. 

Being part of Black Squadron was a one way ticket to being noticed, and having Dameron as your commander put you on everyone’s radar even more so. The golden boy of the Resistance. One hell of a pilot. Poe Dameron with the kind eyes and sunshine smile and everything that made you feel fuzzy.

Not that he knew.

Not that he’d even care, probably.

Half the cadets on base had the hots for Dameron, and he fucking knew it.

It was cliché, like some bad Nabooian romance holo; the quiet and reserved cadet; the beloved commander; just waiting for the moment that they got time alone after a mission to actually talk.

But that would never happen. Not with the rumours. Not when everyone thought they’d already figured you out— high and mighty, superior, better than the rest.

They thought that you believed you were better than them, that you had something to prove, that you wanted to kick Dameron off his high horse. Never even cared enough to find out the truth before coming to their own conclusions.

Since joining the Resistance base on D’Qar, no less than a month ago, you were immediately assigned to Black squadron— which never happened. You’d been piloting since you were young, recruited by off-branch rebels as a getaway driver, before joining the good fight.

It just happened that piloting was in your blood, that you were good enough for Black squadron; but cadets hated that. At the end of the day, despite the Resistance being a force to fight evil, cadets still wanted to be the best; still felt threatened; still acted mean like school children.

You were in their firing line as soon as you’d stepped on D’Qar.

You’d mostly got used to it by now, but sometimes the digs still hurt. You endured. You were here to fight a war, first and foremost. You just wished that they’d stop, or at least dialled it down.

During your pre-mission meeting, Dameron was in a worse mood than normal.

“Two, are the coolant compartments up to standard?” Dameron asked, doing the checks with the squad before take off.

Black-Two, another tall, dark and handsome cadet, frowned. “Uh— I actually haven’t checked yet, Dameron,” he said hesitantly. Poe shot him a frown. You hated it when he frowned.

“It was your responsibility, Two, why didn’t you—,”

“All compartments are checked and accounted for, Commander,” you cut in gently, looking at the ground before you got hit with all of their annoyed stares. “I happened to check them last night before hitting my bunk,” 

Poe regarded you then, sticking his steely gaze upon you. You forced yourself to look up, hitting his eyes. They were so deep, the most beautiful warm shade of brown that you’d ever seen. You relished every look he gave you, just so you could look into them, but...

Just once, you wished he’d look happy to see you.

“Alright,” he sighed, obviously annoyed. “Well done, Five,” he said bluntly, no sincerity behind it. “Next time, stick to your tasks. We all have a role here. There’s no need to go too far,” there it was, the request to step back; the annoyance he felt about you wanting to be the best. 

Even though you didn’t. Even though all you wanted was for this fucking war to end, to possibly have friends on base, even.

“Yes, Sir,” you said, somewhat sadly. You didn’t mean to sound so sullen, but it just came out that way. Poe’s face twitched.

“Dameron or Poe is fine, I’ve said this before,” he snapped, and you took a small step back. He’d been on edge since last week, since that failed supply mission where the First Order killed Green-Seven.

Poe felt every death, every loss, even though he knew it all like the back of his hand. 

That was why you liked him. That was one of the main things you adored about him. Despite the things he thought about you, felt about you, hated about you—

You wished he could see that that’s not what you were truly like. 

Maybe one day.

The mission itself today— intercept a First Order rendezvous. Stop them from sharing information. Scare them. All the usual things when it came to these kinds of missions. 

You and the rest of Black squadron clambered into your cockpits, ready to take off on Poe’s command. General Organa was stood at the back of the landing bay, waving you off as Black One took off first; the rest followed their commander. 

As Black-Five, you were part of the back centre of the formation—

Right behind Poe. 

A few times, you’d found yourself wondering if he did that on purpose; made you Black-Five so he could always keep an eye on you, keep you in check, make sure you don’t overtake him.

“Okay, squad, let’s do what we came here to do,” Poe spoke over the comms, and you could hear the smile on his face as he did so. When he was in the air, floating through the stars, that’s when he was happiest.

You latch onto the upbeat replies of “Copy, Dameron,” and “You got it, boss!” from around your squad, but you say nothing in response.

It would have been ignored anyway. 

The comms stayed silent for a few seconds, before Poe chimes in again. “Black-Five, do you copy me?” 

Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach immediately. 

“Y-yes, Commander,” you replied. 

“Then check in when I ask you to,” he demanded. 

Maker, why are you so mad at me, Poe? What have I ever done to you?

“Yes, Commander,” 

“Dameron or Poe,” he snapped again, and you could practically feel your squadron’s eyes upon you as he spoke. It was embarrassing, it was humiliating, but you had no choice.

“Yes, Dameron,” you forced out, through clenched teeth. Poe didn’t acknowledge it.

“Let’s move out!” he yelled.

You remembered when it all started, the stares and rumours and whispers. You’d just been moved to D’Qar from a previous base, after an incident that still broke you to think about. 

Poe had been kind at first. He’d showed you around, as he did with a lot of other pilots. He’d introduced you to his squad, said that you had a shot to get on Black, as well. They had your records, you see; your piloting records. 

“You are really impressive,” he said kindly, smiling at you as he recalled reading your records before your arrival. “My squad could use someone like you,”

Maybe that was when the feelings started, deep down in your gut and steadily growing, despite the absolute shift in Dameron’s opinion of you. 

It was after your first mission, after you put yourself between Black-Eight and a dreadnought canon and won. That’s when the rumours began, no doubt started by Eight and her friends on base—

Black-Five just had to play hero. 

Black-Five disobeyed Dameron’s direct orders to save someone. 

Black-Five thinks she’s better than her whole squad. 

Black-Five wants Dameron’s status on base.

It was relentless, it was cruel, and most importantly— it was all bullshit. A steaming, massive pile of absolute bullshit. 

It took a week or so, but you remembered when Dameron shifted. Before, he’d always been down to listen to you— mission reports, check-ins, for a joke here and there, but after the rumours had penetrated every dorm and shower block and landing bay on D’Qar, he changed. 

“Hey, Comman—,” 

“Not now, Five. I have to run diagnostics with Three,” Poe said harshly, even though he was floating around the landing bays by himself. 

“Oh,” you let out, immediately falling into a box that you had been slowly climbing yourself out of since your arrival on D’Qar. “I just got off guard duty, so I can help—,”

“No, Five. Stick to your schedule,” Poe almost spat at you, finally turning to meet your eye. He was seething, full of a meanness and a rage that you’d never seen take over his pretty boy face before. “Just—,” he started, surveying the shocked and hurt expression on your face. “Follow your fucking schedule,” he repeated, harsher and sterner and more horrible. 

Poe left you in the middle of the bay, frozen in place and unable to process his reasoning for being so awful to you. 

Since then, it had been the same every fucking day. Every mission, every after-fly beer, every meeting and training session and whatever else—

Poe Dameron hated your guts. 

But you could never hate his.

“First Order on our six, Dameron!” Black-Nine yelled over comms, and you forced yourself to focus on the mission at hand. 

“Disband squadron formation,” Dameron replied. “Black-Five— stay with split formation B,” he said lowly, and you had no choice but to follow a separate formation. Whenever the group split in two, he always told you to join B, despite being part of his. 

“Copy,” you said bluntly, biting down on your tongue to stop yourself from fucking exploding. It wasn’t within your nature to fight back, not against your Commander or other cadets. 

So, you followed Black-Six into formation B.

Six X-Wings circled back round, with you at the back of the formation layout. You copied every manoeuvre and twist effortlessly, as you slalomed through stray planet debris and followed their set path towards the First Order Star Destroyer. 

Tie fighters were already being shot out from the ships’ landing bays, erupting with high-pitched screams as they traversed through the stars. 

“Formation B— break!” Black-Six yelled down the comms, and you all dispersed in time with their commands. You split off to the right, ducking underneath the group and shooting back up so you had the Tie’s in your sight—

Without any hesitation, you engaged your blasters; shooting all of the bastards out of the sky like a game of Space Invaders. 

You shot five in quick succession as you sped through the starry void, performing quick corkscrew rolls and feeling every steering change, every hydraulic pull, everything that your X-Wing performed on your behalf. 

If your teammates were at all impressed or happy with your work, they still didn’t say a fucking word. You continued on your path through the roaring Tie’s, noticing formation A in the distance. 

They were rounding the Destroyer, headed for the back of the ship to sneak up onto the bridge and miss the canons. Dameron was leading them, as always, as the other three X-Wings trailed him.

“B, take out as many Tie’s as you can so we have a chance to disengage their weapons and power!” Dameron yelled over the comms. 

“Copy, Poe!” Black-Six responded, pulling up next to you. Quickly, sharply, over the full team comms, Six let out a rude “Get to the back, Five, for fucks sake,” 

You shot your gaze through the right of your cockpit, catching onto Six’s face as he looked back at you. He looked at you as if you were a blight to the team, despite you taking down multiple Tie’s just seconds before. 

“I—,” you started, but stopped yourself abruptly. “Copy,” you let out, forcing yourself to comply as you fell into formation B once more. 

This was fucking bullshit, always had been, but for some reason it was getting harder to put up with it everyday. You wanted to believe that your teammates cared more about the job at hand than forcing you to follow their overly helicoptering rules and authority, but it really didn’t seem that way anymore. 

They truly wanted to see you fall. Wanted to see you fail or fuck up or in their dust. 

How could you be a fighter pilot if they didn’t fucking let you do anything?

You followed formation B tightly, not wanting to step on toes despite knowing they were keeping you on an unnecessary leash. The five X-Wings in front of you performed brilliantly, shooting down Tie after Tie and allowing formation A to get through several canons. 

“Regroup!” Poe yelled, after they managed to break through some defences. 

You started to fly over to the main group, ready to group up and fight together, but no one saw the fucking canon—

The big one, the hidden one that’s in formation A’s blind spot as they gather behind the bridge. You saw it first, saw it swivel to aim directly at Black-One—

You engage your comms relay.

“Dameron! Canon on your—,” 

“Stick to the fucking mission, Five,” he responded, without even hearing what you had to fucking say. 

“Sir— this isn’t—,”

“I mean it, Five! You’re so close to getting a disciplinary back on base, I swear to the Maker,” Poe spat through clenched teeth.

This was it, the final fucking straw. 

You exploded, just like a Tie.

“Maker, why won’t you fucking listen to me!” you scream into the comms, as loud and as explosive as you possibly can, but you’re already speeding up before anyone can stop you. 

You shut off your relay, so you can only listen to the shouts and screams of your squamates as they tell you to fucking stop it, but you’re already halfway to Poe’s position, canon on your six and almost fully charged. 

You don’t think as you pull up, nose to the fucking sky, before abruptly pulling down on your controls— your X-Wing falls into a smooth nose dive, so you can build up speed and momentum.

Poe’s yells are loud as you veer towards formation A, formation B well behind you, but the canon is fully charged and you can’t stop now. You switched back on your relay as the canon shot directly at Poe, but your ship intercepts the stream—

“Canon on your six!” you screamed, as you fell in line sideways, right in front of Poe’s cockpit. He can see your side profile, see your teeth and jaw and everything tense as you fire your blaster at the exact right time—

Your shots landed perfectly, disintegrating the canon’s blast until you can cut through and hit the actual ship itself. 

Your lungs burned as you kept firing; relentlessly; tirelessly; inching ever closer to the weapon itself as Dameron looked at you in awe. He saw when you opened your mouth to let out an immense yell, but your comms were off— he saw it all through your cockpit windshield.

“Formation B, the canon!” he demanded finally, and B fell into the same mission as you. Together, the fires of six X-Wings break apart the bridge canon, exploding it into a thousand pieces of debris. 

You think your ear drums burst alongside the canon, since all you could hear was a sharp and painful ringing after you succeeded.

Succeeded in saving Dameron’s life. 

The Star Destroyer promptly relays to their rendezvous partner to abort, and within seconds, they shot off into hyperspace. You hardly notice, as you focused on levelling your breathing and tried not to think about what would happen now—

Would Dameron kick you off of his squad?

“Commander, are you okay?” Black-Six said over the comms. Poe didn’t reply immediately. The only thing you could feel was his stare, still stuck on you from his own cockpit. 

“Group up. Head back to base,” he said plainly, still in shock. 

“Copy,” 

You were the last back on D’Qar, taking your time as you engaged your landing gear and caught your breath after hitting the ground. Dameron’s X-Wing was three ships away; he was still inside his cockpit, despite landing first. 

You switched off your controls and rose from your pilot chair, trembling as you descended the small set of steps, jumping from the last rung. When you hit the ground, you expected everything to feel better—

But it didn’t. 

It didn’t, because you could see Dameron as he emerged from his own ship. He threw his helmet to the floor immediately, making a B-line for your X-Wing as the rest of your squad started to get nosey.

They followed Dameron’s route to you with their eyes, shooting smug smiles or wide eyes or disgusted looks at you. 

You, though? 

You’re trying not to cry. Trying not to let it all get you down. Trying not to explode again when Poe inevitably erupted into screams in front of your face. 

“Black-Five,” Poe started, bombarding towards you with a red face and seething eyes. “You— you,” he couldn’t even get his words out properly, not until he stopped right in front of you, breathing heavily as he took in your expression. “You disobeyed my direct orders,” he finally said. 

“I know, Commander,” you replied, tired— physically and mentally. 

“We all know what you do, Five, what you think,” Poe continued. All of was lies. “We know you’re a stellar pilot, but that doesn’t rank you above my word,”

“I know, Commander,” you responded, sadly this time. You couldn’t help it. Your heart was fucking disintegrating underneath your ribcage. These people didn’t know you, didn’t care to know. They didn’t know your past, didn’t know your present, and wouldn’t know your future. 

“I am your Commander, Five. What I say goes. You disrespected your entire fucking squad today by going off on your own, by trying to be the fucking hero. Why do you do it, Five? Why did you put yourself in the fucking firing line for me? Because you believe yourself to be better?” 

Did he really believe that? 

You lost your battle with your eyes; they won as you stopped forcing back tears. They fell from your eyes slowly, gently, crawling down your face as you keep your eyes wide and focused on Dameron’s.

For a split second, his expression faltered. He was shocked. 

Poe Dameron had made you cry. 

“No, Commander,” you let out, but your voice was so shaken and weak and pathetic that you could hardly stand it. Everything floated away— your care, your ability to hold back— you exploded. “I did it because my death doesn’t fucking matter,” you said, stronger this time. 

Poe stopped breathing. He took an abrupt step back, flicking his eyes between yours. He’d never seen you cry before. 

“You’re Poe Dameron, Black Squadron leader, Commander in the Resistance— if you die, it fucking matters,” you spat. “If I die, someone else takes Black-Five. I’m expendable, Dameron. You’re not,” 

Poe let out a stuttering breath. “I—,” he choked “I didn’t—,”

“When I rush forward on missions it’s not because I think myself to be better, or faster, or above any of you,” you cried, your voice turning into wails. You needed them to understand, needed them to listen to you just this once. “I don’t— I don’t even know where all of that fucking came from,” 

Black-Eight turned to Black-Two. They look at each other, guilt slapped across their stunned faces. 

“Black-Five—,”

“No!” you screamed, cutting through Poe’s attempt to speak. “I need you to listen to me, Commander— all of you— just this one time, because I can’t fucking take this anymore,” you wailed. 

Poe nodded vigorously, latching onto your every word. 

“Of course,” he said quickly, sadly. 

“You put me on your squad, Dameron,” you let out, and Poe kept nodding. I know, he mouthed. “You said I was a good pilot, and I am, but that doesn’t mean I want glory. All I’ve ever wanted is to fight for this war, to be a part of salvation— I never fucking wanted fame,” 

You breathed heavily, heaving air into your lungs and ignoring the salty drops of tears that gathered on your chin. 

Poe swallowed uncomfortably, but he didn’t move; didn’t move from his spot; didn’t move his stare from yours.

“I know all you all hate me,” you let out, forcing yourself to look at the rest of your squad, just for a second, before you turned back to Poe. “I know you don’t let me do anything because you think I only care about being seen, but the reason I act against orders now is because you don’t let me do my fucking job!” you screamed, just so they could hear, just to make sure they fucking listen.

“We don’t hate you, Five,” Poe said smally, croaking, as your expression changed. You looked at him honestly, all of your hurt spiralling out of every pore. 

“Don’t lie to me, Poe,” Poe. You called him Poe, finally. “I can take the talking behind my back, the looks that you think I don’t see, but I can’t take you lying to me,” your voice finally cracked, breaking apart as you try to keep what’s left of your composure together. 

You stepped back abruptly, smacking into the body of your X-Wing. Poe flinched, immediately reaching out an arm to steady you, but you raised your hand to him. 

He stopped, pulling away again, as you finally wiped away your tears. 

“I’m sorry for disobeying orders today, Commander,” you said. “But I’m not sorry for saving your fucking life,” Poe looked at you like he’d never seen you before in his life; stunned; amazed. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat, Poe,”

“Five…” his voice trailed off, but you didn’t stick around to hear if he continued speaking or not. You left your squadron in the landing bay, reeling from the realisation that they’d got it all fucking wrong; that they’d been horrible to you; that, without you, Poe wouldn’t be here to yell at you.

You headed to your dorm, knowing that your bunkmate wouldn’t be back yet. All you wanted was to sit in a dark room for a while, to feel everything, to move on like none of it had ever happened.

You’d finally said what you needed to, finally exploded and tried to get them to understand. If they still didn’t beyond this, then there was no hope for you at all.

In the mess hall, you wondered if they were talking about you. Were they sat, drinking beer and laughing about your outburst? Were they sharing it with other squadrons, giggling about how pathetic you’d been? 

Or, had they finally realised?

Realised their mistakes, their behaviour, their horribleness towards you.

A few hours pass. You busied yourself by memorising next weeks schedule, sorting your things and cleaning up your dorm. Subtle music cuts through from the mess hall, so you know post-mission celebrations are in full flow.

Poe’s probably there, drinking a beer, talking to cadets, smiling.

You flinched when three knocks hit your dorm room door. You straightened yourself out as you hit the control panel, and watched in shock as Dameron’s face hits yours after the door raised from the floor.

He looked sullen, sad, upset. His eyes weren’t their usual warmth of browns and yellows; they’d been tinted with grey.

“Dameron—,” 

“It’s my turn to talk, now,” he said sternly, letting himself in your dorm before you get a word in. “You were transferred to this base, correct?” he asked, back turned to you as his stare is stuck on the wall in front of him.

You swallowed away your nerves. “Yes,” 

“Why?” he chided, ever so slightly turning his head so you can see his side profile. 

It came in flashes; your previous squad on a mission, the blast of green canons, the explosive bursts of your teammates cockpits, erupting into flames.

“We were ambushed,” you started slowly, your throat drying up. “I… couldn’t save them,” 

“That’s why you put yourself in danger,” Poe worked out. He looked to the floor then, and you can tell his eyes are shut— he could feel your pain, radiating through the dorm in waves. 

“I do what’s necessary, when I know I can help,” you said bluntly. You balled your fists, overcome with a deep and dark hurt, coiling through your gut.

“You—,” Poe started, but stopped himself immediately. Finally, he turned to you, eyes piercing through yours. “All this time, we’ve been treating you like shit, Five,” his eyes quickly turned glassy, reflecting the sunset from outside your dorm door.

Your heart breaks all over again, just from that look on his face. That anguish, that realisation.

“Why?” he whispered, stepping closer to you. You didn’t move away this time. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

You squeezed your fists tighter together. “Would you have listened?” you let out, dropping your head to the floor. You didn’t want to cry again, but you couldn’t stop the tears from welling in your eyes. “Would you have listened before now?”

“Of course,” he said, but you know he’s uncertain within himself. 

“I tried, Poe,” you said, getting overwhelmed. “I’ve tried so many fucking times. You never listened, always cut me off, always—,” the breath hitched in the back of your throat. Poe stepped forward again, reaching out to curl his fingers around your forearm. 

“I’m so fucking sorry, Five,” he swallowed, but it didn’t stop his tears from falling. “You’re right. I put you on my squad because you’re fucking brilliant— an amazing fighter and pilot and everything in between— but all I’ve done is stop you from being able to do your job,” 

You let out a soft splutter, causing Poe to grip onto your other arm. 

“I don’t know— why I fucking let the rumours get to me,” he spluttered. “It’s unforgivable, it’s awful— I’ve been awful,” you shot your gaze to him then, treading forward until you’re close enough to feel his heart thumping beneath his chest. 

“Poe—,”

“No, don’t,” he said sternly, cutting you off. “Don’t just accept my apology, Five. You can accept it when you see that I’ve changed,” he let out, as more tears crawled down his cheeks. 

“We’re human, Poe,” you croaked out, fighting away the urge to wipe away his tears. “We get jealous and we get scared, especially in this line of work,” 

He regarded you then, properly, deeply, looking at you from eye to eye and expanding around your face; your nose; your jaw; your lips. Poe had never looked at you for this long, never taken the time to know the lines and curves of your face until now— when he was crying, when he was sorry, when he was listening to you. 

“What you said before,” Poe spoke, softer, gentler, calmer. “About you being expendable,”

Maker, I forgot I said that out loud.

“You’re not,” he said sternly, squeezing your arms in an attempt to make you believe it. “You’re important— so fucking important. Don’t think for one second that you aren’t,” 

Your cheeks flushed violently then, eyes squinting through your tears. You let out an abrupt splutter, but all that Poe does is latch onto you further.

“You saved my fucking life today,” he huffed, overwhelmed even more so when he says it out loud. “And I got angry at you about it,” 

Poe taking accountability was more than you’d ever imagined getting. He was owning up to his wrongdoings, acknowledging your outburst, acknowledging you putting yourself on the line— just for him.

I’d do it again in a heartbeat, Poe.

“Thank you,” he let out, before he fully came undone. The breath hitched in his throat and his tears fell faster. He dropped his head to your shoulder, while you stood— frozen— feeling every sob bubble out from his chest and burst from his lips. 

Gently, you moved your arms to latch around him. You felt the strength of the muscles in his back, as he fully let himself go. 

Poe Dameron sobbed on your shoulder until he was fully done. He cried through the material of your shirt, wrapping his arms around you so tightly and resting his hand on the back of your neck warmly.

“I meant what I said,” you let out, as tears kept falling down your own face. “I’d do it again, a thousand times over,” 

A thousand times over. Again and again and again, as long as it meant Poe Dameron was safe. As long as it meant he would live to see the end of this fucking war.

You recovered together, even laughing about the fact you were both reduced to puddles. When Poe laughed, your heart slowly pieced itself back together again.

He held you close the entire time, always resting his fingers on part of you and you moved on from the deepness of his confession and apology.

He begged you to come for a beer, and you were incapable of refusing him. All the way to the mess hall, his arm is hooked through yours.

When you turned the corner, the room descended into utter silence. Black squadron immediately looked towards you both, as you focused on calming the anxiety that tore through your gut.

“Come on,” Poe coaxed you gently, moving his grip to your hand. His fingers intertwined with your own, unashamedly. 

He guided you to the centre of the hall, where Black squadron usually sat for lunch and after missions. You’d never sat with them before, never thought it had been an option. 

When Poe gets up onto the table, you recoil. You don’t know what to do with yourself, don’t know how to stand or sit or whatever— so you simply peer up at him, heart in your throat, fingers buzzing from the electricity that he’s given you.

“Everyone,” he boomed. “Listen,” he demanded. He was in commander mode, now. The sternness of his voice and on his jaw was impossible to ignore. “Today, Black-Five saved my life,” 

You sucked in a deep breath, as Poe peered down at you. He smiled at you, like the sun, like the stars, like the Poe you once knew, before all of the fucking rumours.

“She’s a fighter, like all of us, and deserves that recognition,” 

And just like that, it was over.

The hurt, the pain, the lies.

Poe Dameron was looking at you like his saviour, because you were.

Poe Dameron was looking at you like friend— 

Because you are.