Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was alone in the dark, barely there, a small pinprick of consciousness wrapped in velvet black. Sometimes the stars burst before his eyes, a thousand sharp points of light blinding him with their brilliance. Sometimes he burned, engulfed by flickering flames, a white mask charring to black. He was raw and red and fluttering in the light of dying suns, he was cold and blue and frozen to cracked ground. Then the darkness would fall again and all was soothing silence.

He was alone, but then she was there, far off, far away.

“We will see each other again.”

She spoke the words like a promise, a mantra he repeated into the empty night until the words lost all meaning and the stars came too close, their light too bright. He could not see, he could not breathe. He was drowning in Starkiller snow.

“I believe that.”

“Rey!” His voice tore from his throat, harsh, ragged, like that of a stranger. Ice and rage and panic slowly gave way to white and soft, the gentle hum of machinery drowned out by the pounding of his heart. “Rey.”

“Is safe, as are you.” A voice, calm, female, gently commanding. “She has gone to find Luke Skywalker.” A sharp sensation in the toes of his left foot. “Can you feel that?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Starkiller has been destroyed, Ren defeated, for the moment.” Another sharp, short pain in his other foot. “And that?”

“Yes.”

“You are currently on a Resistance transport. We are relocating to the Casmus system now that D’Qar has been compromised. Can you move your fingers?”

He obeyed, though his hands felt clumsy and strange. His whole body felt heavy, too big and stiff, like a new pair of boots that hadn’t been worn in. He twitched his fingers, made fists with his hands. He lifted his arms an inch from the surface he was lying on. The voice asked and he obeyed, turning his head left and right.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“FN-2187.” Unbidden the numbers came, tripping from his tongue as they had done countless times before. He felt them hanging in the air around him, dirty, wrong. Traitor. The word was a beacon in the fog of his mind, branded onto his skin by burning red. Traitor. He was not a serial number anymore.

“Finn.” His voice was stronger now, steadied by conviction. He was not a number. He would never be a number again.

“My name is Finn.”

“Well, Finn, you are an extremely lucky man.” Doctor Kalonia regarded him over the top of her data pad. She was a kind woman, stern, but with a wicked sense of humour that only occasionally made itself apparent. She was an excellent physician. “Any deeper and that saber would have killed you.”

Finn nodded, staring at his hands. He lay in a tiny ward, dressed in soft grey clothes that weren’t his, having undergone hours of tests at the hands of the doctor and her small army of medidroids. Once she had assessed the damage, she had allowed for the head of his bed to be raised, propping Finn up on pillows. Sitting up had caused his entire body to tremble – his muscles had begun to atrophy in the bed bound weeks since Starkiller had been blown from the sky – but he was pleased to be a few degrees closer to upright. The compact medical room provided a more interesting view than the grey tiles above his bed.

“Most of the damage has already been repaired. With rest and the proper physical therapy, I am hopeful you will make a full recovery.” The doctor gave him a warm smile. He tried to return it. “We will go over your treatment plan later. For now you have a visitor.” She rose and went to the door, murmuring quiet instructions to a medidroid as she passed.

Finn waited, anxious and a little hopeful. The General swept in. Finn found himself trying to sit to attention, the effort making him shake, the new skin on his back feeling tight and tender. She took the seat Kalonia had vacated.

“At ease, Finn.” She smiled gently as he allowed himself to relax, the lines deepening around her brown eyes. Her hair had been pulled back into a simple crown braid, her clothing was warm and comfortable for space flight. Serene and sensible, she was so different from the extravagant pomp and ceremony of the officers of the First Order, but she commanded far more respect from him than they could ever have hoped.

“Has the good doctor filled you in on our situation?”

Finn nodded. “Yes, I think so. Have you heard from Rey?”

“Not yet. You will be among the first to know when we do, I promise.” Her eyes were kind. She seemed tired.

“Thank you, General.”

“That was a very brave thing you did, going back for her.”

“Thank you, General.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her face passive, inscrutable. “Tell me, Finn. Do you still want to run?”

“Yes.” It did not cross his mind to lie. She would know the truth regardless, lying would only cause her to think poorly of him. “But I need to stay. If you’ll have me.”

“You will be welcome in the Resistance.”

“Thank you.” He scrutinised his fingers, shame prickling his skin, a small frown creasing his forehead. “I don’t think running is an option anymore.”

“No? We could hide you, if you wanted. It would be the least we could do, in return for all you’ve done.”

Finn shook his head, glancing up at General Organa nervously. She remained unreadable. “No. It’s. I was going to leave, but when they took her … I said I would never go back. But when I saw they had Rey...” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “There was no option. I know what they do to people. It needs to stop. I need to help stop it. If I can.” He finished lamely, his dark eyes fixed upon his own knees.

“Your help will be invaluable, Finn. You have an understanding of how the Order operates that none of us have. You offer a unique perspective.” She leant forward and took his right hand in both of hers. “The Resistance has already been saved because of your actions. There is hope for the Galaxy because one man made the decision to do the right thing.” She squeezed his hand tighter. His cheeks were burning. “I have sworn to do everything in my power to stop the First Order. It is a promise I have made to everyone who fights for the Resistance, and I make it to you now. It is a promise I intend to keep.”

She rose from his bedside and he marvelled at how a woman so small could be so imposing. He was filled with equal parts pleasure and embarrassment from her words of praise and the pride in her voice. “We can discuss this later. We will be landing on Casmus IV within the hour and I want you to carefully consider what kind of role you would like to play within the Resistance. For now though, you should rest.”

“Thank you, General.” She bowed her head and turned to leave. She was at the door when Finn felt he had to speak. “General?”

She paused in the door frame, a small silhouette in the corridor lights. “Yes, Finn?”

“I’m sorry about Han Solo.”

He froze as soon as the words left his lips, terrified he had spoken out of turn, horrified at the idea he might have offended her or caused her more grief. She stood still for a long moment.

She sighed, very small, very sad.

“I am too.”

The transport landed with a thud. The doors slid open and let in a wave of cloying, sticky heat. He could hear raised voices, the chirping voices of astromechs, the clunking of heavy machinery. Every half an hour or so, the little room shook with the roar of Starfighters coming into land. The doctor had left him to assemble her new realm, leaving him alone. Finn waited in his bed like an afterthought, wondering when he would be remembered. If he would be remembered, a treacherous voice in the corner of his mind whispered.

He drifted in and out of sleep, anxious and exhausted. Dark figures with blurred features loomed in dreams that began to blend with his waking minutes, leaving him sickened and dizzy. He was grateful for the regular noise of the Starfighters above, pulling him from nightmares with their comforting rumble.

Kalonia returned after what felt like days, but could only have been hours. She brought him water and food and apologised for leaving him for so long.

“I’ve set up your new quarters in the base, Finn. I want you to stay in medical until we’ve got you moving more independently, but you have a place to stay, ready and waiting.”

Finn swallowed the mouthful of plain protein bread he had been chewing. “Thank you, Doctor. For everything.”

She waved him off and picked up the datapad from beside his bed. “The best way you can thank me is to get better. We should get you moved to the new med bay, there’s more room there than in here.” She gestured to a hover chair in the corner. “Do you feel up to using that? Or shall we take the bed through?”

“The chair, please.”

It was not easy getting into the chair. He grimaced, the pain flaring along his back as the doctor helped him from the bed. His feet felt oddly distant when they touched the floor. A medidroid trundled over to help lower him onto the plush padded seat and held onto the back as Kalonia fussed around adjusting the chair to suit Finn’s body. She then gave him a brief demonstration of the controls.

The heavy door of the transport rolled up as they approached and a wave of hot, humid air rolled over them. He could see a patch of brilliant blue sky and below it, ground covered in deep green vegetation. Finn had to shade his eyes with his hand as Doctor Kalonia guided the chair out into the bright sunlight of Casmus IV.

The heat was stifling, the air heavy with the scent of salt. He was surrounded by greenery, the new base seemed almost to have sprung from the jungle itself. The ramshackle buildings that sprawled over the hill and down to the white sandy beach below were already covered by vines and plants he had no name for. He could see the shapes of Starfighters dark against the sand. A great body of water stretched out to the horizon, blue meeting hazy blue where it reached the sky.

“Has Rey been here?” he asked the doctor, his mouth hanging open slightly.

“I’m afraid she left us when we were still on D’Qar.”

“She’d love this.” He fell quiet. Rey would have marvelled at the sight of so much green and so much water. He felt lonely. It was strange. He was never alone in the First Order, a cog in a well-oiled machine. After the escape, there was Rey. All of his stupid, foolish, selfish bravery had been for Rey. He never had been able to leave anyone behind.

Then she left him.

He missed her.

A high pitched whistle broke him from his reverie as a blur of white and orange burst from the nearest hangar and steamrollered towards him, flattening the undergrowth in its wake. It came to an abrupt halt in front of him and screeched.

“BB-8! You made it!”

The little droid spun round joyously, chirping like a robotic bird. Doctor Kalonia smiled warmly. “It seems you were missed, Finn.” He turned to look at her, scars stinging. She nodded towards the hangar. BB-8 whistled, one short note followed by another longer note that made Kalonia laugh. Finn did not know why.

Jogging towards them across the overgrown runway was one Commander Poe Dameron, orange flight suit down to his waist, oil stains on his t-shirt and a smudge on his cheek. As he grew closer, he gave Finn the brightest smile the ex-Stormtrooper had ever seen. Automatically, Finn attempted to rise, only to be firmly pushed back into the chair by the Doctor.

“Poe. Poe Dameron!” He hadn’t thought of Poe, Poe Dameron, best pilot in the Resistance, hadn’t thought of him hurtling through Starkiller skies, the might of the First Order on his tail. Of course he had been there. Of course he had survived against all the odds.

Finn couldn’t quite believe it.

“Finn, buddy, am I glad to see you!”

Finn grinned as Poe reached down to grasp him by the shoulders, their eyes locked, foreheads almost touching. He clung to the pilot’s arms and found he was laughing, joy and relief bubbling in his chest. Poe was here and he was alive and he was real. His hair was longer than Finn remembered it, wayward curls falling across his forehead, and he smelt of sweat and motor oil and Poe, that warm safe scent that had clung to the jacket since Jakku. His touch was warm on Finn’s shoulders.

“You had us worried for a while there.” Poe’s voice was quiet, only for him, his face soft and smiling. “You look good,” he said, and he chuckled when Finn scoffed, biting his lip that same way he had on D'Qar a lifetime ago. Then the moment passed and he stood back, crossed his arms and turned his grin to the doctor. “Kalonia, you truly are a miracle worker.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

There was a crash that made Finn flinch painfully. Someone yelled Poe’s name from the hangar. Black smoke spilled through the open doorway.

“Looks like we better get back to it. Sorry Finn. I’ll check in on you when we finish, fill you in on everything you’ve missed, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Poe gave him one last long look, and clapped a hand to his shoulder before jogging off, BB-8 whirling after him. Doctor Kalonia shook her head and muttered under her breath about reckless pilots creating unnecessary work for her.

“Hey, Poe?” Finn called and Poe paused.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Sorry about the jacket.”

Poe laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Finn.”

Chapter Text

The new med bay was airy and spacious, a pleasantly cool refuge from the heat of Casmus IV. One wall was almost entirely window, filling the room with bright sunshine. Doctor Kalonia pushed him into his cubicle, complete with bed, small table, chair and an impressive view of the base. She demonstrated the equipment available, the controls for the bed and chair, the remote for the window’s shades and shutters.

“I like a lot of natural light,” she said as she bustled around. “The General was kind enough to accommodate my requests, even in these difficult times. You can’t see in from the outside, so it’s still very private. I find patients just tend to heal so much better when they can see the sun and the sky. Unless they’re of a subterranean or subaquatic race, then of course, that changes things. I should review my treatment plans actually, with the Republic gone, we are sure to get greater numbers of non-human recruits signing up.”

Finn nodded mutely. The position of non-humans in the Galaxy was not something he had given much thought to before. The First Order considered them worthy only of subjugation.

The doctor came round to move him onto the bed. It was more difficult this time, more painful, and he had to grit his teeth to stop himself from crying out. She examined his movement again, making notes on her datapad. She smiled to herself, seemingly satisfied. She handed him a small pill.

“For the pain.”

He took it. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Try and get some rest now, Finn. We’ll make a start on some light physio tomorrow. I’m sure you want to be up and moving as soon as possible.”

“Yes, thank you, Doctor.”

“Let me or one of my assistants know if you need anything.”

“I will. Thank you.”

She left, shutting the door with a gentle click. He stared out of the window, at the rampant greenery and the glittering sea. An X-wing streaked across the sky, leaking smoke, a sharp grey scrawl marring soft endless blue. He watched it shudder its way to the runway, coughing black, and a small army of engineers and orange-clad pilots ran out to greet it. Poe would be down there, among so many others, both human and not.

You can understand that thing?

And that thing can understand you too, so watch it.

The First Order saw the majority of the non-human races as second class, tolerated so long as they bowed to the obvious superiority of humans. But they were wrong, of course they were wrong, he knew that but he hadn’t thought about it, there hadn’t been time. He had met non-humans. Chewbacca, smuggler and war hero. The pilots who fought with Poe. Maz Kanata, who had stared into his soul. Allies, soldiers, friends. They had names, histories, families. The First Order had depersonalised almost every other race in the galaxy, but it constructed itself of numbers.

Stormtroopers were human, but they were not people, not really. They belonged to the First Order. They had no history, no future other than that which was dictated to them. Nicknames were merely shortened serial numbers, like droids, or a damning badge of inadequacy. Real names belonged to the elite, the people in charge. Hux, Kylo Ren, Snoke, Phasma. Badges of personhood that had weight behind them, that had meaning.

He couldn’t kill the miners at Pressy’s Tumble. He couldn’t kill the villagers in Jakku, though so many of them had been so far from human. But his fellow Stormtroopers? The men and women he had grown up alongside, those he had trained and fought with as long as he could remember? He could kill them. He had killed them without flinching. He shot at them with little hesitation as they fled the Finalizer. He fought them as he tried to rescue Rey. He had aided in the destruction of Starkiller, in the deaths of, what hundreds of thousands? Millions?

He didn’t understand. He had said he wouldn’t kill for them, but killing them had been, well, easy. He hadn’t hesitated. He hadn’t flinched. He had plunged a lightsabre into a trooper’s chest as he raced to find Rey with barely a second thought. He had fought his old squad mate, he had relished in the title of traitor. He would have killed Kylo Ren if he had the ability. He had earned his freedom with the spilling of First Order blood. And it was the right thing to do. He did not regret it. He would not be made to slaughter the defenceless. He had fought, for himself, for Poe, for Rey. Killer Finn might be, but a murderer he was not.

It was a comfort, of a kind.

He wondered if Poe Dameron had known what exactly it was he was doing when he named Finn, if he had understood the enormous weight of that simple act. How could he? It was such a small, innocent thing to say as they hurtled through the stars towards Jakku sand. Such an insignificant act that had meant so much.

It was such a strange thing, a name given in adrenaline and death.

Before the escape, FN-2187 had never killed anyone. Finn had.

A quiet knock on the door woke Finn from a fitful sleep. The sun was setting, filling the room with soft orange light. He tried to shuffle into a better sitting position, using the bed’s controls to raise himself. It hurt. Everything hurt.

“Come in.” His voice sounded rough and rusty again. His throat ached.

Poe Dameron entered the little room, BB-8 once again at his feet, a tray laden with flasks and bowls balanced in his right hand and a bundle of cloth tucked under his left arm. He had changed from his flightsuit into more casual clothes, simple light shirt and dark trousers. His hair was pushed back and his smile caused his eyes to crinkle at the corners. Commander Poe Dameron, off duty.

“Hey, buddy.” Poe put the tray onto the table and threw himself into the chair beside Finn’s bed. BB-8 twittered a cheerful greeting. “We thought we’d bring you some decent food. Doesn’t matter where you are in the Galaxy, hospital food is always terrible.”

Finn accepted a tall flask from Poe, their fingers brushing as he did so. He sniffed the contents experimentally. It smelt sweet. “What I’ve had so far was better than the stuff the First Order gave us.”

Poe raised an eyebrow. “Really? What slop did they feed you?”

“Troopers are given nutritionally tailored rations, it’s like a tasteless grey gloop. You got protein bread on the side if they were feeling generous.” He took a sip. Syrupy, tangy flavours burst on his tongue, clearing his throat of the sticky cloying feeling left by sleep. He drank more. “This is good.”

“Yeah, it is.” Poe grinned. He been watching Finn intently. “Was that all they gave you?”

“The officers had better stuff.” There had been a banquet, back on Starkiller, all the officers had gathered and toasted their own genius. Finn had started his sanitation rotation and his team were called into clean up the aftermath. There had been a pile of pastries among the refuse, sharp fruits and soft cream, a crumbling stack of discarded decadence. There had been a stolen mouthful in the dark, a moment of helmetless rebellion, and a night of sickening anxiety that followed. It was the best thing he had ever tasted.

“So they never gave you proper food, not even planetside?”

Finn shook his head. “I don’t think so. You take your rations with you.”

“That’s … I don’t know how I’d manage that. I get moody when I have to eat flight rations for more than three days.” Poe poured something from one of the larger flasks into a bowl. He handed it to Finn, a spoon balanced on the side. It was a reddish brown liquid, with lumps of meat and vegetables floating in it. The bowl was warm in Finn’s hands.

“It’s all we ever knew. What’s this?”

“Some kind of stew. Bantha, I think.” Poe helped himself to a bowl and settled back into his chair. “I got the plainer version, I didn’t know if you liked spicy food or not.”

“I don’t know either. I suppose there’s a lot about me that I don’t know.”

BB-8 piped up from the foot of the bed. Finn looked to Poe. “BB says it’s a good time to find out.”

Finn smiled. “I guess it is.” He ate a spoonful of the stew, chewing slowly, feeling the crunch of the vegetables against his teeth, the rich taste of the sauce on his tongue. He swallowed.

“Good?”

“Very.”

“There’s a galaxy of food out there for you, buddy.” BB-8 twittered away again. Poe pulled a face at it. “Though BB-8 has helpfully pointed out that some food would be ill suited to your physiology, to the point where it may in fact kill you. Because it’s a pedant.”

The droid beeped with indignation. Finn chuckled into his stew. “That sounded rude.”

“It was. It’s a very rude little droid.” Poe tore off a lump of bread and dipped it in his stew. Finn followed suit. “Most astromechs swear like pirates.” The little droid spouted off again. “BB-8 says it’s the terrible influence of us foul-mouthed pilots but I think it might be the other way round.”

“I really should learn binary, then you and Rey won’t have to keep translating for me.”

“It’s pretty easy to get the rhythm of when you’re surrounded by it. You’re smart, I’m sure you’ll pick it up quickly.” Poe finished his stew and put it aside, stretching out luxuriously in his chair. “We can give you a hand when we’re not flying. And I’ll share my excellent culinary tastes with you.”

Finn passed his bowl over and sat back, his stomach feeling satisfyingly full in a way he wasn’t sure he’d experienced before. “I’d like that.”

The sun had dipped further now, the sky turned to purple, the first stars beginning to shine through the hazy half-light. Poe swung his feet up onto Finn’s bed and settled back further. “You know, buddy, this is my favourite time of day. The sun going down, like it’s pulling back a curtain that was hiding all those stars, all that space. Makes me want to get out there and fly.” His smile slipped, just a little. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had the chance to just sit and watch a sun go down.”

“It’s the first time for me.”

Poe frowned, but did not say anything. Finn shifted uncomfortably. “First Order troopers spend most of their lives on space stations or star destroyers,” he tried to explain as he gazed out at the darkening sky, and the sun sliding beyond the sea. He could not look at Poe. “Everything is regimented. You just don’t have the time. I suppose most wouldn’t even think about it or see the point. I didn’t think to, after the escape. And on Starkiller, for some reason, I could just never bring myself to look up. It just felt … wrong.” He took a deep breath. His chest felt strangely tight. “Is that strange?”

Poe smiled, but his eyes seemed sad. He leaned forward, reaching out to touch Finn’s shoulder. “No, Finn. It doesn’t sound strange at all.”

The next few days passed rather erratically for Finn. Physiotherapy was long and gruelling, leaving him nauseous and trembling from exhaustion, but he threw himself wholeheartedly into it nonetheless. It was better than when he was ordered to rest and the hours dragged by no matter how he tried to distract himself. It was the first time in his twenty-something years of existence that he had to sit still. He didn’t like it.

Poe would visit often, bringing with him BB-8 and contraband daringly smuggled from the canteen and the store rooms, or so Poe said. Kalonia had told Finn that he wasn’t actually breaking any rules when he had expressed his concern about the Commander getting into trouble on his behalf. Poe had a ‘flair for the dramatic’, to quote the unimpressed doctor.

Sometimes Poe brought his friends, and they would pull chairs up around Finn’s bed, laughing and gossiping about the day’s events. They played card games and Jessika Pava, one of Poe’s pilots, taught him dirty words in as many languages as she could manage. The time flew whenever they were around, Poe and his friends, who were quickly accepting Finn as their friend too. He hated it when they left, when he was alone with his thoughts and time seemed to crawl at an agonising pace.

By himself, simple things that had been said and done became huge and overwhelming. The incredulous looks, hastily hidden but still there, when he didn’t understand something that seemed so natural to his new friends, these real people, made him feel foolish. The smiles that turned strained when the topic strayed towards the dangerous topics of The War and Politics and the Friends That Should Be Here made him feel sick with guilt, though he did not know why. He was constantly finding new ways in which he was the Other, intruding on their company even though it was they who sought him out.

He missed Rey. It had never been so difficult with her.

He tried to withdraw into himself, to cut himself off, but he couldn’t help smiling when they came into his room. He came to crave their presence, no matter how confusing it was for him. He craved Poe Dameron’s visits the most, the quiet evenings spent together, eating and talking and learning, Poe’s feet resting on Finn’s bed. He never minded explaining things that Finn didn’t understand. He shared countless stories of the things he had seen and done, his eyes shining with enthusiasm, seemingly glad for an eager audience. He had fallen asleep once, crumpled into his chair, and Finn hadn’t had the heart to wake him, no matter how uncomfortable it looked. He stayed awake long after Poe had gone to sleep, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the sleeping frown that tugged at his brows, the way the side of his face was squashed against his shoulder. It should have been comical. Finn thought it was beautiful.

Here was Commander Dameron, best pilot in the Resistance, Destroyer of Starkiller, slumped beside his bed. Here was Poe, Finn’s friend, who had given him his name, his freedom, who had trusted him without hesitation, who had seen him as more than a number. Who loved his friends and fought for a better future. They had saved each other’s lives, and now Poe was helping Finn to build a new one.

Maybe he didn’t know how to be a person just yet, he thought as he drifted into sleep, but he would like to become someone like Poe Dameron.

Chapter Text

Three days after Finn took his first steps, Poe had to leave. He took the remnants of the X-Wing squadrons with him. No one knew when they would be back.

It had been a difficult goodbye. Finn had gone to see them off from the runway on his crutches, refusing the chair Doctor Kalonia tried to push him into. He had wished each of his new friends luck, told them to come back soon. He watched as Jess and Snap and Bastian and Karé Kun climbed into their X-Wings, his heart in his throat. He realised he was glad he had not been awake when Rey left. He didn’t think he could have coped.

BB-8 rolled along next, affectionately bumping his legs with exaggerated care. He reached down slowly to pat the little droid on the smaller sphere that served as its ‘head’. “Take care out there, BB. Look after them.”

[I always do.]

Finn straightened back up, grimacing at the ever present twinge in his back. The scar still felt tight.

Poe finished a discussion with the General and swaggered towards him across the tarmac in his bright orange flight suit, a brown cloth bag slung casually over his shoulder. He clapped Finn on the back, grinning. “It’s a shame you can’t come with us, Finn.”

“Yes.” Finn nodded, his eyes earnest. “I wish I could help.”

“Buddy, the rate you’re going, you’ll be out with us kicking First Order heads in no time. For now though, just concentrate on getting better.” Poe pulled him into half a hug. Finn didn’t want it to end. BB-8 whistled pointedly. “Oh, almost forgot!” He reached inside the bag, pulling out a lumpy oblong wrapped in green cloth.

“Here.”

Finn took it and unfolded it carefully. Poe was watching him expectantly.

“You fixed it?”

“Sorry it took so long. Leather is really hard to sew, did you know that? I mean, it’s not the best patch job, I just thought -”

“Thank you, Poe.” Finn beamed and Poe grinned back. The jacket was heavy in his hands. “I thought they’d thrown it out.”

Poe looked outraged. “This jacket is part of our legacy, Finn. Give it time, it’ll be a relic.” He helped Finn to put it on, pausing to straighten the lapels. He smiled. “And it really does look good on you.”

Finn laughed. “Thank you.” He paused, looking down and anxiously running his fingers over the stitching on the cuffs. “Come back safe, Poe Dameron.”

Poe winked. “I always do.”

Finn watched until the flock of X-Wings had vanished into the pinky orange dawn. The crowd dispersed, to get sleep or move onto their next jobs. Eventually, only he and the General stood on the tarmac, their gazes trained upwards.

“Will you walk with me, Finn?”

“Of course, General.”

She led him from the tarmac, passing through the shadow of gargantuan trees towards the small agricultural zone. Wherever she went, her Resistance stopped and saluted and the sun seemed to shine brighter, the ground grateful for her footfall. She would have been a queen, had the Empire not shattered her home like glass.

She came to a halt at the brow of the hill. A white stone bench had been set up, bathed in light from a gap in the trees. She sat, and motioned for Finn to do the same. The sun was warm against his skin.

“I have been in this war for many, many years now, Finn. It never gets any easier, watching them leave and knowing they might not come back.” She turned to him. “You wish you were up there with them.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes did not leave his. “Would you like to become a pilot?”

“Yes.” He glanced at her, nervously. Her expression had not changed. “But it is not where I’d be most useful. The First Order picked me to be a soldier because it’s what I’m good at. And I was. I was top in my squad. We were training to be the elite. I should have been the perfect Stormtrooper.” His voice cracked. Shame burned his cheeks. “I refused to be what they made me, but I can use it against them. It’s got to be useful for something, right?”

She smiled gently. “You are a remarkable man, Finn. Never forget that.” She sighed heavily, and he could almost see the weight of the galaxy hanging from her shoulders. She wore the responsibility like a cloak.

“This will be a new era for the Resistance, Finn. No longer are we hiding, semi-legal, operating under the wilful ignorance of the New Republic. We are the only solid organisation left that can challenge the First Order. Once they regroup, they will come for us, harder than ever. Their greatest weapon is not their actual numbers, or their armaments, but the fear they instil throughout the galaxy. Now we have shown that they can be defeated, and by a significantly inferior force, more will flock to our banner. It happened after the destruction of the first Deathstar. It is happening now. History is once again repeating itself.”

She rose, and began pacing, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. “The information you have already provided us with has been vital, Finn. I am almost loathe to ask you this after all you have been through, but I need more. The Resistance, the galaxy, needs more.”

“I’ll help, however I can,” Finn croaked, his throat dry. “Though I am not sure what it is you are asking me, General.”

“Two things, primarily. I want everything you know about the First Order. No matter how insignificant it might seem, no matter how shameful you might think it. Duty rosters, the layouts of ships, the simulations they ran, the histories they taught you, the battles they fought, everything you can remember.”

“I will try, General, but Jakku was my first battle, I never –“

She shook her head firmly. “It doesn’t matter. Anything will be useful. The smallest thing could be vital. The Deathstar was destroyed by an insufficiently protected exhaust port. Your knowledge could prove invaluable when choosing our next moves and when training our new recruits.”

Finn remained silent, scrutinising his knees. She softened slightly.

“I know it is difficult, Finn. I would not ask you if I did not think it important.”

He nodded. She was right. “And the second thing, General?”

She resumed her pacing, her feet leaving imprints in the soft grass. “I am setting up some new special task units. They will be focussing on sabotage and intelligence. Missions will be high risk, potentially behind enemy lines and involve handling sensitive information. It will be difficult and dangerous and only those who have my utmost trust will be involved. When you are sufficiently recovered, I would like you to join one such unit.”

Finn stared at her. She did not seem to be joking. “Me?”

The General nodded. “I know it is a lot to ask of you, Finn. You do not need to give me an answer straight away, but you should know that I would not ask you unless I believed you were more than capable.”

“Thank you, General. I’ll think about it, I really will.”

Four days after Poe left, Finn was officially discharged from the med bay, with strict orders to return once a day for his medication and physiotherapy. He walked with a stick now, rather than his crutches, and the good doctor was impressed by his rate of recovery. Kalonia went with him to his quarters, a compact little room among the complex of prefabs that made up the barracks, complete with its own fresher unit and window with a view of the vegetable gardens the kitchen staff had set up to increase their supplies of fresh produce. Waiting for them was the quartermaster, a scarred Twi’lek by the name of Tia’la. She smiled when she saw them, revealing several missing teeth. The blue skin on the right side of her face was mottled and blurred by a burn that ran down from her temple and continued below the collar of her officer’s jacket. The hand that shook Finn’s lacked a thumb.

“It’s not much, but it’s yours,” she said, grinning that toothless smile again. “Feel free to do what you like with it.” She pointed to the drawers and small wardrobe. “You’ve been outfitted with standard issue clothes and stuff, there’s a personal datapad in the desk somewhere. Any requisition requests, send ‘em my way and I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,” Finn said weakly, looking around the little room with bemusement. He had never had a space that was his before.

“Meals are at seven, one and seven, though there’s food available all day. There’s a common room down the corridor with a kitchen if you ever fancy feeding yourself.” Tia’la was watching him intently, her head cocked to one side. “It’s quiet at the moment but it will liven up once the flyboys-and-girls get back. New recruits coming in two weeks as well.”

“We’ll leave you to it for now, Finn,” said Doctor Kalonia, who was wearing a strangely smug expression on her face. “It’s good to see you not cluttering up my medbay anymore.” She raised a hand to stall his apologies. “I meant that in the best way possible, Finn. I expect to see you eleven sharp tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course, Doctor. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“It’s my job, Finn,” she said very simply, and took her leave. He was glad he had a set time to see her the next day. Afraid as he was of burdening her further, and painfully exhausting as physiotherapy was, he enjoyed her company.

Tia’la had been watching with some amusement, and grinned again. “My quarters are the front rooms of this prefab, knock on if you need anything. Though to be honest, you’ll probably be better off looking for me in the stores, the building next to the cafeteria. Come by if you ever fancy it.” She held out her hand and he shook it once more, and he couldn’t help but watch as she strode out of the room and down the corridor. She leaned heavily to her left, putting very little weight on her right side as she walked. The long head-tails that descended down her back were as scarred as the rest of her, and the left was significantly shorter than the other.

Finn frowned. He had never seen someone so clearly physically damaged before, not alive. Bacta erased wounds, prosthetics and cybernetics replaced anything too far gone. A trooper in that state would not have been worth keeping alive. The closest he could recall would have been the miners in Pressy’s Tumble, skin blackened and pockmarked by life in the mine, limbs in makeshift slings and bandages, some missing entirely. He had watched as they were put down.

He shook the thoughts from his head and turned back into his room. His room, but it was so blank, so empty, so without personality. He stood there, aimless, unsure. He went into the fresher, staring into the mirror above the sink. His hair was growing. He ran a hand through the tight curls, a sharp thrill of joy running through him. In the First Order, it would have been cropped immediately. Regulations had to be met, standards had to be kept. He found himself grinning stupidly at his reflection. It was his hair. He could let it grow.

He could let it grow.

He went back into the room and eased Poe’s jacket from his shoulders and hung it from a hook in the door. He kicked his shoes from his feet, not caring where they landed, feeling a strange sense of reckless abandon. They were just shoes. It was just hair. It was just a jacket. But at the same time, it was so much more.

He sat on the bed, feeling the soft blankets beneath his hands. This was his space, his time, his moment of rebellion.

It wasn’t much, but it was his.

Six days after Finn was discharged from the med bay, the Resistance heard from Rey. Finn was sitting at a small table in the command centre, as he had done every day since the doctor had released him. The General sat to his right, listening intently to his every word. A young human woman, Commander Bilal, sat on his left, her fingers moving so fast they almost blurred as she took notes on a datapad. Around them, the organised chaos of Resistance Command flowed.

Finn was in the process of describing the patrol route through First Order space of a Star Destroyer he had been stationed on as best he could remember. It was no easy feat, Stormtroopers were not generally informed of their position in the Galaxy, but Finn had always been in the habit of picking up things his superiors would have frowned upon had he been foolish enough to express them, such as star systems and coordinates and a haunting sense of morality.

“Princ- General Organa?”

The General and Finn turned to C3-PO, who was standing at one of the large holoscreens and, if it were possible for a droid, appeared to be quivering with excitement. Commander Bilal did not look up.

“What is it, 3PO?” the General asked, rising in one fluid motion and sweeping to the droid’s side.

“I have marvellous news, General Organa! We have just received a signal from R2! Would you like me to play it?”

“Of course, 3PO. Finn, come here, please.”

Finn leapt up, his heart thrumming with anticipation, his cane fell to the floor and was forgotten. He hovered anxiously as the golden protocol droid fiddled with the control panel. It was agonising.

“I’m terribly sorry, Master Finn, General, I’m just trying to – oh, there we are!”

“Resistance Command?”

A voice floated from the holoscreen, grainy and distorted. The world seemed to stop turning. Rey.

“We hear you, Rey. This is General Organa.”

“I can’t talk long, we’re off world to send this, we need to get back soon. We found Luke Skywalker. We’re safe, for now.”

“That is excellent news. What is your plan?”

“Can’t say, not now, R2 is sending what we can. We’re worried it won’t be long until the First Order finds us.”

From somewhere near his knees, Finn found his voice. “Rey!”

There was a pause. “Finn! You’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine, I’m good. It is so good to hear you.”

“I know. I knew you would be alright, but actually hearing your voice-”

There was a strangled cry. Rey laughed. “Chewbacca says hello. And that I need to hurry, I’m really sorry Finn, there isn’t time-”

“It’s okay, Rey, it’s fine. Everything is fine.”

“I have to leave soon. General?”

“Yes, Rey?”

“Something has changed. Something is going to happen.”

“I felt it, too.”

“Luke – Master Luke thinks we’re running out of time. The distraction will only last so long.”

“I’ll do what I can.” The General took a deep breath. “Will he not speak to me himself?”

“He isn’t here, he didn’t come with us. I-I’m sorry.”

“Do not worry.”

“R2 has finished sending the data, I have to go now, we’re going back into hyperspace. I’m sorry, Finn. I wish you were here.”

“Stay safe, Rey.”

“We’ll see each other again, Finn. Goodbye, General.”

The line went quiet. Finn felt as though he had been standing in the middle of a bantha stampede. The General leant against the control panel, her eyes closed, her head bowed.

“We’ll have to cut this session short, I’m afraid, Finn,” she murmured. She turned sharply on her heel. “Commander Bilal, get me Ackbar. 3PO, come with me.”

Finn could not sleep that night. He lay awake in his bed for hours, staring at the white ceiling, his mind racing. The base was a hive of activity, the ground trembling as transports and Starfighters roared down to land. It was dawn by the time things had settled down again, the transports leaving as quickly as they came.

All was silent until he heard the familiar uneven footsteps of Tia’la as she went to breakfast, singing in a language Finn did not understand.

He got up. He got dressed.

By the time he reached the Command Centre, things had begun to slot into place.

The General was pouring over a datapad. “Finn,” she said as she saw him approach, putting the pad down. There were deep shadows under her eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“You offered me a job, General.”

“I did.”

“I would like to accept it.”

She smiled. He saluted.

“Welcome to the Resistance, Finn.”

Chapter Text

Finn ran, keeping tight to the sparse cover provided by the twisting plants that grew along the rocky embankment. He signalled to the troopers behind him, a short sharp twitch of the hand, and they moved in to position. He dragged himself up the bank on his belly, blaster firmly held in his hand, and came to crouch behind a blasted tree trunk close to the top. Warily, he peered around the body of the trunk, his heart beating loudly in his throat.

The hulking grey structure before him lay in darkness, eerily silent, seemingly empty. He hovered, listening, waiting. A flash of movement caught his eye. He hid behind the trunk again, taking a moment to catch his breath. He looked down the line of the embankment, meeting the questioning gaze of Sergeant Kukara. Finn held up three fingers and pointed to the left. The Sergeant nodded and set off at a crouch, two troopers following closely behind her.

Finn raised his hand. He dropped it.

He burst from cover, sprinting towards the building, his blaster held firmly in his hands, the troopers following his lead. A flash of red light came from the darkness, the ground at his feet sparking. Sergeant Kukara and her men came round from the left, returning fire. There was a cry from the shadows and the gunfire stopped. The soldiers raced to the door, fanning out in a defensive semi-circle as their combat engineer set about overriding the locks. Sergeant Kukara primed a thermal detonator. Engineer Tandoran looked to Finn.

He cocked his blaster. He nodded.

The doors shuddered open, Kukara throwing the detonator through before they were fully opened. They crouched, waiting for the explosion that shook the ground and sent plumes of white smoke spiralling into the night air.

They charged, firing into the smoke. They ran through the corridor, Finn leaping over a prone body on the floor. They surged through the building, taking down the enemy before they even had time to react, sprinting from one area of cover to another. Finn could see the blueprints of the building in his mind as they cleared each room. There were gaining on the command centre. The end was in sight.

A huge blast shook the ground as they rounded the corner, causing the squad to scatter for cover. Finn threw himself against the wall, his ears ringing.

“Anyone hurt?” he called, shaking his head to try and clear the sounds. Kukara’s voice crackled through his radio.

“Nurok was first round, injured but alive. He’s pinned down by the door.”

“Keep up the supressing fire, Nurok, stay down. Tandoran, do we have a visual?”

“Probe droid already in, boss. Seven targets, they’re shielding the central computer, probably trying to wipe it.”

“Can you get them down?”

“Can dactillions fly? Just get me to a console.”

Finn nodded to himself, making a mental note to look up dactillions later. He glanced round the wall as the smoke began to clear.

“Tandoran, take Shi’lar and Riin down the left, access the override and take down the shields.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Yallyn, stick with Nurok when we get there, patch him up, watch our backs. Kukara, you’re on the right flank on entry. We’ll set off the flashbangs, then hit them heavy. No detonators unless absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, it’d be helpful if there was actually something left for me to hack this time.”

“Go kriff yourself, Tandoran.”

Finn tried not to laugh. “Reign it in, you two. Keep low, remember your objectives. Ready?”

“Aren’t we always, sir?”

“See you on the other side.”

The shields guttered out of existence, the last enemy went down. Tandoran worked quickly, stripping the consoles of data before they ran, setting detonators as they went, Private Norok limping along on Yallyn’s arm. They reached the extraction point. Then the lights went up, the smoke dissipating, the simulation flickering away and revealing the stark grey panels of the empty holo-room.

“Simulation: Success.”

There was a loud cheering, causing them all to turn to look at the observation deck, a great window carved into the smooth dome of the room. It wasn’t the first time they’d drawn a crowd from the ranks of the off-duty, all non-classified combat strategy Finn was developing being considered required reading for the Resistance’s new recruits, but it was the first time he had seen bright orange mixed in with the muddy browns of Resistance uniform. A warmth filled his chest, spreading to his cheeks as he picked out Poe Dameron among the throng, his arm raised in greeting, Jess and Snap beside him.

The pilots had returned.

Finn waved, a lightness in his heart he hadn’t felt for weeks, and turned to his squad, his team. The Special Reconnaissance and Ground Assault Unit, codenamed Resurgence, were a rag tag bunch made up from every corner of the Resistance. They were young and eager, children of the New Republic, experts in their individual fields although lacking in front-line experience, and each one loyal to a fault. Loyal to the Resistance, to each other, and bizarrely enough, as the weeks had rolled on, they were becoming loyal to him. General Organa had dubbed them the future of the Resistance. It was a heavy burden to bear, and the bore it with fierce pride.

“Good run, guys,” Finn said, clapping a hand to Engineer Tandoran’s shoulder, “but it’s got to be tighter. Norok, Tandoran, you’ve got to keep aware of the rest of the squad, we use formations for a reason. Riin, you have to remember to watch your flank, Shi’lar might have more eyes than you but she can’t see out of the back of her head. Get cleaned up and then report to Commander Bilal for the review and debrief in ten. Dismissed.” As one they saluted. The formalities out of the way, they began to meander out, chatting casually, Tandoran and Kukara striking up their usual friendly bickering. Finn jogged over to Private Norok, who was still limping, his right leg in a splint.

“What’s the damage, Rok?”

The young Zabrak grimaced. “I fell badly after the blast. Spinach thinks I might have fractured it.”

Finn looked to Yallyn, the Mirialan medic also known as Spinach because she was both ‘green and good for you’ and Kukara unimaginative. Finn wasn’t sure if the nickname was particularly appropriate, but Yallyn didn’t seem to mind. She now shrugged cheerfully and shouldered her kit. “Nothing a bit of rest and a bacta cast won’t fix, Lieutenant. I’ll sort it after debrief, if Rok can hang on that long.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Deserve it for getting ahead of myself, anyway.”

Finn frowned. “Don’t think like that. We make the mistakes in the sims so we don’t make them out on the field. Learn from it, but don’t dwell on it.”

“Thank you, sir. I will.”

They exited the holo-room as the crowd on the observation deck had begun to disperse, back to their duties or going to greet their friends in the squad. Then there was Poe, jogging down the stairs towards him in his lurid orange glory. His hair was wild and he looked very tired behind the smile.

“Nice shooting, Lieutenant.”

Finn felt a strange sense of hesitation he had never felt before as his new rank fell from Poe’s lips. He was painfully aware that Poe Dameron outranked him. He wasn’t quite sure why it bothered him. “Thank you, Commander.”

Poe cocked his head to one side, looking at him curiously before grinning, slinging an arm around Finn’s shoulders. “Congrats on the job, Finn. I can’t think of anyone better for it.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” said Finn, nudging Poe with his elbow, the hesitation melting away at the warmth of Poe’s touch. “Where’s BB-8?”

“Over at maintenance. Nothing to worry about,” Poe said reassuringly, “it’s just standard after a long mission.”

“We’re lucky we haven’t all been sent to Kalonia for ‘maintenance’ after the shit we’ve been up to,” said Jess as she bounced over, Snap trailing behind her. She punched Finn lightly in his free, non-Poe-Dameron-occupied arm. “Looking good out there, Finn.”

Finn laughed. “Thanks, Jess. Glad to have you back. And you, Snap.”

“Glad to be back, Lieutenant,” Snap said as he shook Finn’s hand.

“We should celebrate our triumphant return. And your promotion.” There was a wicked gleam in Jess’ eyes. Poe and Snap groaned. “What’s up, you old men not up for a party?”

“This is going to be a Pava Party, isn’t it?” asked Snap, rubbing his stubble distractedly. “My liver still hasn’t recovered from the Starkiller one.”

“We literally just got off active duty, Testor, the nine weeks of sleep deprivation is bad enough without a Dandoran hangover” Poe said, the complaint sounding weak when paired with the grin on his face.

Jess waved her hand dismissively. “You’ll be fine, you’ve got three hours to power nap.” She regarded Poe. “Well, Snap does. We all know how long you take to do your hair, Commander.”

Poe made a lazy, rude sign with his hand at Jess, before pausing, seeming to consider something. “Just make sure you get everything cleared with Command before you get things set up. We don’t want to cause trouble for the General after being back less than half a day.”

Jess rolled her eyes. “Way ahead of you, Dameron. Pilot’s mess, sundown. Finn, I’m borrowing your sergeant for set up if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, after debrief. You know Kukara?”

Jess shrugged. “Sure. I escorted her transport on some early ops when she was a corporal. Shit at nicknames, excellent at acquiring Corellian Rum.”

“Rumour is she ages it in a shoe,” said Finn, eyebrow raised.

“You say that like it’s a problem.”

Poe and Snap laughed, and the four of them began to head towards the door, Poe’s arm slipping from Finn’s shoulders as they walked. Finn found himself missing the contact.

“Testor, you continue to astound and disgust me.”

“Just doing my job, Commander.”

Three hours later, Finn found himself sandwiched on a sofa between Snap and Engineer Tandoran ‘the Dandoran’, engaged in an increasingly aggressive card game with Kukara, Jess and Poe on the other side of the coffee table. He had never seen the pilots’ mess so filled with people before. The air was heavy with pounding music and drunken singing. There was an alarmingly purple drink in his hand, each sip of which made his head feel fuzzier, and the card game harder to understand.

“I fold. I think,” said Snap beside him, rubbing at his temples. Jess cackled gleefully and pulled a pile of credits across the table towards her.

“Not so fast, Pava,” said Tandoran, slapping his cards down. Jess groaned, and the two Dandorans began a quick fire round which seemed to involve a lot of cards changing hands for no discernible reason.

“Wait, what’s happening?” asked Kukara, frowning.

“No idea. Why do we ever play this game? No one outside of the Doran system understands it,” Poe complained, scowling as he tried to make sense of his own hand.

“Racist,” Jess muttered, her eyes not leaving the flurry of cards that were currently dancing around the table.

“How is that racist? Systemist maybe. Is that a word?”

“Be quiet, Snap. You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk enough.” Snap stood up, dusting his hands off on his trousers. “I’m going to get another drink, anyone want one?”

“Please,” said Poe, and Kukara raised her hand. Finn shook his head. It was fuzzy enough without more of whatever strange concoction was currently being served out of a huge cooking pot on one of the long cafeteria tables.

Finn jumped when Jess swore loudly and Tandoran began cheering. Snap reappeared, virulently purple drinks in hand.

“Another round?” Jess asked hopefully, as Tandoran scooped up his winnings.

“No way, this makes my head hurt too much,” said Poe as he accepted his drink.

“Then, I think, a toast.” Tandoran stood on the table. “To the triumph once again of the hardworking ground troops over the flypeoples.”

“Isn’t it usually ‘flyboys’?” asked Kukara, her eyebrow raised.

“That’s both misogynistic and anthropocentric. Either way, we won. I claim this victory for Resurgence!” Tandoran raised his glass high. Finn followed suit, laughing at the grim faces of his pilot friends.

“To the Stormbreakers!” Kukara cried. She downed her drink. “Come on, I need more.”

More drinks were poured. Pava leapt up and dragged Poe up to dance. He was laughing, a little embarrassed, his hips swinging in time to the beat. Finn found himself alone on the sofa, his head full of noise and alcohol, and the sound of Poe’s laughter, and the beating of his own heart. It was too warm, his skin felt tight and prickly, the drink too sweet on his lips, his breath catching in his throat. It was too much.

He rose unsteadily, and stumbled from the hall into the blessed relief of the cool night air. He wandered from the mess hall, needing to be alone, though he wasn’t entirely sure why, and found himself at the edge of the forest. He sank down at the base of a large tree, cradled by its roots, and closed his eyes while his head pounded and the world swam around him.

He wasn’t sure how long had passed when he heard quiet footsteps, and the soft whirring of BB-8 rolling through the undergrowth coming towards him. He did not look up.

“You alright there, buddy?”

“Yeah.”

“Fancy some company?”

“Yeah.”

He could feel the springy moss beneath him shift as Poe flopped to the ground at Finn’s side. He shuffled a little, making himself comfortable against the trunk of the tree. He was very close, and though they weren’t touching, Finn could feel the heat radiating from him. BB-8 had rolled to a halt on Finn’s other side, whistling a soft greeting.

They sat in silence for a while, and he allowed the sounds of the night to wash over him, the breeze that danced through the leaves above them, the soft steady breathing of the man to his right, the strange clicks and whirrs of the droid on his left. Even the sounds of the party, heavy beats of music and muddled voices singing, laughing, shouting, seemed distant and far away, swallowed by the deep, living dark.

Poe shifted beside him, and Finn could feel his gaze without even looking. “The ‘Stormbreakers’, eh?” Poe asked and Finn found himself scowling.

“Blame Kukara for that.”

“Not fond of the name then?”

“Not really, no. I get where she’s coming from, but it doesn’t sit right.”

Poe stretched languorously, circling his shoulders as he tried to rid them of a knot. He was so close Finn could almost feel the tension in his joints, the crackling of his spine as he shifted position. “Have you told her?”

Finn shook his head. “It works for her, and for the rest of them. Seems a petty thing to challenge them on, when I can’t even pin down why it bothers me. Perhaps it cuts too close to home.”

Poe paused for a minute, a small frown crinkling his brow. “Too close to Storm Trooper?” Finn nodded, looking away. “Nobody’s given you trouble about that, have they?”

“No, no, at least, not to my face. If anything I think I’m a bit of a curiosity. The Trooper Turned Traitor. There was a fair amount of pointing and whispering when I was first introduced to the ground forces,” Finn explained, absentmindedly picking some of the moss from the ground and squeezing it between his fingers. “That’s mostly died down now, unless someone new comes to the base, though Tandoran likes to insist that they’re checking him out.”

“You sure they aren’t checking you out?,” asked Poe, his eyes twinkling. BB-8 groaned.

Finn rolled his eyes, glad that the darkness would conceal his blush, and gave Poe a gentle push. “I’m pretty sure, Poe.”

“Oh, Finn, come off it, buddy. You’re a hero of Starkiller! And I mean, just look at you. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had half of the Resistance pining after you by now.”

Finn could feel his skin prickling uncomfortably. He opened his mouth, unsure how to respond, when BB-8 came to his rescue. [You cannot accuse others of pining, Poe Dameron.] There was a certain smug slyness held in the little droid’s lens, if it were possible for a mechanical part to convey such an emotion. [Huffing and sighing whenever the comms were down and the others couldn’t hear -]

Poe threw his coat over the rotund droid, earning himself an outraged scream of binary profanity in return. “Cocky little astromech,” he grumbled, running his hands through his curls and smiling a little sheepishly before seeming to recover. “Bilal mentioned you’ll be out in the field soon,” he said, his tone almost too casual.

“That’s right,” said Finn, deciding to try and process whatever that was later. “Liberating a small mining outpost in an asteroid field in the outskirts of First Order space. Resurgence’s first real test.”

“Nervous?”

Finn hesitated. But Poe was his friend, and a veteran, and he knew he would not judge him. “Terrified. We do well in the sims, but it’s not …”

“Not the real thing,” Poe supplied, leaning across Finn to pull his jacket from BB-8’s head. Finn felt his heart beat louder. He was sure Poe could hear it.

“No.” He looked up, to where the stars peeked through the glossy leaves above them, and his fears began to spill from his throat. “They’re good, Poe, we’re good, but I don’t think they really grasp what we’re up against. Kukara is the only one who’s truly faced the First Order before.” Finn swallowed. His throat felt very dry. “It’s all been so quick. Nine weeks ago I could barely walk. A couple of weeks before that, I was a Storm Trooper, fresh out of training. Now I’m in charge of Resistance shock troops and formulating battle plans with Resistance high command. It doesn’t feel … real.”

“Finn, buddy, I don’t think there’s a single person in the Resistance who has any idea how you must feel.” Poe paused for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “In fact, you might be the only person in the galaxy in your position. I don’t know all that much about the Force, but I think that means that you’re meant to be here, right here, right now, with us.”

Finn smiled weakly. “Thanks, Poe.”

“And one thing I’ve learnt all my years travelling this galaxy? Things that don’t seem like they could possibly be real happen all the time. Like a Stormtrooper breaking you out of a First Order torture chamber, for example. Or Jessika Pava losing at her own favourite card game.”

Finn laughed. “I see your point. Thanks, Poe. Really.”

Poe grinned. “So, an asteroid field, eh, buddy? That’ll be some dicey flying conditions on the approach. You’ll need a good pilot for the escort.”

“And where will I find one of those?” Finn asked. Poe elbowed him.

[As Rey is unfortunately still absent, I would recommend the services of Jessika Pava.]

Poe stuck his tongue out at BB-8, who flashed its little blowtorch in response. “Oh, well, if I’m not wanted …”

“Sorry Poe.” Finn smiled, elbowing Poe back. “You don’t have to, though. I’m sure the best pilot in the Resistance has more important things to do than escort our starter mission.”

“What, and miss your big moment? No way, bud, I’m already cleared for it. You’re stuck with me.”

[Do not forget that you will also receive the services of the best astromech in the Resistance.]

“I thought R2-D2 was with Rey?”

BB-8 screeched.

Finn chuckled. “Thank you, Poe. And you, BB-8.”

Poe leaned back, resting his head in his hands and the starlight shone in his dark eyes. “We’ll always have your back, Finn.”