Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Poe usually works the night shift, so when he gets home at six AM he’s greeted at the door by BB-8, he refills the dog bowl, gets halfway through making a cup of coffee, and then passes out on the couch.

This time, though, he’s standing at the door, bag slung over one shoulder, staring down his dark, empty hallway at the place where his dog should be, but isn’t.

He’s really too tired for this, but BB-8’s legs are too short to make it up the stairs on his own, and he’s worried that he might’ve rolled down to the ground floor by accident, so he leans his bag against the counter, shuffles his keys in one hand, and heads back out to the hall. The lights are on and flickering, and  Mr D’an on the floor above hasn’t started his loud interpretation of  the Indiana Jones theme song on his clarinet, so Poe should really, really be asleep right now.

Damn that corgi.

After circling around the floor and peering into the dingy elevator, unable to stop himself from aggressively stomping around in frustration, he’s debating knocking on all the doors to see if he has better luck, when 12B opens and the very pretty brunette sticks her head out. She looks frustratingly refreshed, and Poe knows he must look like a nightmare, so he tries a smile to distil the tension.

The mug of coffee in her hands sings a siren’s call.

“14B, right?” She asks. Her accent’s British, and she blinks at him, before shaking her head and walking towards him, raising her hand. “Sorry, I’m Rey.”

He takes it automatically. “Poe Dameron, 14B,” he says. “Sorry if I was making too much noise. I’m just… I’m looking for my dog.”

Rey blinks again, and then drops his hand to instead point at his chest. “So it is your dog!”

“I… pardon?”

She smacks her forehead and then grabs his hand, pulling him forward back towards her apartment. Poe blames his exhaustion on not fighting it, instead of the way her fingers are warm and calloused, and that her grip is firm and solid. Her apartment is eclectic; a weird mixture of clutter and stark minimalism. The shelves are littered with paper flowers and tiny figurines and what looks like a variety of mechanical parts, but the floors and tables are clear, and there’s several neat rows of shoes just inside the front door, and the picture frames on the walls are like Tetris pieces, each carefully slotted into place.

BB-8 is sitting on a weathered green couch, tongue out of his mouth and looking obnoxiously pleased with himself. His tail begins to wag furiously as soon as Poe enters the room, and he struggles a bit before he manages to shift sideways and down to the floor, landing on his stumpy feet, and almost bouncing over to where they were standing in the doorway.

“I was looking all over for you,” Poe tells him, kneeling in front of him, “I thought you might’ve made your way downstairs and rolled into oncoming traffic.”

BB-8 doesn’t respond, and instead lies on his back for a tummy rub, moving from side to side, tail still flicking back and forth. Poe holds out for a minute and, feeling Rey’s eyes on him, sighs and gives in.

“I’m really sorry,” Rey says, “my boyfriend found him wandering around when he got home this morning, and we knew he’d broken out of someone’s apartment but we didn’t know who. I was going to go doorknocking later, or maybe put up posters.”

“It’s not your fault,” Poe reassures her, looking at her. And then he turns back to BB-8. “But it most certainly is your fault.”

BB-8 barks, and licks his hand.

“Coffee?” Rey asks, when Poe stands, brushing his hands down his pants.

The thought was very tempting, but: “You’ve already babysat my dog, I can’t ask you to babysit me too,” he says. BB-8 whines. “You’ve been enough of a mooch for one morning,” he says firmly, “come on.”

But BB-8 plants himself on the floor, head on his paws, looking balefully up at Poe, and Rey uses the distraction to shove a cup into his hands and yes, this is what Poe has been missing.

“Stay,” Rey says, “really. Finn’s always saying we should be more social, and we don’t really know anyone on this floor yet, and we’ve been here for weeks.”

Poe lets her manoeuvre him back to the couch, and, pulling off his jacket, he sits amid a collection of patterned cushions. BB-8 lies down on his feet.

“Try to avoid the guy from 17B,” he advises. Fett’s temper is cold and eternal, and it pays to get on his bad side. Poe’s heard horror stories about a guy that Fett pushed into drying concrete.

“I heard from the landlady when we moved in,” Rey agrees, sitting across from him, nursing her mug in her hands. “Sounds like a nice guy.”

“About as nice as you get around here,” Poe says, and right on schedule D’an’s clarinet starts up and Rey winces. “Wow, he’s directly above you isn’t he?”

“He sure is,” Rey says, taking a long drink of coffee, “which is both a blessing and a curse in the morning, really. It always gets me up for work.” She looks at him. “I’m a mechanic. I work at a store a couple of blocks down, and my boss gets super anal when I show up late.”

“Sounds fun.” Commissioner Organa has never been overtly kind, but she takes care of her employees above all else. Honestly, Poe’s had a lot worse.

“About as fun as the clarinet,” Rey agrees, and there’s a particularly high pitched note that makes the hairs on the back of Poe’s neck stand on end. “I never want to see Superman again.”

“I always thought it was Indiana Jones.”

They both sit in silence and the song continues, and now that Rey’s mentioned it, Poe’s having trouble differentiating one from the other. It might be the exhaustion.

He leans back into the couch, letting BB-8’s coarse fur brush against the thin line of bare skin between his boots and his jeans, and closes his eyes.

Poe really doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but honestly nothing that’s happened this morning has been in his control, and so he resting his head on one hand, and the empty coffee mug slips out of his fingers and onto the couch.

When he wakes, the sunlight falling from the window is at a different place on the rug, and there’s a foul taste in his mouth.

Somehow BB-8 has moved from the floor to his lap and is lying, feet up in the air, occasionally twitching, and someone has draped his jacket over his shoulders. There’s also a very attractive guy leaning against the kitchen island, a mug in one hand and staring at him, looking very amused, who has to be Rey’s boyfriend, Finn.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you up,” he says, looking a little bashful, and Poe feels his cheeks heat. He stumbles upright, BB-8 falling from his lap with a whine, and nearly knocking his own cup to the floor, fumbling at it with one hand. “Whoa, I… I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“I’m the rude one,” Poe says, trying not to make eye contact. BB-8 is staring up at him, betrayed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Yeah, I figured,” says Finn, resting the mug on the counter and moving forward. “Rey says she found you walking around at six this morning, looking totally wiped.”

“The night shift does that,” Poe affirms. His keys are still in his pocket, and he runs a hand through his hair while he checks the time on his phone. It’s almost midday, meaning he’d crashed on Rey’s couch for more than five hours. He’ll buy them more coffee, as a thank you. It tasted about as cheap as his own, though his tends to come out with the consistency of sludge rather than anything drinkable.

Finn looks interested. “Hey, me too, at the ER. You?”

“Rescue,” Poe replies. “But I change stations a lot. And thanks,” he looks at BB-8, “I heard you found my dog this morning.”

“He was sitting in front of the elevator when I got home,” Finn says, “looking a little sad. I can never resist an animal in distress. I’m Finn, by the way.”

As if in response, BB-8 waddles over for a backrub.

“Poe,” says Poe.

A moment passes when Finn crouches, petting the dog with both hands, and Poe is left with his hands in his pockets, trying very hard to keep it together. He hasn’t slept in his own bed for a week, he reasons, and he’s going to spend the next twenty four hours unconscious. He’s just figuring out how to awkwardly excuse himself when Finn stands, ignoring BB-8 scrabbling at his legs, and says:

“Let me walk you to your apartment.”

“It’s just down the hall, I’ll be fine,” Poe insists, his stomach feeling weirdly tingly. “Really, you’ve done enough.”

“Rey made me promise,” Finn says, leading the way towards the door. “She was worried you might pass out again before you get the key in the lock.”

Poe isn’t entirely sure what to make of that.

His own apartment is largely empty, because Poe is rarely home, but cluttered because everything he does own rarely makes it to the cupboard, and instead litters the table and the couch and the bench and the bed he doesn’t get to sleep in. While Rey and Finn’s apartment feels lived in, Poe’s has more of the “showroom that someone’s broken into and trashed” aesthetic. As he pushes the door open, he pulls his boots off, toes finding deep grooves at the back of each shoe with ease, and leaves them in a haphazard pile, out of the way. BB-8 bounces forward, lying down on a couch cushion he must have relocated at some point before his early morning excursion.

“It’s a bit messy,” Poe says, even though messy is a bit of an understatement, “I’m not usually home long enough to clean.”

Finn’s carefully inspecting one of the framed photos on the counter, one of his mom and her plane, before glancing around the room with a careful eye.

“I’ve definitely seen worse,” he says, “Rey, for instance. Worst hoarder I’ve ever met.”

Thinking back to their living room, and the juxtaposition between cleanliness and barely concealed clutter, Poe can believe it.

“I’d offer you coffee,” he says, “but honestly yours was a lot nicer than mine.”

Finn waves a hand. “It’s cool,” he says, “I think there’s an episode of Come Dine with Me that I’m missing.”

He watches cooking shows and his girlfriend’s a really, really nice hoarder. This feels slightly surreal.

Poe sees Finn to the door.

“Come round for coffee again,” Finn says, turning to look at him.

“Sure, if it’s not too much trouble,” Poe says, even though he has every intention of taking him up on that offer. He waves until Finn’s out of sight, and then shuts the door with a bang, whirling around to look at his dog.

“What just happened?” Poe asks BB-8. “Did you plan this?”

He only gets a huff in reply, so he just walks to his bed, doesn’t even bother to shove the growing pile of clothes or remove his pants, and instead just faceplants straight onto the duvet.

He wants to sleep for a week.

He sleeps for eighteen hours, and then he’s back on the job again.

His mother had worked in a variety of transport jobs but her heart had always belonged to flying, and she’d met his father during the Vietnam War. He’d been ground forces, and she’d been a flight nurse, and she was, as his father used to say: “a bird trapped on the ground.” She’d also been shot out of the sky less than ten years later, when she was flying in to give international aid.

Poe knows it scares his father in a quiet and constant way, in the same way he tenses when a plane takes off, while Poe presses his face against the glass, perfectly still, hearing the engine rumble beneath them. If he’d had a choice, he would’ve been a pilot, commercial or otherwise, or somehow gotten wealthy enough to afford one of his own. As it was, he had a license and that was it, and he was still stuck on the ground.

“You look exhausted,” Jess tells him as he’s pulling his uniform. He gives her a look.

“Maybe it’s because I am,” he says. He slept for much longer than normal, but he still feels drained and wobbly. Also, he might’ve lost his jacket, which he feels irrationally crabby about.

“Trouble with the missus?”

“You’re hilarious, Pava. Really.”

She gives him a toothy grin, and smacks his hat onto his head before walking out of the room. Poe stifles a yawn behind his hand and fumbles with his vest, strapping it on with his eyes half closed as he walks towards his car. It’s a Tuesday, which means Karé bought the coffee, and he takes it from her without looking, moving around to the driver’s side and sitting behind the wheel.

“You look terrible,” Karé says bluntly as he turns the key in the ignition. He doesn’t even bother to glare.

“You look lovely too,” he says drily. “Nice to see you, by the way.”

She snorts. “Seriously, Dameron. Have you been sleeping?”

“I wasn’t aware that you were my mother, Karé.”

“I wasn’t aware that you were so determined to dodge the question,” she cuts back, and then her face softens a little. “Poe, if this is about Muran again-”

“It’s not, and I slept for almost twenty hours last night,” Poe says, because thinking about Muran never helps with his driving. “Seriously, I’m fine. I just had to spend a lot of time yesterday looking for my dog.”

“The corgi? The one too round to walk?”

“His name is BB-8 and he’s beautiful,” Poe says defensively.

“You literally complain about him all the time,” Karé points out, sounding amused. “And turn here. We’re circling Dathomir tonight.”

Poe flicks on his indicators and makes a smooth left turn behind a white van. Once the road straightens out again, Karé clears her throat.

“The Captain said yesterday that there was increased First Order activity in your neighbourhood,” she says quietly. “Did you know?”

“Should I ask why you’re asking?”

“I just don’t want you to do anything stupid.”

The last time he’d done anything particularly stupid, he’d lost a member of his team and got a new job. He still hasn’t quite decided whether or not it was worth it.

He relaxes his grip on the steering wheel. “You can relax, Karé. I’m off next week, and the last thing I plan on doing is wasting my time going after the fake mob.”

“They’re not fake if they have guns and political power, genius,” Karé snaps back, but her voice sounds lighter again, and she moves to get a little more comfortable under the seat belt.

The First Order was a mob in the way that identifying them as an active militia operating in the middle of a city would be seen as very problematic. Poe’s first encounter with them was minor; when he was a sergeant with the Hosnian police he’d run into half a dozen of their Stormtroopers roughing up a few tenants in a building on the East Side. He’d followed procedure, cuffed them and brought them to the station, and not even five minutes later they were walking out the front door. One of them had sent Poe a particularly cruel grin as he’d pulled his white helmet over his head, and the group of motorcycles had pulled out of the curb as a group.

For his service to the city, Poe had gotten an official warning, and he knew from that point on he was being watched.

And the thing was, it didn’t stop: he saw more and more of them, always in those ridiculous bike helmets, always in a large group, always causing trouble. Once, he saw a squad car pulled over by about half a dozen of them, and neither of the officers did anything. They just sat, in silence, until they’d finished doing whatever it was they were doing, and had then driven off.

And then, and then, Muran.

Iolo’s voice crackles in on the radio. “We have a situation near Hosnian Prime. Potential assault. I need at least two units, over.”

Karé picks up the receiver. “Copied, Black Leader responding, over.”

Poe floors it, switching on the siren.

This is as close as he got to flying, and even though the traffic is always thick at this time of night he finds his way through the crowds, moving easily from one lane to another, eyes always on the road.

Hosnian Prime is a series of historical apartments of the same design as Poe’s, only much older and with staff paid to eradicate mould. As they pull up outside, Poe sees that Jess and Snap are already on the scene, and they’re trying very hard to keep several masked figures from jumping Iolo.

He’s moving out of the car before he even realises what he’s doing, ignoring Karé calling out behind him, as soon as the instantly recognisable white helmets come into view. There’s several dozen Stormtroopers standing in a loose semi-circle, a particularly tall, particularly shiny one standing in front of them. He can see quite clearly that they’re all armed, and he can see that whatever’s happened between them and Iolo is about to spiral out of control.

“Hey!” Poe shouts, just as one of them snaps forward and delivers the first punch.

“Phasma said they were provoked.”

“Commissioner, you know that’s bullshit.”

Poe’s sitting in a very uncomfortable chair, watching as Leia Organa paces back and forth behind her desk, arms crossed with one hand at her chin. The shutters are drawn but some of the light leaks in from the all night burger place next door, casting long, vertical strips along the floor and back wall. Commissioner Organa is short only in stature; in presence and personality she takes up whole rooms by herself, and can be felt through walls. At the moment, her brow is creased heavily and she looks concerned.

“You know that we’re not supported by the Senate,” she says, “and things are only going to get worse between us if these situations keep spiralling out of control.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, the First Order was assaulting tenants without provocation. They were illegally entering apartments… they were all armed-”

“I wasn’t doubting your story, Captain,” she interjects, “I was just making an observation.”

There’s a silence as Organa closes her eyes and rubs the bridge of her nose.

“They’re going to make a move.”

“Ma’am?”

“You know that this is what they’ve been doing, their project for the last several months,” she says. “Breaking into multi-unit housing, both public and private.”

“Yes,” Poe says, “but I wasn’t sure… there’s been no major police involvement.”

“Of course there hasn’t,” Organa says, turning to the window and cracking the blind open. The sudden shot of light into the room is almost blinding, “because we have reason to believe that Snoke might be directly involved with them.”

Poe has to think, briefly, because ever since Muran he’s found the politics of the Senate exceptionally depressing and completely useless, and watching them debate about whether or not a bunch of murderers should run free makes him want to drink and drink and never stop.

“Snoke… he’s a member of the Housing Commission, right?” He asks. A greying, heavily scarred face comes to mind, permanently hunched over. “For the Starkiller project?”

Organa gives a short, sharp nod. “I’ve held my suspicions about Snoke’s involvement for years, ever since he first appeared on the radar. But since… since Sergeant Muran, we’ve seen him in direct contact with one of the First Order’s main players.” Then she looks at him, properly, and she just looks tired. About as tired as he feels. “We can’t do anything about this publicly.”

“But privately?” He asks.

“Privately, you have this week off,” Organa says, “I don’t want you getting involved in this latest nonsense, you know that they’ve been keeping tabs on you. I know you’re not stupid, Dameron, but I also know you’re impulsive, and you have a very set sense of right and wrong.”

“If I may, Commissioner, I’m right about this,” Poe says, “all the things they were doing, what we caught them doing, they’re not legal if they have one person in the Senate.”

“I never said they had one person, Captain,” Organa says, sitting down and clasping her hands together, “but that’s my problem, for now. Here’s what you’re going to do; you’re going to keep your head down this week. Walk your dog, hang out with friends, sleep because you look like you need it. Don’t do anything to do with the First Order. If you see them, walk the other way. If they approach you, avoid them and do not engage.”

“But-” He tries.

“Poe.” He shuts up immediately. “I’m telling you to do this, to rest, because for one thing I don’t think you’ve had a sleep pattern in months.” She raises an eyebrow. “Seriously. And for another, there’s a chance we’re going to have to launch an independent investigation on who else might have allied themselves with the First Order in the Senate, and I’ll need everyone ready to work at their best ability.” Then she shoos him. “Now go home. You look like shit.”

“I…” Poe starts, then stops. Organa doesn’t like to breed affection, based on some personal issues that Poe isn’t going to ask about because it isn’t his place, but really that’s what she’s done. She looks nothing like Shara Bey, who at this point is nothing more than a smudge in Poe’s memory, but there’s that same feeling of warmth as he snaps a salute, and leaves the office.

On the way home, even though it’s a quarter to five in the morning, he orders take-out Chinese food because he’s feeling depressed and slightly sorry for himself, and BB-8 has a weakness for spring rolls.

As he’s walking up the stairs, helmet tucked under one arm and bag held in the other, he sees that someone’s stuck a bright pink sticky note to his front door. He gingerly peels it off. It’s decorated with tiny suns and written on the front in black sharpie are the words: HI POE WE FOUND YOUR DOG AGAIN :D

“Oh you are shitting me,” Poe says, yanking the door open so violently that it bounces against the wall. And, sure enough, the hallway is utterly devoid of corgi. He finds himself just standing there, staring at the rug until he sighs, letting himself go entirely boneless before standing straight. He carefully puts the helmet on the arm of the couch and pulls off his bag, but holds onto his takeout. If BB-8 proves to be as difficult as last time, he should be tempted with the possibility of spring rolls.

Not that Poe really has any intention of actually giving him any spring rolls.

He only knocks once before there’s a series of happy scratches and yips and the door opens to Finn’s smiling, if tired, face.

“Hey again,” says Finn. “Long time no see.”

“I’m so sorry,” Poe says, dangling the bag in front of BB-8’s nose to draw him out of the apartment. “I don’t know how he keeps getting out. I’ll get the lock replaced, or maybe install a child safety door.” BB-8 is pawing desperately at the plastic, noise twitching. “And you look exhausted, I didn’t mean to keep you up-”

 Finn shakes it off. “It’s fine,” he says, “really. It was a slow night, and Rey’s usually up by now anyway. It was no trouble.” Then he seems to pause, considering, before ducking his head, gesturing down the hall. “Want to come in?”

And Poe’s still kind of running on empty, and also he’s determined not to think about how their couch was a hundred times softer than his, and how he slept better in those five hours than he did in eighteen, but he shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says, backing off a bit, “I really… this is already too much.”

“Poe,” Finn says bluntly, “you look terrible, and I won’t sleep well knowing you’re sleeping on your crappy couch.” BB-8 gives him the puppy eyes.

“That stopped working after that time you threw up in my bag and tried to look innocent about it,” Poe tells him, but somehow he ends up inside anyway.

Rey’s hunched over the kitchen island on a stool, looking half-asleep and almost swallowed in a hoodie patterned with the Jakku Starships logo. She’s holding a very large mug in both hands.

“Morning, Poe,” she says, voice surprisingly clear despite the hour. He does a little wave in return, and is almost knocked over when BB-8 tries to get at the spring rolls. “Excellent,” she says, shoving the papers aside. “You brought takeout. Takeout for breakfast. Excellent.”

Before Poe can get a word in edgewise, they’ve cleared the bench and have laid out bowls and forks and a very bent spoon, and he’s watching as Finn carefully distributes the sweet and sour pork evenly between the three of them. BB-8 makes a truly valiant effort to get onto Poe’s lap, but he gets pushed back to the floor with a dull whine.

Poe is too tired to feel sympathy, but sneaks him a spring roll anyway.

They eat in comfortable silence that Poe has only really known from people he’s served with. Once or twice, Finn will mention something to Rey, and they’ll both laugh, but he doesn’t feel excluded. It’s… nice.

“We’ve had a big job come in,” Rey says at one point. “A Corellian model, apparently. A real piece of garbage, and I’m at least ninety percent sure it’s stolen.” Finn nudges her in a very exaggerated manner and then jerks his head at Poe. Rey swallows. “Ah, I mean, I’m ninety percent sure it’s second hand.”

“Just between us,” Poe says past a mouthful of noodles, “I’m off duty right now. And even if I wasn’t, someone dealing in Corellian cars is not something I’d be particularly involved in.”

“Oh, so you think you’re too good for potentially illegal car dealership?” Rey asks teasingly.

“Yes,” Poe says, and feeds BB-8 another roll.

He falls into a slight doze once he’s finished with his food, and Rey starts to move around, getting ready. Poe stands next to Finn as they do the dishes, while BB-8 naps under the table, and Rey kisses Finn, and then leans over and kisses Poe on the cheek.

“Thanks for takeout breakfast,” she says, her voice warm, and then she’s out the door.

Poe has a list of things he’s been planning on doing during his break: changing the lock on his apartment, and maybe finally clearing his bed and buying a new mattress. His dad forwarded him a list of recipes his mom used to make, trying to force him to stop eating takeout, so he might finally use his tiny, barely functioning kitchenette. BB-8 probably needs a new bed; incentive to stop him from sleeping on the couch cushions. He needs to go home and sleep, and maybe take the Ambien tablets Jess had forced him into getting months ago.

But he stays, absentmindedly drying dishes, and listening to Finn’s running commentary on football, and how he and Rey wanted a dog but they didn’t feel like they’d been in the neighbourhood for long enough, and really they’d only just moved him.

“When did you move in?” Poe finds himself asking.

Finn freezes briefly, before squinting in thought. “It must have been… six months ago, now. You didn’t see us move in?”

Muran had probably just died, Poe thinks. “No, I was probably asleep,” he says instead. “You know me.”

Finn gives him a slow, happy smile that Poe doesn’t really understand. “Yeah,” he says, sounding happy, “I guess I kinda do.”

You met two days ago, Poe tells himself firmly, pull yourself together.

Finn says something, and Poe snaps out of it. “Sorry?”

“Got anything planned over the next couple of days?” Finn repeats.

“I… no. I’m on break, actually,” Poe says. He isn’t really sure why he volunteers this situation, especially since he wanted to be alone in the first place. “For the next week.”

Finn nods, and pulls the plug out of the sink. The moment is broken by a loud gurgle, and Poe watches the swirl of soap suds and flecks of rice in the water.

“Would you want to… hang out, I guess?” Finn asks, sounding awkward. “Without the excuse of your dog, I mean. “ He holds up both hands. “And it’s totally cool if you don’t want to! We did just eat your food, and made you clean up.”

But he still looks hopeful, wringing the dishtowel between his fingers.

“Sure,” Poe says. “I’d like that.”

The smile he gets back, while small, is still blinding.

Poe would like to say that he and Finn spend the rest of the day doing something fulfilling, or maybe bonding over their shared masculine interests like small dogs and Come Dine with Me, but instead, they end up on the couch, and at some point Finn turns on the Food Network. Poe lasts long enough to see half of a particularly violent episode of Chopped, and then Finn’s head somehow ends up on his shoulder and BB-8 makes a pleased snuffling noise on the carpet, and he doesn’t think about how odd all this is.

He comes back to soft voices and what feels like a hand carding through his hair. Time drips past him, although unlike last time he doesn’t jerk violently back into wakefulness, and instead rises slowly, shifting against the warm weight against his side. Cracking one eye open, he sees that Rey is leaning over the back of the couch, eyes fixed on the television.

“What time is it?” He croaks.

She glances at her watch. “Just after one,” she says. “The completely legal Corellian job didn’t come through today, so I got let off early.”

“You have a really great couch,” Poe says, winking at her. Just like last time, even though his back feels a bit stiff and his left arm is asleep, he feels less drained than normal. Looking down, he sees that Finn has curled up around his left shoulder, one arm flung over his stomach, still breathing softly. Poe internally counts to ten, and breathes in a few times.

“You seem to keep ending up on it,” Rey says, but she’s smiling, and she moves to sit beside him, legs curled beneath her, but unlike Finn she carefully keeps distance between them. She holds out his phone. “You got a call earlier, from,” she looks at the screen, “’The Most Beautiful Lieutenant That I Don’t Deserve.’”

Karé, then. He takes it from her, idly scrolling through his missed calls. She’s called him three times, and sent a text that says: if ur alive dameron text me back :3

“Sorry,” he says as he types out a response. “She’s one of the people I work with, and she tends to get a little protective.”

“Girlfriend?”

He starts. “…What?”

Rey turns a bit red, scratching at her cheek and not looking at him. “Sorry, invasive.”

Blinking at her, Poe says: “We’ve never-she’s got a girlfriend. We’ve never been involved.” Karé has been dating Jess for years, and really enjoys throwing it in Poe’s face.

Rey seems to relax a little, and even shift a little closer as she turns up the volume.

Poe finds himself awake at five AM and, with a lack of anything else to do, takes his dog for a walk.

“Walk” might be too strong a word; as much as BB-8 enjoys walking to find people to give him backrubs and scratches, he’s a born and bred indoor dog. Really, his main source of exercise is waddling down to the ground floor and taking a trip round the block before stopping to take a piss in the alley. Poe’s main source of exercise is then carrying BB-8 back up the stairs.

Because of the recent influx of BB-8-related early morning activity, it shouldn’t be too surprising that Poe finds himself woken up to soft paws against his arm, the only part of his body hanging off the couch, and thus in a very small dog’s reach.

“I’m on holiday, you know,” Poe says past a yawn, pulling on his boots and a shirt over his boxers. In the past couple of days, the temperatures have begun to spike, and the insulation in the building has never quite passed the DA inspection. BB-8, leadless, stands by the front door, tail wagging. He gives a soft bark. “Yeah, I know. Come on.”

Once in the hall, BB-8 makes a beeline for Rey and Finn’s apartment, to the point where Poe has to shove him towards the fire door with his foot.

“No more bothering the neighbours,” Poe says, “and besides, I think they want to spend time with me, not you.” BB-8 whines. “You can’t have everything, sorry.”

He’d stayed with Finn and Rey until late in the afternoon, when Finn had finally snorted awake and Poe had shuffled around a little in their neat kitchen, making toasted sandwiches on their unused skillet. It felt a little too much like the night after a date to be comfortable, and he had to keep his eyes firmly on the stove when Rey leaned in to give Finn a kiss. He hasn’t stayed the night anywhere since Muran, and even then that was a very quiet, unspoken thing until the end.

Pushing the door open, he winces against the rush of hot air and wipes a line of sweat off his forehead. Watching BB-8 go down stairs is always a funny experience, the worn concrete not designed for a round body and tiny legs. Instead, the dog takes the stairs one at a time in tiny jumps, body held at a downward diagonal, paws kept completely straight, and accompanied by tiny huffs. It’s the highlight of Poe’s morning so far.

It isn’t quite raining, but the sky is dark and overcast and cut with thin cracks of light, and the air is humid. At this hour, the streetlights are still on and the world is dark, and Poe stands, watching the white and orange shape more around slowly, sniffing around a trashcan and an empty gum wrapper. Normally he’d only just be getting off shift and driving home. Instead, his bike is parked at the curb, and he’s wearing his pyjamas, and the world is quiet.

The silence is lost at the sound of a sharp yap and he turns, seeing BB-8 effectively cornered by someone in black that he doesn’t recognise.

“Hey!” He calls, beginning to move forward. “Hey, leave my dog alone!”

The man turns, and every single warning from Organa is suddenly gone from his head because they’re very obviously from the First Order, a fact which becomes even more apparent when two Stormtroopers seem to materialise from behind a parked car. The idea that they’d be watching him enough come here and harass his dog, to come to his house, makes his heartbeat pick up and his clenching his keys in his fist.

“You’re the cop,” says the man in black, their motorcycle helmet bringing out a strange robotic quality in their voice. When Poe gets to about two metres away one of the Stormtroopers walks forward and slams a heavy hand against his chest. “How interesting,” the person continues, not sounding the least bit interested.

Poe slaps the hand away and moves to walk around them, and gets a solid punch to the face.

He staggers backwards, and while he’s struggling to regain his equilibrium there are two firm grips on his upper arms and he’s being dragged backwards into the alley, where the building still casts a heavy shadow. He’s thrown to the ground as BB-8 begins to bark and he scrambles to his feet, fists raised, blood beginning to drip into his eye.

They’re blocking the only way out, and no one is around at this time of day, but it’s not like Poe is defenceless. Their leather bike gear is stiff and heavy and doesn’t allow movement, which impedes them at hand to hand. They got the jump on him because he was surprised, and he’s not going to let it happen again. He furiously shakes his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears. Don’t provoke them, says the Commissioner’s voice. Don’t go after them, do not engage.

“You seem to keep getting involved,” says the man. “I wonder… is it coincidence?”

“Excuse me?” Poe says, trying to calm down, trying to keep a level head. He can’t risk jeopardising whatever Organa’s planning. “It’s just… the mask isn’t helping me understand you at all. What are you going for? Leather fetish Robocop?”

One of the Stormtroopers moves forward, maybe to give him another slap on the face or push him into a dumpster, but a single hand wave from the man in black stops them.

“You live here.” It’s not a question.

“All the Senators you keep blowing, I would’ve thought you’d’ve known that,” Poe says. This has the implication that they didn’t come here to hurt him, or even harass tenants. What was it Karé said? There’d been increased activity in the area. “Is that what you guys do now? Can’t wait till the cover of night so you sneak around apartment buildings at five AM?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen anyone… out of the ordinary?” The man asks, brushing down their leather duster. “Suspicious, maybe?”

“I’m looking at him,” Poe says bluntly, and then he’s on the ground, his stomach in knots. He manages to inhale before a kick to his side that he grabs on to, twisting until the Stormtrooper falls, knocking their helmet loose. He rolls backwards, using the momentum to rise to his feet, ready to push forward, looking up.

He’s got a gun pointed at his face.

“Careful,” says the man in black, sounding bored. “I’d really hate for Commissioner Organa to lose another one of her little soldiers. Especially at such,” he cocks his head, considering, “trying times.”

Despite the heat, Poe can feel goosebumps rising on his skin, and everything seems to slow. He keeps his eyes focused on the barrel.

“Don’t do something you’ll regret,” he says.

The gun is cocked with a click that sounds thunderous. “I doubt I will,” he’s told, and the man comes closer, until metal gently caresses his forehead.

For some reason, Poe can’t find himself panicking. Really, he’s more concerned that him dying is going to get linked back to Organa, and he’s going to spend his death causing even more trouble. The slightest bit of pressure sends him stumbling further into the alley, until his back is pressed against the leather jacket of a Stormtrooper.

“How easy it would be,” says the man, in black, “to kill you right now.”

“Hey!” There’s a shout and an accompanying bark. The gun vanishes beneath the trenchcoat and Poe sees a short figure standing on the street, staring them down. BB-8 stands beside her, ears flat and teeth pulled back in a growl. Rey’s got a baseball bat in one hand, and her feet are bare. She looks furious. “Back off!”

The man in black holds his arms up in surrender as Poe is shoved away from the trooper, the two of them walking forward.

“We don’t want to cause a scene,” says the man in the same, emotionless monotone. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

“I fucking doubt that,” Rey snaps, pointing the bat towards him threateningly.

The man’s whole body suddenly changes from trying to exude power to rippling with tension, and Poe watches as his fists clench, shoulders rising up. Rey, despite the height difference, still stares him down, holding her weapon in front of her, and remaining stationary until the man nods jerkily and he strides out of sight, moving quickly around the side of the building. She watches them go, before dropping the bat and sprinting towards him, BB-8 struggling to keep up.

Poe sways a little as she grabs his face in both hands, tilting him towards the light.

“Oh my god,” Rey says, sounding very pissed off. “What did they – what the fuck.”

“Rey,” Poe tries.

“Come on,” Rey says, grabbing his hand. It’s like the morning they met, only Poe’s mouth tastes of blood and he’s thinking about how nice the bare skin of Rey’s shoulders is, and his dog keeps crying at his feet. Also, everything keeps tilting, and his vision keeps going red. “Finn just got home, he’ll help you.”

“Rey,” Poe says, as she almost drags him up the stairs. “Rey, I need to call-”

“What the fuck,” says Finn, opening the door eyes half closed, after Rey spends ten seconds pounding furiously. His eyes open wide at the sight of Poe. “What the fuck?!”

“I heard BB-8 barking, and I go downstairs to see these three lunatics kicking the shit of him in the alley,” Rey says, pacing the room furiously as Finn disappears down the hall. “I can’t believe- what were they doing?”

“Rey,” Poe says, “Rey, I really need to call my- dammit.” Finn has reappeared with a medical kit and sponges against the side of his head with a cotton ball soaked with spirits.

“Sorry,” Finn says, softening his touch.

Rey kneels in front of him, and he must look bad because her face twists. “Poe, why did they attack you?”

“Guys,” Poe says, trying to regain control of the situation, “guys, it’s fine. But I need to-“

“Finn, they were First Order.” And the hand probing at the cut about his eye freezes, and Poe looks up to see Finn’s face in an expression of what can only be described as terror. Turning back to look at Rey, he sees her mouth is set in a grim line.

“What- you guys know the First Order?” Poe asks.

Finn swallows loudly, moving around to look through the kit with shaking hands.

“We know of them,” he says in a voice dripping with false bravado. “We know what they can do, what they’ve done.”

“What were they after?” Rey says urgently. “I know what they’ve been doing to Hosnian Prime. Were they going to…?” She breaks off. The two of them have become twitchy and nervous, and its entirely that the reason they both moved in the first place was because they might’ve been affected by the mob in some way.

“I don’t know what they were after,” Poe says, “but they recognised me. I told you I work in Rescue, and we’re the only people really trying to combat what they’re doing. I think they thought they might get something about Commissioner Organa out of me, or maybe it was a scare tactic.”

“That guy had a gun on you and you weren’t fighting back!” Rey snaps at him, waving a hand. “Your knuckles aren’t bruised, which means you just stood there and took it.”

“I’m not allowed to interfere,” Poe says. His face is starting to throb and he knows his stomach is probably a mess of bruises, which is another thing to look forward to. There’s wetness on his bare ankle, and he looks down to see BB-8 gazing up at him, distressed. He runs a hand over his ears, scratching under the dogs chin.

“Not allowed – you’re not allowed to interfere?” Rey says, sounding incredulous.

“It’s probably for the best,” Finn says at the same time. Poe doesn’t need to look up to know she’s frowning at him. “The First Order are known for being ruthless and dodging law enforcement. They probably would have just pinned it on Poe and come back to finish the job later.”

“Which is why I really need to call my boss,” Poe insists, grabbing for his phone. The corner of the screen is cracked from when he fell on the pavement, but brushes the tiny pricks of glass aside and holds it to his ear.

It rings for exactly two beats, then:

“Organa.”

“Commissioner, this is Dameron.”

There’s a loud sigh, and Poe can imagine her holding her head in her hands.

“You’re supposed to be on break, Captain. It’s been less than twenty four hours.”

“I know, ma’am. It’s just… you warned me about engaging with the First Order.”

He hears a shift, as though she sits up straighter.

“Dameron,” she says, a warning tone in her voice.

“Ma’am, they assaulted me outside my apartment building this morning,” Poe says, as Finn deftly begins to stitch his face back together. The pain stings but cuts through the haze, and he tightens his grip on the chair. “Unprovoked. They were all armed.”

“Can you ID them?”

“No, they were all masked.”

“How many?” She asks, sounding almost concerned.

“Three. Only two were Stormtroopers, though. The third was an unknown player.”

“Can you describe what he was wearing?”

Poe thinks back. “Um, tall? Wearing all black, a long coat. A helmet, obviously. It was doing something to his voice, too.”

There’s a pause as Organa seems to think it over. “Sounds like Kylo Ren.”

“Ren?” Poe asks, and suddenly Rey’s hands are on his knees, holding tightly. He starts. What? He mouths, but she just shakes her head. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“You wouldn’t’ve. He’s been underground until recently.” He hears another sigh, and the shuffling of papers. “Listen, just… stay where you are. I’ll see Kun and Pava over to check up on you.”

“I’m really fine, ma’am.”

“Sure, Dameron,” she says, clearly not believing him. “Stay in your apartment and don’t open the door to anyone.”

“You think they’ll come back?” Poe asks, and jerks when Finn pulls the thread taut.

“Unlikely, but I haven’t been around this long by being lax. Stay safe.” And then she hangs up.

Poe stays still while Finn finishes up on his face, before Finn starts to move his hands down his chest.

“More pain?” Finn asks.

“I think they hit him in the stomach,” Rey says, beginning to lift his shirt.

“That’s just bruising,” Poe says, batting her hands away, and standing. Pain flares through his abdomen, but it’s dull and easily manageable. “I’m fine. But thank you, it saved me a trip to the ER.”

“I was just doing my job,” Finn says, teeth worrying on his lip. “Listen, Poe, if the First Order really are after you-”

“If I run any risk to the people living in this building I promise that I’ll leave,” Poe assures him. “Which is why I’m going to go back to my apartment.”

“You can’t,” Rey blurts. Poe cocks an eyebrow even though it pulls at the fresh stitches. “I mean… you’re injured. You shouldn’t sleep.”

“Actually that’s a myth,” Finn interjects. For the sake of show he brings out a penlight, and shines it into Poe’s eyes. “See? He doesn’t need further treatment, so he should be fine.”

Rey gives him a very unimpressed look.

“Look, some of the people I work with are going to come and make sure I’m okay,” Poe says reassuringly, “and after that, I’m going to go back to bed. When it’s a more reasonable time in the day, I’ll investigate, but right now I just want to sleep it off.”

“You’re welcome to stay here,” Rey says.

“I know,” Poe says, “and thank you. But last time I checked you have to work and Finn needs to sleep without worrying about me bleeding on the couch.

“I’ll be worrying anyway,” Finn says.

“Listen,” Rey concedes. “Just, stay with us until your friends arrive. Please?”

She looks a little like she’s fraying at the edges, and BB-8 seems to have permanently relocated on his feet, and Finn is wringing his hands.

“I… sure,” Poe says. “Fine, okay. And then I’m going home.”

He sends Jess a text that he’s in 12B instead of 14B, and ten minutes later there’s a loud knock on the door, and before Poe can stand Rey has hurried off to answer it.

“Is Captain Idiot here?” Karé asks.

“Leave her alone,” He calls, “and I’m fine, thanks for asking!”

Karé and Jess walk into the living room, both still in uniform, and take in the sight of Poe sitting, face bloodied and still in his pyjamas, with Finn starting to make coffee.

“Wow,” Karé says, “you look like shit.”

“And you have other friends!” Jess says, sounding impressed. “I’m so proud!”

If facepalming wouldn’t possibly damage Finn’s painstaking stitches, Poe would be slamming his head repeatedly against the table.

Karé moves forward, carefully inspecting his face with a critical eye. “You’re an idiot,” she tells him.

“Hey,” he says indignantly, “it’s not like I asked them to hit me.”

“Are you sure? Because-”

“We’re going to run a sweep on your apartment, and then check downstairs,” Jess says quietly, looking at Poe. “I can see you don’t need to go to the hospital.” She looks at Finn and Rey. “So, thanks for looking after him.”

She reaches down and wraps one of his arms over her shoulders pulling him upright.

“You’re welcome to stay,” Finn insists, but Poe brushes him off.

“I need to go home and think about what happened,” he says easily, leaning on Pava. “I’ll see you…?”

“Later today,” Rey says, “so I can check to make sure you’re not dead.”

“I’m sure he’ll look forward to it,” Karé says, sounding bored. “Nice meeting you.”

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Karé says: “I never would have pinned you as a homewrecker, Dameron.”

Blushing scarlet at her tone, he shoves her hard enough for her to trip over BB-8, whose ears are still drooped. “Be quiet, Kun,” he hisses at her.

“Seriously though,” Jess says, sounding curious. “There was something going on there, right?”

“Definitely,” Karé says, nodding, and throwing him a wink.

“I’m injured,” Poe complains. “It’s illegal for you to make fun of me right now.”

“Okay, boss,” says Karé, opening the door and helping to manoeuvre him onto the couch. “Though I still can’t decide who you’d be cheating on who with.”

“How about neither of them because they’re my friends,” Poe insists, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

“Why not both?” Jess asks, and hums the Old El Paso theme song under her breath.

Poe doesn’t want to deal with this, so when BB-8 scratches at his leg he hauls him onto his lap and buries his nose into coarse fur.

“Apartment’s clean,” Karé says. “Even though, it’s not really, obviously, because you’re a slob. We’re going to check in the alley, and then we’re gonna leave.” Her voice turns weirdly gentle. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m really fine,” Poe insists for the fifteenth time that morning. Neither of them look like they really believe him, but he gets a kiss pressed onto the crown of his head, and the door closes quietly behind them.

He doesn’t actually sleep, and instead finds himself pacing around his living room, BB-8 at his heels.

For some reason, his exhaustion has dried up so he ends up having a shower, trying very hard to avoid scrubbing too hard at his face or the wide blue and green bruises across his ribs. He’s cleaner but even more awake, so because he’s feeling particularly restless and idiotic, he leaves his apartment, locking BB-8 in behind him, and heads back downstairs.

The street is busier now and he gets a few odd looks, so he ducks back into the alley.

It looks the same, only now it’s empty and much hotter, even in the shade. His skin prickles, and he rubs his hand over his eyes. There’s no evidence that the First Order were even there, and the only remnants of their altercation are several spots of Poe’s blood and some crumpled newspapers from where he tripped the Stormtrooper.

Curious, he paces back to where he’d spotted them in the first place, and finds that they’d been standing on the corner next to a dying sapling that BB-8 enjoys chewing on. From this position, he makes a three hundred and sixty degree rotation of the street. He sees the steps of the apartment block, door held slightly agape. The alley, and the pavement, and the lights about ten metres down, and then the Christian centre across the street… nothing particularly exciting or different than normal.

The only reason he can fathom that they were here so early is if they were scoping out another block to start operating on, but D’Qar is traditionally less hospitable than Hosnian Prime, and Organa had apparently been an original owner. They had to know that.

Poe finds himself thinking about Finn’s kneejerk reaction to hearing about the First Order, and then stamps it down. He has the right to his own privacy, and if he got fucked over by them, it’s just another reason to hate them.

As if on cue his phone starts to buzz and, looking down, he sees an unidentified number.

“Hello?”

“Poe? It’s Finn.”

“Oh,” he says, “how did you…?”

“One of your friends gave me your number,” Finn says, “because they were worried about you. Anyway, I need to give you your jacket back, and you aren’t in your apartment.”

“Yeah, I’m downstairs,” Poe says, “I’ll head back up now.”

“I thought they said to stay in your apartment,” Finn says.

“I’ve always been a rule breaker,” Poe replies. “And it’s fine, Finn. There’s no one out here.”

“Still.”

“I’ll see you in a minute, okay?”

“Alright.”

Hanging up, he shoves his phone into his pocket, and walks back the stairs.

“Hello again,” says a voice from behind him and, turning, he’s hit once, twice, then, nothing.