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Poe feels hurt when he wakes up and Finn is nowhere to be found. Which is absurd, because he’s more than likely dead and it takes Poe longer than he’d ever care to admit to force himself to start walking, some type of betrayal simmering in his blood. He was raised to accept that loss can be necessary for the greater good of things, to mourn those gone but not to let them die for their cause in vain. So he shouldn’t feel mad, shouldn’t feel spiteful that the world had taken one more thing away from him.
But he does. He had trusted Finn. He doesn’t know who to be angry at anymore.
The milky stars twinkle above and Poe tries to force the grief and pain and betrayal into a box to be dealt with later. There’s a ringing in his ears that sounds more like a scream and he walks.
-
He gets off Jakku covered in a fine layer of sand. It sticks under his nails and in his hair, gritty and harsh and a constant remind of another person he failed. He hopes a hot shower will fix it, hopes that he’ll be able to watch his regrets drip down the drain along with all the other muck and grime. He hopes, but he knows better.
-
It takes two nights before BB-8 is spotted. Poe sleeps in the meantime, drifting in and out of consciousness after getting a small dose of pain pills from the medbay. They do little to prevent the nightmares he knew would come, and if anything they probably make it worse.
He sees that damned mask every time he closes his eyes, muscles locking up as the memories slam into him. Information being torn straight out of his throat, each and every nerve shrieking in agony until he cracked under a type of torture nothing could have prepared him for. He wakes up gulping shallow breathes, covered in a sheen of sweat that has the sheets sticking uncomfortably to his skin.
The only thing he’s glad for is that the crash, that Finn, never shows up in his dreams.
-
Poe doesn’t hesitate when he shoots down the storm troopers on Takodana. He whoops and cheers with each successful hit, listens to his squadron do the same. There’s a mantra going through his head, a background chant that never fails to get him into fighting mode.
For mom, for dad, for everyone who’s died.
A TIE fighter spirals into the water in the corner of his eye, and he’s almost a degree from missing it among the rapid sequence of action. There’s a clench in his chest and he sets his jaw, the purr of the starfighter running tremors through his body as he takes aim again.
For Finn and all these bastards did to him.
-
The energy from the fight is still buzzing across his senses, sharpening everything around him. Poe can practically taste the brief victory, savors it while it’s still fresh, because he knows it won’t last. They have BB-8 now, they have the map that’s supposed to lead to Skywalker, but Poe knows one man can’t fix this mess, Jedi or not.
His reunion with his droid is short and sweet, a soft blanket of comfort settling over him when he hears the familiar whistle and beeps he long since learned to decipher.
“You have to tell me what happened-” Poe starts, pointing towards one of the many new scratches littered across BB-8’s sleek surface
Finn saved us, the droid interrupts him impatiently, head swiveling away as if it was trying to motion Poe’s attention elsewhere.
Finn?
When he looks to his left and sees Finn standing there, solid and breathing and alive, he nearly falls on his ass from sheer surprise alone.
For a brief moment, neither move. Poe watches Finn’s mouth form around the syllable of his name, watches how it rolls off his tongue in a startled whisper, and even though he can’t hear it above the racket of the airstrip, a whirlwind of emotions slam into him all the same.
He’s up and running in a split second, spurred on by the deep ache of relief that flares in his chest. It mixes with the pain and betrayal that broke free from the box he’s had a tight hold on for the better part of the week, forming something potent and familiar that Poe might just call love. Which is absurd for a number of reasons, but none of them matter right now because Finn is here.
“You’re alive!” Finn says when their bodies collide in a tight hug, smile wide as he holds Poe against him.
“So are you,” he breathes. His throat feels tight and he returns the embrace as hard as he can.
-
“Bastard,” Poe growls when he’s positive nobody is within earshot. Finn is spread out on the bed next to him, chest rising and falling steadily, a comfort Poe holds close. He’s got a hand curled up in the bed sheet draped over Finn’s unconscious body, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping it. He feels nervous and tired and like he’s had too many cups of caf, all sure signs he’s going to crash sooner rather than later.
He hasn’t slept in the two days since the battle of Starkiller Base, instead spending his time with General Organa in helping her set up the beginnings of further course of action in terms of the First Order. He would still be working too, had she not shooed him out with an expression he knew better than to try and argue against.
“Stop putting it off,” she snapped at him, hand closed tightly around his wrist to prevent him from writing anything else down. She’d technically dismissed him several hours ago, but he figured sticking around to write up a few more plans couldn’t hurt. Everyone else had already filtered out of the meeting room, leaving him alone with his papers spread out across the circular table.
“I’m not sure I understand, General.” He feigned innocence, though he knew it was no use. He couldn’t lie to save his life, and Leia could read him like an open book.
“Yes you do,” she said, tugging him up from his seat and pushing him towards the door. “Go take a shower, eat something and visit him. Rey’s leaving to find Luke soon, and I highly doubt he’s going to wake up before she goes. He’s going to need you most right now.”
She’d left no room for argument, and so after taking a few protein supplements and washing up, Poe finally let himself slip into Finn’s hospital room. He’d only been to visit once before, when Chewbacca had first laid him on the stretcher and Poe had run alongside it, trying his best to memorize Finn’s features. As if he’d never see him again.
“Damn bastard,” he repeats, much softer this time. His voice is rough, scratchy along the edges like someone who’s been crying for extended periods of time. Poe hasn’t shed a single tear. “I didn’t think you’d hurt me again like this, and here we are.”
It’s a selfish thought, because Finn took a lightsaber along his spine for Rey and survived, but he’s asleep and Poe allows himself this one moment to put himself first. It’s never about him, he never wants it to be about him, but for now, it can be.
-
Rey leaves. Finn wakes up. He asks after her, panicked and disoriented until Poe steps into the room with the first genuine smile he’s had in weeks.
“Poe,” Finn let’s his head fall back against the pillow, entire body practically sagging into the mattress. He looks smaller than Poe has ever seen him, hooked up to various machines that kept beeping impatiently at them.
“I’m here, you're alive, it’s okay,” his reply is jumbled but reassuring, mind racing a mile a minute because Finn is awake. He takes up the empty seat at Finn’s bedside and doesn’t say a word when Finn reaches out towards him, just takes his slightly shaky hand and squeezes it in support.
“She’s gone?” Finn asks after a couple beats, his eyes shut tight, like he’s afraid of the answer. Apparently the doctors had only told him so much.
“She’ll be back.”
Finn takes one, two deep breaths and opens his eyes. The tension in the room shifts, a silent resolve that drapes over them both as if Finn already knew what Poe was going to say. He doesn’t let go of Poe’s hand, just settles into a more comfortable position and offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Alright. Fill me in on what’s happening, then.”
-
Finn’s recovery is slow. As advanced as modern medicine is, it takes more than a couple nights in the bacta tank and a two week long coma to heal a severed spine. Not that any of the doctors would let them know that, but Poe has had his more than his fair share of grievous injuries to know when one is bad.
He spends his first week of being awake cooped up in the hospital, almost constantly working with physical therapists to regain control of all the muscles below his waistline, and whenever Poe drops by he looks absolutely miserable. There’s a certain glint in his eyes that nobody but Poe seems to notice, something full of self depreciation and disbelief, like Finn can’t believe someone keeps coming back for him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Poe scolds gently when he and BB-8 visit for the fifth day in a row, skin itching under Finn’s heavy gaze. Nobody should look like that, so broken and undone because they’re shown even the slightest amount of compassion.
“Like what?”
Poe makes sure to shoot him a pointed look before he moves to drag the spare chair out of the corner and settle into it, toeing off his shoes in the process so he can prop his feet on the edge of Finn’s bed. BB-8 whirs happily around the chair, making the beeping equivalent of soft coos.
“Like I’m doing this out of pity or something. I’m not just going to up and leave you one day, okay?”
It takes a while for Finn to reply, and Poe uses the extra time to pull the deck of cards out of his pants pocket and start dealing them. He’d shown Finn an alternate version of Sabacc the day after he’d woken up, and the game went over incredibly well. Finn had smiled more that afternoon than any other, the lighthearted banter and teasing having left Poe feeling like things were on the right track to getting better.
“Sorry,” Finn says finally, voice quiet. “I’m just not really used to all this, you know?”
Poe organizes his hand while he rolls the words over in his head. The First Order gave him nothing but a serial code for a name and raised him like that’s all he could ever be; a string of numbers and letters that didn’t deserve to know what being a human was truly like.
“Don’t be sorry.” Poe banks the rising flames of anger that lick up his rib cage at the idea of all the shit the First Order put him through. “I just want you to know that I’m going to be here for you every step of the way. You’re not gonna lose me that easy, yeah?”
Finn smiles at that, soft and small but undeniably there and it makes Poe’s throat close up, seeing just how much trust is being put into him. He thinks briefly of Jakku, of Takodana, of everything that’s happened to them in the past month.
And I’m not going to lose you.
-
There’s a small celebration in Poe’s quarters when Finn is finally discharged, the two of them huddled together on his bed with a bottle of whiskey being passed back and forth. The alcohol burns each time Poe takes a swig, spreading heat down to his toes and making all the pent up tension in his muscles slowly disappear the tipsier he gets.
It’s a quiet affair, conversation exchanged in hushed voices as if they were trying to keep the moment a secret. There’s a soft flush to Finn’s cheeks that only grows the more he drinks, and Poe idly realizes that he would like to keep this moment just to themselves, nobody else. It's intimate in a subtle way, emphasized when their fingers brush as they exchange the bottle or when Finn laughs and Poe feels a triumphant rush of satisfaction that he was the reason behind it.
“Finn,” he says when the bottle is almost empty and a sudden charge of energy sparks under his skin, “Finn. Do you want to dance?”
Finn smiles, let’s out an adorable snort and shakes his head.
“I can’t dance,” he insists, leaning in close as if doesn’t want anyone else to know.
“Sure you can,” Poe takes the whiskey from him and screws the cap back on with only slightly unsteady hands before discarding it somewhere amongst his pillows.
“Poe-”
“I’ll teach you.”
Finn blinks a couple times, and Poe can see the cogs turning in his head as he weighs his options. He looks doubtful, but Poe can only take it as a good sign when he starts scooting away from the wall and towards the edge of the bed.
“Okay, sure. But you can’t complain when I step on your feet.” He says, warily watching as Poe gets up to uncover his old record player and start leafing through his small vinyl collection. “Because I will, trust me.”
“Ah, come on,” Poe throws over his shoulder with a smile, trying to ignore how the room starts spinning slightly at the jerky movement. “We’re both kinda drunk, it’ll be fine. You dance better that way.”
That gets a bark of laughter out Finn, and there’s the beginning of a protest on the tip of his tongue, but then the music starts and Poe practically sweeps him off his feet. Except it’s much less elegant, and more like Poe tugging Finn off the bed until their chests are pressed together. Electric warmth travels up Poe’s spine as Finn grips his waist to keep himself steady, and then they're eye to eye, noses brushing from sheer proximity. He fights every urge to glance at Finn’s mouth, because they’re this close already and Finn will notice, and as oblivious as he can be sometimes, that’s just too damn obvious.
“Here, like this,” Poe manages to get out after a second of dazed staring. He shifts away slightly to slip his left hand over Finn’s right one, gently taking it from his waist and clasping them together.
“You hold these hands out to the side,” he starts to explain, voice somewhat hoarse as he pointedly avoids looking back up at Finn. “And then since I’m leading my hand goes here-”
They fall into a natural rhythm together once Finn figures out where each limb goes, the music providing a soft lull of noise that cradles them both. Poe finally lets his gaze settle back on Finn’s face, eyes roaming and taking in as much as possible, memorizing features over and over again so that he can remember Finn like he is now: happy.
The room only spins a little bit as they sway to the quiet tune, bodies pressed close and foreheads practically touching. It feels almost surreal, the alcohol making everything lighter, like all was well and nothing could change that.
“See?” Poe murmurs once the first song draws to a close, lips quirking up into a small smile. “S’easy when you’re drunk, better.”
Finn hums in agreement, eyes slipping shut as he shifts forward slightly, settling his cheek against Poe’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he whispers, breath hitting the side of Poe’s neck and causing a sharp shudder to spark up his spine. He feels Finn’s lips brush against his skin, warm and soft, making him lightheaded.
You’re drunk, Poe tells himself as he slips his hand up from Finn’s waist and settles it between his shoulder blades, pulling them closer together in the process. They’re barely even dancing now, more so just standing in the middle of his room wrapped up around each other.
And more importantly, he’s drunk.
The thought sobers Poe up some, reality washing back over him in a harsh wave. He doesn’t want the moment to end, doesn’t want to let Finn go, but whatever’s happening between them probably shouldn’t be happening, not like this at least. Not with alcohol involved.
“Finn, buddy,” he says softly, pulling back in order to put even a little bit of distance between them. There’s a rush of cool air where Finn’s body was fitted against his and it only serves to strengthen Poe’s urge to haul them back together and never let go.
“Hm?” Finn blinks a few times after they separate, confusion written clear across his features. “Poe?”
“We can’t-” he starts, voice falling flat, lacking conviction. There’s hurt creeping in Finn’s features fast, rejection, and Poe trips backwards over his words, mind fumbling to find a better way to describe that they shouldn’t, no matter how much either wants to.
“It’s not- we can, I mean. We can, but not like this.”
“Why not?” Finn murmurs, pulling his hand out of Poe’s and settling it against his neck instead.
“We’re drunk, you’re drunk-” Poe tightens his grip on Finn’s shirt, fingers curling into the soft cotton fabric. Gods, it’s not even technically his shirt, it’s one of Poe’s that he borrowed because he didn't own anything other than the black clothes he'd been wearing since the beginning, and those were shot to hell after Starkiller. If anything, seeing Finn in his clothes just makes the whole situation tens times worse.
“I can handle my own decisions, I want this-” Finn tries to protest, the hurt in his eyes hardening into something stubborn.
“And I don’t want to take advantage of you,” Poe finally snaps, words cutting sharp through the once pleasant haze surrounding them. He screws his eyes shut, unable to handle the look on Finn’s face, and presses their foreheads together instead, breathing in deep as he tries to sort through this sudden outpouring of emotions.
“I can’t do this and then have you tell me tomorrow that it was just the whiskey, that it was just because I was the nearest warm body. I-, I just can’t.”
He feels flayed open, torn and raw from whiplash of how rapidly the situation was changing. There’s an ache of wanting that settles heavy in his bones, of being so tantalizingly close and yet still knowing better.
Shouldn’t have chosen whiskey, he thinks to himself as he hears Finn’s breath catch, always makes me too damn emotional.
“Poe,” Finn whispers, voice going soft as he drags his thumb across Poe's jawline and causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. “Look at me.”
He does.
“I can’t lose you again.” His voice wavers, nearly cracks, threatening to spill everything out between them. Jakku, Starkiller Base, I thought you were dead.
“You won’t.”
Poe doesn’t protest when Finn kisses him, doesn’t pull back and keep saying no, we shouldn’t, because he can’t deny Finn anything, because he wants it just as much. Their mouths slot together better than he could have ever imagined, and no matter how inexperienced Finn is, he learns so fast that it almost doesn’t even matter. It’s dizzyingly sweet and so much more than anyone that’s come before, and when they finally break apart it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room.
“I promise,” Finn tells him, smile brighter than any star Poe has ever seen, and he trusts him.
-
The incessant chirping of birds is what wakes Poe up before the sun has even fully risen, bleary eyed and only slightly hung over with a warm bundle draped across his chest. He blinks a few times in the dim light of early morning, mentally retracing what happened last night that got them in their current position, and he nearly lets out an audible sigh of relief when he realizes their clothes are still on.
Most of their clothes, at least. Finn lost his shirt somewhere along the way, and there’s something awfully satisfying about how his skin feels under Poe’s hand. He doesn’t want to move, ever, and instead uses the brief moments of peace to draw delicate patterns along Finn’s shoulder blades with his fingertips.
Letting his eyes slip shut again, he listens to Finn’s quiet breathing mix with the lull of the BB-8’s soft humming beneath the bed as it recharges, and for the first time since Jakku, the darkness isn’t haunted by sleek masks and the sound of his own screams. It’s something content and warm, all the grief and pain having long since seeped through the cracks in the box he’d made back at the beginning to try and cope, instead replaced by love and happiness and light.
Finn stirs slightly under his gentle touches, but settles again just as quickly, and Poe idly realizes that nothing went the way he thought it would.
But then again, nothing ever had.