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Three months after he starts sharing quarters with Poe and two months after they start sharing a bed, the headaches finally convince Finn to go to the general.
It doesn’t at first strike him as odd that Poe never appears to sit still. Even on their days off he’s always out and about: tinkering with his X-wing, showing off for the new recruits at the shooting range, poking around the greenhouse with Rey, mixing up batches of his grandfather’s famous meatballs in the kitchens. He seems to know at least a bit about every job on the base, from high command on down to the little droids that sweep the duracrete floors (which chitter happily when he walks by). Finn did his share of gruntwork for the First Order, but Poe is a commander; his genuine interest in the most mundane of tasks is a curiosity to a man who fought his way out of a rigid social system. It’s no wonder that everyone seems to like him. Finn can hardly resent the occasional wistful glance or sigh when Poe takes his hand in the corridors.
Finn asks him about it once or twice, after he rattles off a long list of people he’d seen and things he’d done that day.
“How can you possibly fit all that in and still manage to find time to sleep?”
Poe slides a hand under Finn’s shirt, ghosting over his ribs, and waggles his eyebrows. “Think I can fit one more thing in before the day is out?”
Finn makes a face — he walked right into that one — and hoists Poe’s knee over his hip. If he notices, in the morning, that Poe rubs the heel of his hand over his eyes and grabs an extra cup of caf at breakfast, he lets it pass without comment. All of this is still new to him and he doesn’t yet know where the boundaries lie; he can’t take the chance of stepping over some invisible line to screw it all up.
Not that Poe spends all his time on base, of course. The war is in something of a holding pattern after the destruction at Starkiller and resulting damage to their fleet. Finn knows the Republic has given up its pretense of neutrality, but that’s as far as his security clearance goes. Long-term missions have been scrapped, leaving mostly supply runs and short-range recon flights and escorts for the politicians. None of which Finn has yet been cleared for, which rankles a little, but in the meantime he’s been making himself useful. He consults with command staff on Order procedures, goes over their combat methods with Resistance forces, spends a good deal of time with Rey after she returns with Luke Skywalker in tow (even offering himself as a target for her to Force-lob pebbles at), and he’s made friends out of most of Poe’s pilot crowd.
So while he’s neither bored nor solitary when Poe takes off on orders, the hollow space he leaves behind feels like an ache in Finn’s chest. Everyone’s working hard to compensate for their losses, but it doesn’t take Finn long to realize that Poe logs more flight time than anyone else.
“Hey, I gotta go fuel up — come see me before we head out?” he says one afternoon at lunch, dropping a hand on Finn’s shoulder and a kiss on the top of Jessika’s head, which she tries and fails to dodge.
This is news to Finn; Poe had mentioned running Admiral Statura out to some classified Mid Rim location, but he’d definitely implied it wasn’t happening for a couple of days.
“But your face,” he protests, reaching up to snag Poe’s collar.
“Prettier than ever.” Poe winks at him with the non-bruised eye. They’re running low on bacta again — that’ll be Snap’s pick-up tomorrow — so it’s a miracle Finn convinced him to get his broken nose properly treated (with an assist from his own vanity, probably). “No drunken smuggler gangs this time, I promise.”
Finn glowers at his retreating back. “In those briefings you guys have, does he just raise his hand as soon as the general starts speaking?”
“Pretty much,” says Jess with a sympathetic moue. “He’s always been like this — always has to be the first, the best, the most bad-ass. But it’s gotten a little worse since Starkiller, I think.”
A twinge of guilt curbs his appetite and he holds out his plate of the wobbly blue stuff that passes for dessert today. Jess makes grabby hands at it. “I guess I can understand. We lost a lot of people that day.”
“We did,” she agrees, twirling her spoon thoughtfully through the pudding. She glances up at him from beneath her lashes. “But on the other hand, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him jump out of the cockpit so fast once he gets back.”
Draining his water glass, Finn gets up from the bench. “I’m gonna go and…”
Jess smiles at him with blue-tinted lips. “You do that.”
******
Finn could live with the fact that he’s dating the most charming, overachieving asshole on this rock. And he knows they’re all living on borrowed time; even if Poe didn’t sign himself up for the most dangerous missions, D’Qar or the next base they hop to could be attacked at any moment. He had grown up knowing that war was his destiny. The Resistance at least holds the promise of a better future, of hope. And it holds Poe Dameron, which for Finn is pretty nearly the same.
But even in the midst of this thing with Poe — discovering what makes him laugh and what makes his voice drop low and rough, learning how to be himself and part of another person at the same time — the headaches test his patience.
They are maddening in their inconsistency. Poe will usually get one after a mission but not always, and sometimes they strike in the middle of the day for no apparent reason; often they’re just a mild annoyance but from time to time severe enough that he resorts to painkillers and a darkened room. Always after a great deal of badgering from Finn, always just enough to take the edge off the pain rather than banishing it completely, and always while brushing off the suggestion that he actually try to figure out why this keeps happening.
“It’s not a big deal,” Poe sighs, swishing water in his mouth and propping himself up on a pillow. “Like I told you, I’ve had them since I was a kid. I swear it’s not a tumor or a brain bleed or anything like that.”
Finn crosses his arms over his chest, over the familiar burn of frustration. He knows damned well about pushing through pain; a trip to sick bay was something every stormtrooper tried to avoid. It had been a shock to see actual medical care practiced so freely and with so little stigma, but a welcome one. And yet Poe is often too stubborn to take advantage of it.
“I just don’t understand how you fuss if I so much as stub my toe, but when it comes to your own health —”
“I took the painkillers, okay?” he snaps.
This time is on the tip of Finn’s tongue, but Poe’s jaw clenches tight from the headache or the conversation or both, and Finn lets his protests fade. This is as close to fighting as they’ve come, so far, and his stomach is turning a somersault at the thought of seeing it through.
Next time, he tells himself, even as Poe lifts a hand to him.
“Lie down with me?” he murmurs without opening his eyes. His voice is soft, conciliatory, just a bit uncertain.
Finn hesitates for a moment before stretching out beside him on the bed. Poe turns to him, tousled head resting on his shoulder. He reaches for the data reader on the nightstand and thumbs it on.
“Nien recommended this one — by an Alderaanian poet who took refuge on Sullust during the Imperial occupation. Have you read it?”
The tension on Poe’s face begins to ease as the drugs kick in. His fingers slip beneath Finn’s loose waistband to take hold of his hip. “Yeah, but it was years ago. Go on.”
Finn clears his throat and begins to read. Poe blinks his eyes open beneath the dim lighting and the soft glow of the screen. Finn can feel a steady gaze trained on his face, though he keeps his focus on the poetry. It’s selfish, the part of him that enjoys these rare moments when they’re lying still together. Even if Poe lets him in just so far and no farther, it’s still more than anything Finn ever imagined he could have, and he tells himself that it’s enough.
******
That tenuous sense of for now comes to an end after one of those missions that Poe doesn’t talk about and Finn doesn’t dare ask. Physically he comes back fine, but he’s restless and his gaze never quite settles and he tugs Finn down to bed as soon as they’re alone. He bites and sucks at Finn’s neck as they struggle far enough apart to get out of their clothes and fumble for the lube.
Then, to Finn’s surprise, he turns over and plants his elbows on the pillow.
“C’mon,” Poe says hoarsely, looking back over his shoulder, his disheveled hair falling across his brow. His hips shift beneath Finn’s palms.
And Finn is, as usual, more than willing, except he’s realizing that they’ve never fucked like this. It’s always been face to face no matter the position, with Poe leaning in close to kiss him greedily, free hand drifting up to cup his jaw or the back of his neck, fixing him in place. All of which Finn enthusiastically supports; it’s just odd that he’s never noticed before.
He gives himself a mental shake and presses against Poe, into him. Poe says his name in the dark, desperate tone that always makes Finn’s breath stutter in his chest. He reaches back to grip Finn’s thigh, fingers digging into taut muscle, as if he thinks Finn might stop. As if Finn could stop this, stop feeling like this, everything in him drawn to the first bright spot in the universe that he’d ever known.
“I got you, Poe,” Finn pants between his shoulder blades, between hard thrusts that make him shudder and push back. He wraps an arm around Poe, anchoring him with a hand over his heart.
That’s how they come apart and how they fall asleep; but later Finn wakes to a ragged cry.
He flicks the lamp on and bends over Poe, who is tucked into a ball in the center of the mattress, both hands clutching at his skull.
Poe muffles a moan against his wrist at Finn’s tentative touch to his shoulder. He gets nightmares — they both do, though not as often when they’re together — but Finn has never seen a bad dream bring on a migraine.
“Okay, it’s okay, I’m calling Major Kalonia,” he says, stroking Poe’s rigid back and going for his comlink.
“No,” Poe grinds between his teeth, his arm shooting out to grab the bottle off the nightstand. He pops the cap and shakes out twice his usual dose, swallowing the pills dry. His face is etched in sharp lines and the tendons stand out on his neck; this is the worst Finn has seen him.
Finn fights down an urge to throw the kriffing bottle across the room.
“What the hell, Poe?” He starts to get up, to put some distance between them so he can think, but Poe reaches out. He flails for a moment before he catches on Finn’s wrist, holding tight.
“I just need to sleep it off,” he says, squinting up through his dark lashes. Finn can feel him shaking. “Please, baby, just let me sleep.”
“You —” Finn starts, drawing a harsh breath — but he can’t do this now, not when Poe is in pain and Finn doesn’t trust himself to speak.
Instead he curls himself around Poe, who hitches a broken sigh of relief into the hollow of his throat.
“Thank you,” he whispers, more raw and open than Finn has ever heard him. Finn says nothing, just rubs his fingers over Poe’s too-warm skin, through his sweat-damp curls. When his breathing finally starts to slow, Finn untangles one arm to turn off the light. Poe utters a half-asleep grumble of protest, even though he knows and Finn knows that it makes the pounding at his temples worse.
Finn leaves the lamp on. In the morning he slips out of bed, leaving Poe slack-jawed and snoring faintly, and walks through the halls to General Organa’s office.
The general is an early riser like Finn, so he doesn’t have to wait long. She is understandably surprised to see him, though she invites him in to sit and offers him a cup of instant caf.
“I know it’s early. I’m sorry if I’m crossing some kind of line,” he says, cradling the steaming mug between his hands. He usually takes it with the sugar they were never allowed in the Order, but right now its bitter bite gives him nerve. “But I know what it looks like when a soldier burns out, and I’m worried Poe is heading that way.”
And I don’t care if this pisses him off, he tells himself, remembering how drawn Poe had looked even after he'd fallen asleep.
“Tell me,” Leia says, sipping at her caf.
He tries to keep his voice even as he runs through the succession of missions and minor injuries, the lack of sleep, the way Poe’s cheerful energy often takes a turn for the manic, his headaches. But it’s possible she picks up on a note of accusation anyway, when she sighs and leans forward in her chair.
“He volunteers for every one of those missions. I’ve managed to talk him out of a few, but it’s hard to argue when he’s the best we’ve got.” She glances down with a strange, almost wistful expression on her face. “And I admit I’ve always had trouble saying no to that boy.”
Poe has such professional regard for the general that Finn sometimes forgets she’s known him for so long. “Is it true what he says — that he’s suffered from these headaches for years?”
Leia purses her lips in a frown. “It’s true, but they should be getting better, not worse. Isn’t he wearing the…”
Her question trails off abruptly as she studies Finn’s face. He cocks his head, puzzled.
“Wearing what, ma’am?”
Suddenly she looks tired, her usually upright posture slumping a little. “He hasn’t told you.”
That nudge of doubt lurking in the back of Finn’s mind — that there is something Poe isn’t telling him, something important — flares to life. He sits straighter in contrast. “Told me what?”
Leia shakes her head, though her eyes are kind. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but you’ll have to ask Poe. Ask him about the package he picked up from Coruscant.”
“Coruscant?” Worry turns to anger in the pit of his stomach. No wonder Poe wouldn’t tell him where he’d been for the past week, although Finn had seen what he’d flown off in. He doesn’t bother to modulate his tone this time and he’s already half out of his seat. “What package could the Resistance have needed so badly as to send a single pilot through a First Order blockade in a derelict spacer with no weaponry?”
“It wasn’t for the Resistance.” She touches his arm; her hand is small but her palm is callused from years of work. A fighter’s hand, not an officer’s.
“Talk to him, Finn,” she urges gently.
Finn’s instinct is to go running back at once, demanding to know what the hell is going on, but he forces himself to calm down when he leaves the general’s office. He even tries some of Rey’s breathing exercises until his pulse returns to normal. His aimless walking has brought him to the mess hall, so he heads in to grab breakfast. Even this conversation they’ve been putting off for weeks might go down a little easier with Poe’s favorite pastries. By the time he gets to quarters, he’s gathered as much of his composure as he feels he can.
Too bad Poe is nowhere to be found.
He’s not in their room, or the hangar bay, or the kitchen, or the greenhouse, or the shooting range, or the simulator, or the war room. Half the squadron is in orbit training the freshman pilots, but Black One is sitting neglected on the tarmac so Finn knows he’s not with them. Finally he manages to corner Kaydel Ko Connix on her way back from a combat class. Even when she’s off duty, Connix seems to know the location of pretty much everyone on base.
“Dameron’s out leading a survival training,” she says, swigging from her water bottle and pushing back tendrils of blond hair that have fallen into her face. “Emergency comms only. They’ll be back in a few hours.” She eyes the paper bag in his hands. “Information doesn’t come cheap, you know.”
Finn hands over a muffin and thanks her. He doesn’t bother asking why Poe, their ace pilot, is teaching green Core city-dwellers how to build a fire and find edible berries in the woods. It must have seemed like the perfect opportunity to avoid Finn after last night.
He goes to the gym to kill time and reduce his chances of running into Rey and her unerring sensitivity to his emotional state (and also to beat the shit out of a heavy-bag). It’s late afternoon when Poe returns to find him showered, worn out, and wrapping the knuckles of his left hand. BB-8 rolls in after him and aims a beep of distress at Finn.
“Hey, what happened?” Poe grabs the bleeding hand to give it a peck, quirking a grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Do I want to see the other guy?”
Finn pulls his arm away. “What did you bring back from Coruscant, Poe?”
“I didn’t…” Poe rakes a hand through his hair, his easygoing expression shifting into something more guarded. “You know that’s classified.”
“Not according to the general.”
He rocks back on his heels like Finn has punched him. “What did she tell you?”
“She told me to talk to you.” Finn steps up to him, not missing the way he tries to hide a flinch. He might’ve felt worse about it if he hadn’t been waiting all day. “So we’re talking. Now.”
He expects Poe to demur, to prevaricate, to distract him with clever hands and a wicked mouth like he has so many times before. Either that or shout an accusation that Finn betrayed his confidence to their commander of all people. But this has been a long time coming, so Finn braces himself for fight or flight.
Instead Poe glances past him at the chrono and says, “Not here.”
******
At Poe’s direction Finn tugs on his boots, following him out the door and off the base, up a hiking trail that Finn has never followed for more than a couple of kilometers. After that it gets pretty steep. They climb for maybe thirty minutes, not speaking aside from Poe’s thanks when he stumbles over a tree root and Finn catches his elbow.
Finn watches his own footing after that, so he bumps right into Poe upon their sudden stop. His mouth falls open of its own accord.
“Oh, wow.”
They’re perched at the crest of a valley, D’Qar’s sun sinking beyond the far treeline. He steps forward to the edge, staring down into the riot of color below — the greens and browns and blues of the forest canopy, the delicate pink and blazing orange of the sunset, a flash of crimson as a bird tips its wings to the sun. It’s one of the most beautiful sights Finn has ever seen. The impetus for their trek slips his mind for a moment and he looks back, smiling, wanting to share this.
Poe’s eyes are wide, reflecting all the colors of the sunset, but it’s Finn he’s watching. The look on his face is...Finn can’t name it, but even if the last twenty-four hours were erased from his memory, he’d know right now that something is wrong.
“Poe, what is it?” He closes the few steps of distance between them, but something in the set of Poe’s shoulders stops him from reaching out. Whatever this is, Poe is bracing himself to get through it.
Releasing a long, slow breath, Poe says quietly, “I have a degenerative retinal disorder. It’s genetic and rare, inherited from a great-aunt on my mother’s side. Her disease progressed pretty slowly until her fifties so the doctors were always hopeful, but somehow Kylo Ren digging around in my head caused damage to the nerves. And now it’s deteriorating much faster than the initial prognosis.”
“I don’t —” Comprehension is hovering at the edge of Finn’s consciousness but he can’t quite catch it, distracted by the brilliant sunset and the resigned set of Poe’s chin. “I don’t understand.”
There is an ironic twist to Poe’s mouth that doesn’t resemble any smile of his, and Finn can identify several dozen by now.
“I could give you a whole file with the details, but what it comes down to is that I’m going blind. There is no cure, there is no applicable surgery and I’m not a candidate for prosthetics, which only have a forty percent success rate in a case like this anyway.”
Blood pounds in Finn’s ears. So many things begin to click into place that it’s all he can do to process them.
“Your headaches,” he says, his voice swallowed up by the open space around them.
Poe nods, tapping his right temple with a fingertip. “From the strain. I have custom lenses in my helmet, but there’s only so much they can do to filter out laser fire feedback.”
Of course, Finn thinks distantly, his brain picking it all apart. That’s why his head hurts after flights. And all those missions, the myriad skills he’s picked up to make himself useful, the way he pushes himself nearly to the point of collapse and does so with a grin — it’s because eventually he won’t be able to.
No, not eventually; soon.
“How long?”
Another sunbird (or maybe the same one) lets out a trilling cry and Poe’s gaze flickers over Finn’s shoulder in its direction. “Kalonia thinks I’ve got maybe two years left. The specialist I saw on Coruscant concurs. They made me an extremely complicated set of glasses with lenses that will adjust as my vision declines, up to a point.”
That was the package, he realizes, and no wonder the general was surprised that Poe wasn’t wearing his glasses. If Rey were here she’d point out that they must have cost a fortune, or else a few very dear favors.
Finn goes back to his rapidly shuffling understanding of Poe Dameron. Last night he had attributed their habit of facing each other in bed to a simple preference of Poe’s, but now he understands there’s more to it. He likes to leave the lights on, too; Finn is almost always the one to shutter them in darkness before they finally drift to sleep. And when he jerks awake from a bad dream, or comforts Poe after one of his own, it’s become second nature to turn the lamp on.
Something akin to shame makes Finn clench his hands into fists. Gods, all those times they had curled up together while Finn read aloud (Poe was always suggesting novels and histories but Finn never saw him pick up a data pad, no doubt because he’d given up the additional stressor on his eyes). And Finn had actually teased him about it, the way he would watch Finn’s lips shape the words, how he would just look and look at him…
The way he’s looking at Finn now. Like he’s lost in the desert and Finn is cold, clear water, a mirage that might disappear at any moment.
“Poe,” Finn whispers at the same time Poe starts to say “I’m —” but finishes in a startled puff of breath because Finn is pulling him in, holding him so tightly that he can feel the stretch in his scars. Everything seems a little easier now that they’re touching, a little less fraught, and Finn realizes he should’ve started with this.
Poe buries his face in Finn’s neck, breathing him in. “I should have told you, I’m so sorry.”
“No, of course you didn’t — but I should’ve realized something was off, I knew something was going on but I never wanted to push —”
“Finn, this is on me. I should have told you at the beginning, so you could…” Poe gathers a double handful of his shirt. “Make an informed decision.”
Finn cranes his neck back. “What do you mean?” He’s got an inkling and it makes his voice sharper than he intended, but surely Poe can’t —
Poe lifts his head from Finn’s shoulder, though he’s still holding on. “What would have happened to a stormtrooper with this sort of condition?”
“Well, they never would’ve been selected for service in the first place,” Finn says, biting down on his tongue as he thinks stolen. He looks into Poe’s eyes, imagining he might see something different now that he knows, but they’re the same warm brown, bright in the setting sun.
“I wasn’t diagnosed until I was fourteen.”
Another rush of insight: Poe had once mentioned he’d gotten BB-8 for his fifteenth birthday, several years before he entered the Naval Academy. Given that Poe and Rey were the first people he met outside of the Order, Finn hadn’t realized at first that it was unusual for someone to be so fluent in the binary astromech language. Even a good number of fighter pilots rely on their viewscreen’s translations in the air and protocol droids on the ground. But for Poe BB-8 has always been more than a co-pilot. One of a kind, Poe had said during their escape from the Finalizer, and she is — has to be, if she’s going to serve as Poe’s companion when he can no longer fly.
As Finn is filing this away, the implication of what Poe is saying suddenly hits him. A shudder runs down to his toes. He realizes his own eyes are wet only when Poe reaches up to brush gently at his lashes.
“According to the First Order, anyone considered defective is disposable,” he says, very quietly. “But you know I left that reasoning behind along with everything else.”
Poe bites his lip. “I know, but —”
“You sat by my bed every day when I was unconscious. And after I woke up, you were there when I couldn’t sleep or when I dreamed about...before.” Finn loosens his grip a little, letting his palms settle at the small of Poe’s back. “You snuck me real food and played cards with me and fixed up that stupid jacket so I could have something of my own. You bullied me through rehab when it got so hard I wanted to quit, which was about ten times a day. You answered all my questions and didn’t laugh at me when I didn’t know how something worked here. You introduced me to your friends and made sure I never felt alone.”
Poe looks down at their feet, color rising in his face. “Yeah, but that was temporary — you were always going to get better. This is the rest of my life. This is...a permanent disability.” His throat bobs as he swallows hard. Finn thinks maybe it’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. “I don’t know what that’s going to be like, exactly, but I may not always be able to maintain my sunny disposition.”
Finn can’t help but snort at that, though his heart sinks when Poe doesn’t react. He considers reminding Poe that a few centimeters deeper and that lightsaber slash could have left him without the use of his legs, but decides that is a conversation for another day.
“It’s a lot to ask of anyone,” Poe says, his eyes roaming over Finn’s face. “So either we have an expiration date, or…”
“Or you’re an idiot,” Finn says flatly. He can’t soften this, not yet, because Poe needs to understand just how misguided his fears have been.
“Under the circumstances, I would really prefer being an idiot.” But he still looks anxious, not hopeful, and Finn kind of wants to shake him.
“Well, you are,” he mutters. He shakes his head, noting the deepening shadows as the sun sinks lower behind his back. He shuffles his feet so he can feel the warmth on the side of his face. “Do you really think so little of me — that I’d just drop you, after everything we’ve been through?”
Poe squeezes his bicep hard enough to leave an impression, looking stricken. “Blast it, Finn, that’s not what I —”
Finn abruptly gives up on talking — they needed to talk, and they have, but Finn can’t find the words for this.
So he hauls Poe close, gravel crunching beneath his boots, and kisses him with everything he’s learned to feel in these last months, everything he needs him to know. Poe’s hands come up to frame his face and he strokes Finn’s cheekbones with his thumbs. He rolls his shoulders under Finn’s touch, as though casting off a weight he’s borne for too long.
A small sliver of moon is rising over Poe’s ear when they break apart.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, leaning his forehead against Finn’s and gazing at him from that short distance. “I was afraid.”
“I get that,” Finn says, because he’s been afraid too, about so many things. “But you don’t have to be alone with it.”
Poe smiles, the sweet guileless smile pressed to Finn’s lips or neck or shoulder when he wakes up in the morning, and kisses him again, softly.
“Okay.”
Finn is aware that this doesn’t solve everything — he needs to know so much more, and Poe needs to start figuring out what his life is going to be like instead of hiding from it. But for the time being they’re content to watch the sunset fade into evening.
At least until Finn starts to shiver in his shirtsleeves (he’d deliberately left his leather jacket behind, or rather the person he’d been an hour ago had left it). Though the temperature doesn’t drop as quickly here as it does in the desert, the seasons are beginning to turn. Poe clicks on a penlight for the climb down, aiming it at their feet, his free hand tucked into Finn’s.
******
He isn’t there when Poe talks to his squadron, and no one brings it up to him, but Poe starts wearing the glasses.
Three days later they’re gathered in the pilots’ lounge for one of their impromptu holovid nights, to which Finn and Connix have a standing invitation (Rey too, but she needs more alone time and therefore shows up less frequently).
As always, it begins with a vigorous argument over whose favorite gets the pick. Finn has the least investment given that he grew up in a sanitized entertainment bubble, so he waits patiently while the others duke it out.
“But we just watched ‘Sirens of Mandalore’ last month!”
“Yeah, and it’s still fucking awesome, Pava.”
“Seven hells, Snap, what is with you and overwrought historical dramas?”
Poe drums his fingers on the arm of the sofa. “Hey, what about the first ‘Legends of the Old Republic’? Haven’t seen that one in ages.”
Everybody groans, including Finn. The later installments get kind of good but the first one is all fight scenes and explosions, which is Poe’s preferred genre.
“Dameron, if you make me sit through that endless final dogfight again, I will go blind,” Snap declares.
Finn’s muscles tense up and he hears Jess make a small noise, not quite a gasp, to his left. Kay’s looped braids swing in an arc around her head as she turns to glare at Snap.
But Poe laughs and kicks out with his bare foot, landing it square on Snap Wexley’s well-padded behind.
“Like it’s worse than all that swooning?” He throws an arm around Finn’s neck and flings himself over his lap, sighing and fluttering his lashes, which appear even longer behind the slim lenses. “Oh, noble warrior, won’t you remove that mask so I might gaze upon my rescuer?” he pipes in a passable Mandalorian accent, winking up at Finn.
Finn shrugs, mimes removing a helmet, and dips down for a properly theatrical embrace. Cheers and whistles erupt all over the rec room. Poe hangs on, his tongue chasing the taste of honeydrops into Finn’s mouth — they always were his favorite — and Finn loses the thread of the farce until Jess cups her hands around her mouth and makes a klaxon sound directly into his ear.
“Rule Number Two of Vid Night: no making out for more than thirty seconds at a time,” Iolo intones solemnly from the floor.
“Whatever,” Poe retorts, breathless and unrepentant. He goes cross-eyed behind his steamed-up glasses, which Finn cleans with the hem of his shirt before tucking himself under Poe’s arm. It’s completely unfair how well those glasses suit him, and worse, he’s started to realize it. Finn is still thinking up how to get his revenge for Poe giving him that look over the rims during their last strategy session with command.
He does get to witness Rey’s reaction, which seems equally prosaic at first. She blinks at Poe a few times, digesting the information, and then says, “If you think I’m going to let you win our speeder races from now on, you are sorely mistaken.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” says Poe with a chuckle, tweaking her nose.
She swats his hand away in irritation and then suddenly crashes into him. Poe lets out an “oof” (Finn sympathizes; she’s strong) before hugging her back just as tight.
“I’m all right, sweetheart,” he says into her hair.
Rey pulls back and touches his face with gentle fingertips, reaching for Finn’s hand at the same time.
“Yes, you will be,” she says with a smile.
******
It’s Rey’s idea that he consult with Luke Skywalker. Finn’s brief surge of hope is quashed by the explanation, courtesy of Leia years ago, that Jedi techniques only help speed a healing process. Master Luke trying to cure this would be like trying to regrow his own hand (Poe’s turn of phrase, accompanied by appropriate sound effects; Finn twists his face in disgust, as expected, and thus they’re both able to cover their disappointment).
What Luke actually proposes is helping Poe develop his other senses to compensate for his fading sight. He may not be particularly Force-sensitive but he’s honed some damn fine reflexes and instincts in his career as a pilot; Luke puts together a program of meditation techniques and katas to utilize them. Poe claims it’s even more boring than patrol duty, but he takes it seriously nonetheless. Finn offers to join him in meditation from time to time, though he has a tendency to fall asleep.
Poe blames this new training regimen for a number of changes to his daily life, from delegating certain missions and leadership responsibilities to his more-than-capable team, to scheduling actual downtime instead of crashing when his fuel cells finally run dry. Finn accepts this rationale without comment, even when he’d dearly like to comment (“Rey says she learned ‘profound auditory stillness’ by listening for bird calls. I dunno, it sounds like banthashit, but might as well give it a shot — let’s go camping”).
He has bad days, of course, like most everyone who’s lost something to this war. The migraines don’t disappear completely. Finn is glad that he no longer has to put up a fight about pain management now that he’s got the entire squadron behind him, though Poe still resents being put out of commission. And there are more ordinary days when he gets moody or bitter or depressed. Mostly he copes by sparring with Snap in the training room, baking delicate pastries with Jess, hiking out to find rare flowers and medicinal plants with Rey, teaching some hero-worshipping new recruit to play simple chords on his guitar (and also Nien, who has surprisingly decent rhythm). It’s somehow different from his jack-of-all-trades routine from before, though; now they know why he needs them.
If it’s especially rough he takes Black One up for hours, alone except for BB-8 in her berth, turning swift maneuvers in the air or orbiting the planet. Finn will be waiting when he gets home, to peel him out of his flightsuit and lay his glasses carefully aside and kiss him until the scent of ozone and engine oil fills up his lungs. They leave the lights on. Finn is used to it by now, the way Poe watches him. Sometimes he closes his eyes and lets go of that awareness, lets his body rise under Poe’s touch, reshaped into something new each time he falls. Sometimes he winds his fingers into Poe’s hair to hold him still, his gaze unflinching, caught in a feedback loop of right now and remember.
Afterwards they lie together in the darkness and Poe adds to an inventory of the sights he’ll miss most.
Karé’s legs. He says this once to Finn, in private, and again after a close call on an Order outpost. They’re huddled around Iolo’s bed in sick bay, and Finn might have felt out of place except that he’s the reason Iolo got out with just a couple of blaster burns. So he’s leaning against the back of Poe’s chair while the remnants of Rapier Squadron reminisce about their exploits over a smuggled flask of moonshine. Karé swings her long legs up on Poe’s lap and promises she’ll save him a dance at every formal and not-so-formal event they get dragged to once they put the First Order out of business for good.
Sunsets. All of them. On Yavin with its haze of humidity and its temples, on D’Qar with its diving sunbirds, on Jakku that day he was captured by a man who was once a boy he knew and then rescued by a stormtrooper, on all the worlds he’s ever seen. When the Resistance relocates several months after Starkiller, the first thing he does is drag Finn up to the rooftop of a crumbling municipal building so they can watch a new sun sink into a wide green ocean (the second thing he does is comm Rey to ask when she wants to hit the beach in the morning).
The way everyone in the control room snaps to attention when General Organa speaks. She rarely needs to raise her voice and she is always willing to listen to an opposing viewpoint or a left-field suggestion. Poe tells him that she was a friend to his parents, his mother especially; he has a holo of Shara and Leia standing side by side, dressed for flight. Finn wishes he could have seen them together, leading armies and swapping stories, in the days before their sons took up arms on opposite sides of a fault line.
Snap singing karaoke, his face flushed red and his voice passionately tuneless, when he’s had one Corellian whiskey too many. This leads to an argument about the trashy Inner Core reality programs to which Jess and Finn are addicted. She grew up roaming the lower levels of Coruscant and Finn grew up, well, FN-2187, so they both enjoy turning their noses up at the vapid upper crust in their enormous mansions. Poe would never voluntarily witness an episode and threatens to wipe their bootleg files whenever they lose track of time and get sucked into a five-hour marathon, but he’s entertained by the way they gesture wildly at the holoprojector and each other. Finn will deny it to anyone who didn’t soothe his bruises, but he once fell off the sofa during a dramatically staged table-flipping.
The vivid blue glow of a legend once thought lost.. And whatever color the blade turns out to be when Rey finally constructs a new one. Poe spent many childhood hours vanquishing imaginary Sith beneath his mother’s tree, and while he was fairly sanguine about never becoming a Jedi warrior, he’s still transfixed by the flash and hum of a lightsaber. Whether Rey is whirling about defending herself from remotes, facing off against Finn with the sort of melee weapon he learned to wield as a trooper, or learning intricate battle-dances from Luke and the general, there’s a good chance Poe will be spectating if he’s free. He, Finn, and a few other interested parties have picked up some pointers in case they face another stranded-in-the-woods-with-Kylo-Ren scenario, but Rey wields the saber and the Force like she was born to it (which, Finn supposes, she was).
A streak of laser fire on a black starfield. Poe was born to the sky and the stars. He’s still flying at this level because it’s burned into his heart and brain and muscle-memory. Dodging TIEs because he’s seen so many swarms by now and they’ve never developed much imagination, taking out Destroyer shields and cannons in his narrowing periphery because he memorized their schematics as a kid, every evasive maneuver and crack shot he’s ever made registered somewhere in the back of his consciousness where he could pull it out later (now), analyze what he could have done differently (still), what he’ll do better next time (the last time).
I can fly anything.
******
“I mean, you’ve got an incredible ass, you know that?” Poe is saying in a conversational tone. He said something before that too, but Finn was a little distracted by the measured, leisurely pull on his cock. Every fourth or fifth stroke Poe will slip out of rhythm, his thumb catching beneath the head or his fingers rippling one by one, and Finn is about to lose his damn mind trying to follow the logic.
Poe stops touching him, ignoring his whine of protest to prod him onto his side, facing the window. “So firm,” he murmurs appreciatively, displacing his attentions with nary a pause, his nimble hands stroking and kneading. “And the way it looks in those blue pants you stole from me — guess I should stop teasing you about all that time in the gym.”
“I like it when you tease me,” Finn says, hoping to tempt him into reaching around and getting back to teasing. But Poe’s fingertips trip over the curve of his flank to the divot of his vertebrae. His touch is light even though Finn doesn’t have much sensation left in the puckered, faded skin.
“This too,” he says, and Finn finally realizes what he’s doing. He cants his head back to listen, willing his hard-on to stand down. Poe traces the upper edge of the scar with his lips, which are dry and a little swollen from Finn’s kisses.
“Why?” It was a week past his release from Medical before he could look over his shoulder in the mirror.
Poe huffs a laugh into the shell of his ear, laying an arm over his ribs. “Because you survived a lightsaber to the spine, pal. How many people can say that? Or that they overcame twenty-odd years of brainwashing to become the good person they were always meant to be?” He nudges his nose against Finn’s cheek. “The moment you took off that helmet, I knew. Wasn’t sure quite what it was I knew, not yet, but it was something all right.”
“I was terrified,” Finn points out, recalling the sweat beading across his brow, the thump of his heart beneath the stiff armor.
“You were brave, and beautiful.” Poe has lost the coy lilt to his voice somewhere in his exploration of the planes of Finn’s chest. Finn shifts onto his back, combing his fingers through Poe’s hair. If he tugged a little he might be able to revert to their former trajectory, but the intent focus on Poe’s face stills him.
“I’ll never forget the first time you smiled at me,” Poe says against the smaller scar on his shoulder. He monitors the shallow rise and fall of Finn’s breath, palms flat on his sternum. “Or the way you look in the morning, stretched out in the sheets, with the sun on your skin.”
He lifts his head to look down into Finn’s face.
“And your eyes,” he whispers, the lines around his mouth tightening. “Finn. Your eyes —”
Poe’s voice breaks at the same time Finn plucks his glasses off (he’s been wearing them in bed for weeks now). He fits himself to the curve of Finn’s neck, the heat of his skin burning like a brand.
“I fucking hate this.”
Finn doesn’t offer empty platitudes, doesn’t tell him everything will be okay, doesn’t remind him of the people and the purpose in his life. He does what Poe did when Finn started fighting for the Resistance, before he began following Dr. Kalonia and the med droids around until they gave him something to do during his off hours. When he’d come back from a mission and stand in the shower until the water ran cold. He has a name and a cause now and it answers the questions he used to ask himself about why and where and how he belonged; but sometimes he thinks he’ll never wash the blood off his hands, the blood of soldiers he’s lost and those he’s killed.
He says, “Yeah, me too,” into Poe’s dark curls.
He wraps Poe up in his arms and the ancient, scratchy, Rebel Alliance-issued blanket that’s been dragged halfway across the galaxy and back by now.
He kisses the salt tears from Poe’s tired eyes.
He says, “I love you.”
Even after all this time, the words still feel like a small private rebellion.
“I love you too,” Poe answers, bringing their clasped hands up to his mouth. He says it again while he’s working Finn open, and again as he slowly pushes inside until they’re joined fast, and once more when Finn comes with a low keening cry.
Poe’s eyes are already closed when he turns the lights off. Finn slides back under the covers, his head half on the pillow and half on Poe’s shoulder, his right foot tucked between Poe’s calves.
“Poe?”
“Mmmph?” Poe starts awake, his chin bumping Finn’s forehead.
“I want you to know,” Finn says, “that you can put your hands on my ass at any time if you need reassurance that it’s still fine as hell.”
He can feel the half-moon arc of Poe’s smile against the top of his head. “I”ll keep that in mind.”
Finn dreams of Takodana that night, not the part where Han shot Nines or Rey was taken or he almost ran for the Rim, but about the first time he raised his eyes to follow Poe’s soaring passage across the sky.
********
Poe flies his last mission for the Resistance eighteen months after he reveals his diagnosis.
That’s how long it takes for General Organa to drum up the support and resources needed to crack a nut she’s wanted to go after for years. The First Order controls an entire system on the Outer Rim; its five habitable planets include half a dozen mining colonies, a prison complex, and according to new reports, a stormtrooper training camp. When she adds this she looks to Finn, bent forward over the holoprojector table.
“Corporal Finn, I’ve already assigned you to lead that division,” she says before he can ask.
Finn lets out a breath and nods. Poe leans into his side a little before straightening to hear his own orders.
“As you all know, the system is heavily guarded. Commander Dameron will concentrate our fighters in this quadrant —”
An arm goes up at the far end of the table.
“Excuse me, but is Commander Dameron fit to lead this attack?”
The general fought hard to maintain military autonomy but she still has to negotiate with Republic leadership, negotiations which include a command delegation at this briefing. The speaker, a tall Dorean woman in a Republican Navy dress uniform, is gesturing to Poe with open skepticism.
Finn feels his face flush with anger. He opens his mouth, but holds his tongue when Poe trods on his foot.
“I understand your reservations, Admiral Cephra,” he says calmly. “My vision is impaired, as you are no doubt aware, but with medical intervention I’m more than capable of leading our X-wings to victory as squadron commander.”
Admiral Statura glances between Poe and General Organa. “Commander, are you sure you’re up for this? Perhaps Captain Wexley might be better suited to run this particular operation.” He looks slightly ill at having spoken out, though that doesn’t tamp down Finn’s resentment.
Poe and Snap share a long look. It’s true that he’s been taking on some of Poe’s duties, and his experience and seniority make him an ideal successor; but Poe is still the best pilot the Resistance has at their disposal, and they both know it.
“If Commander Dameron says he can do it, then I trust him, sir.”
Finn locks his arms behind his back to prevent himself from reaching out in some entirely unprofessional manner, to Poe or to Snap or both. Out of all the pilots he’s closest to Jess now, but she had taken awhile to open up when they met. Snap was the first person aside from Poe and Leia to accept Finn, the turncoat in their midst.
“As do I,” General Organa says, her tone brooking no further argument. Cephra purses her lips but concedes, and the assembly returns to planning a complicated, multi-pronged attack on the Peryx system.
Finn thinks back on that exchange a week later when he’s neatening Poe’s flightsuit (which is only fair since he was the one who put it out of order in the first place).
“Be safe up there, okay?” These are words he’s said many times before, but last night Poe turned the tiny dial on his glasses to its maximum setting. He takes Poe’s face in his hands and kisses him deeply, clamping down on his own self-control. They both have a mission to complete. “Come back to me.”
“See you when we land,” Poe murmurs, pressing his lips to Finn’s brow and the worry lines he can’t quite suppress. “I’ll be the guy in orange.”
Finn lets out a watery laugh and kisses him once more, squeezes his hand — and lets go.
******
The assault is successful beyond even the general’s hopes, with minimal lives lost on their side. The same cannot be said for the First Order. When it becomes clear that defeat is imminent, the commander of the Dreadnought leading planetary defenses sets a collision course rather than surrender. Finn is not surprised that they choose the planet occupied by trooper trainees ranging in age from ten to eighteen; he’s just thankful that a ship of that class moves so slowly. His team is able to complete evacuations aside from the handful of officers who refused to abandon their posts.
Once he’s aboard the last transport, he allows himself to reach out on comms to confirm that Poe is safe. Or at least not in danger of passing out or bleeding out from the head wound he took off a wayward hit; Finn knows that BB-8 would override manual controls if she had to now that the main action is over, no matter how Poe argued. Finn keeps his own surface burns and slight limp to himself.
He is far more concerned that Rey, Luke, and Chewie have gone dark on the prison planet. But their comms crackle back to life before he can talk Kalonia into letting him take a shuttle down, and once they land on the control ship it becomes clear why they disappeared into a blackout zone: they have Wedge Antilles staggering between them. The famed pilot and junior senator who was presumed dead is in fact alive and mostly well, considering he spent the last three years in the maximum security wing of a First Order prison.
Peryx turns the tide of a war that might have dragged on for years, though mostly they’re too busy to realize it right away. Many of the freed prisoners and a few of the older cadets are eager to join the fight against their oppressors, boosting their ranks. General Organa puts Poe in charge of training, though she also borrows him for an extended trip to Coruscant. The newly restored capital accepted military recruits with alacrity but is having some trouble locating adequate funds for refugees who can’t or don’t want to fight (that’s how Luke puts it; Leia chooses different words behind closed doors).
While the Resistance recovered some supplies from the captured Order outposts, they can only subsist on half-rations for so long. And ultimately the refugees will need to be settled somewhere other than the base, since most of their families and homes have been destroyed. Considering the delegation arguing for their rights includes a lifelong diplomat, a Jedi master, a general-turned-senator resurrected from the dead, and a pilot who could charm the scales off a rancor, Finn isn’t too worried about the outcome. He does hate being parted from Poe for so long, even as he keeps himself busy helping the refugees acclimate to their newfound freedom.
******
The next time they’re separated he swears it will be the last time, one way or another. He leads a battalion of Poe’s hastily prepared troops while Poe stays behind in the control room because he’s lost too much functional vision. While he’s perfectly capable of flying in open space with BB-8’s upgraded programming, his reaction time isn’t be quick enough in a combat situation and that would make him a liability for the squadron. So he takes the tactical position beside Admiral Ackbar; the general goes with her brother and Rey on the stealth ship they scavenged from the ruins of Peryx 3.
For Finn, somewhat ironically, the war ends in a blur. His memories of bringing Admiral Hux down and accepting Captain Phasma’s surrender will always remain staticky as a bad holo transmission. Being struck by Force lightning will do that to a person.
In the end no one kills Snoke. Once Leia and Rey break through his influence over Kylo Ren — over Ben Organa-Solo, according to the official records — it seems he simply fades away, deprived of the life force he’d been feeding on for fifteen years. Some Supreme Leader he turned out to be.
Finn is unaware of this even though he’s within shooting distance. All he knows is that the electrifying agony suddenly stops, and then the afterburn of pain fades into cool oblivion.
Poe wasn’t at the Sith temple where they made their final stand, but he’s sitting by the bed when Finn wakes up.
“Welcome back, buddy,” Poe says, just as he did after Starkiller. For a moment Finn is convinced that they’re back on D’Qar and he dreamed the last two years in the depths of his coma.
But Poe’s eyes weren’t clouded over on D’Qar, and the med bay there didn’t have a picture-window view of a rushing blue river, and Poe didn’t lean down to whisper “Stars, Finn, I thought I’d lost you” and kiss him until the buzz of panic in his mind went quiet.
“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Finn croaks, his throat feeling like he’s recently walked through a brushfire. Poe’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. He swipes at his eyes and lays his head on Finn’s chest, over his heartbeat.
******
They stay on Takodana for a couple of weeks while Finn gets his strength back. It’s good to see Maz Kanata again, especially without the threat of the First Order and his own fear nipping at his heels. She is of course taken with Poe, escorting him around the rebuilt cantina and the quarters they’re constructing for a group of Peryxns, insisting he sit next to her at meals, and talking him into playing a few sets with her house band.
“You bring this handsome young man of yours back for a proper visit soon,” Maz instructs Finn before they board their transport. It’s hard on his healing body to get down on the ground and back up, even with a crutch and Poe’s help, but he ignores the twinges so she can pat his cheek with her wrinkled palm. “And Rey too. Tell her I’ll make her a whole tray of vinefruit-tarts.”
Finn grins and promises he will, rolling his eyes when Poe kneels and kisses her hand in a blatant attempt to upstage him.
“And tell that Wookiee he owes me a drink!” Maz shouts as the ramp goes up.
When they arrive at the battered base and report directly to General Organa’s office for orders, she stares at them like they’ve sprouted tentacles.
“Your orders are to go away,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve got six years of back pay and accumulated leave between you; time to cash it in.”
“But we were just on leave,” Poe protests.
Leia eyes his rumpled uniform and Finn’s carved wooden crutch. “Takodana doesn’t count. Finn was recovering from injuries and you were micromanaging the new colony. Surely you don’t think Maz was too smitten to tattle on you?”
Finn slumps against Poe’s shoulder. He knows there is so much rebuilding to do, but gods, he’s feeling tired now that she’s mentioned it. Shore leave wouldn’t sound so bad except for one tiny detail. “Um, General? I don’t exactly have a home to go away to.”
Now Poe is looking at him like he’s gone all tentacley. “Of course you do. It’s with me.” BB-8 trills in agreement. Finn’s still picking up the binary shorthand that Poe has been developing with C-3PO’s self-important assistance, but he thinks she’s grumbling that humans can be so dense sometimes.
“So go home,” Leia says, her face softening from its no-nonsense expression. “I can even give you an official excuse — Yavin’s government has offered refuge to some of our people. Introduce them to the representative and then get some rest.” She reaches out to touch Poe’s wrist and Finn’s hand on his crutch. “You both deserve it.”
Finn would do pretty much anything the general asked right now, but Poe gets this crafty look on his face and taps his thumb on his chin. Oh, no. Finn knows that look.
He agrees to take this unspecified period of leave only after talking Leia into coming to his family’s house for dinner. Finn and BB-8 watch the exchange like it’s a grav-ball tournament.
“And you can stay in the guest room for the week — Dad won’t mind.”
“I’ll stay two nights, Dameron, and I expect those spicy noodles I know Shara taught you to make.”
Poe salutes her with a crooked grin. “It’s a deal, sir.”
“You’re incorrigible,” Leia accuses him, propping a hand on her hip. “Now get out of my hair, I have actual work to do.”
******
Finn has seen holos and listened to Poe’s stories, but Yavin 4 is even more beautiful than he imagined, all lush rainforest and cloud-capped mountains.
He’s fascinated by the modest city where they land; Poe describes it as “a hot mess, really,” with no small degree of pride. This is a world rediscovered by settlers making a new start, so the architecture and aesthetics reflect a melding of different cultures as well as remnants of the people who ruled the moon long ago. Finn gets a kick out of the composite style after spending most of his life hemmed in by homogeneity. Why shouldn’t a whitestone cathedral nestle up between a sleek transparisteel dome and a rainbow-hued brick tower, after all?
After they drop off a hardy band of Peryx survivors (with a solemn promise to one twelve-year-old girl, who was once TG-3048 and now calls herself Wyria, that they’ll visit in a few days), they rent a tiny shuttle to carry them across the continent. Poe takes the pilot’s post and Finn straps in behind him. BB-8 huddles near their feet to guide Poe with a constant stream of calculations (most of which he probably doesn’t need, having made this trip dozens of times over the years, but he’d never want her to feel superfluous).
They fly low over the ancient Massassi temples that once housed the Rebellion, rising out of the mists, and Finn couldn’t say why but he can’t take his eyes off them.
“We can take the speeder out to the temples,” Poe says as he lets down the landing gear. It’s not clear if he noticed Finn’s interest or if it was just a lucky guess. He’s gotten good at reading people out of necessity, but his awareness of Finn’s movements and emotions is especially heightened.
Poe breathes deep in the warm, humid air, tilting his face up to the sky as soon as his feet touch the ground. He’s left the prescription glasses behind (“Not much difference between big dark blurs and slightly less blurry big dark blurs”) but usually wears sunglasses outside, and he pushes them back to feel the sun on his face.
“So, this is home,” he says, sweeping his arms out.
Finn smiles, knowing Poe can hear it when he speaks. “I like it.”
Kes Dameron comes loping off the porch of the low ranch-style house. Finn has exchanged a few awkward words with him over holo transmissions, but this is the first time they’ve actually met. He’s a bit taller than Poe and powerfully built even in his early sixties, his hair more salt than pepper, his olive skin tanned from time spent outdoors. Poe favors his mother’s looks but Finn can still see the resemblance, especially when Kes raises a hand to his son’s face and Poe mirrors him.
“Hi, Dad.” Poe’s voice climbs a little higher than usual. He traces his father’s heavy brows, his cheekbones. Finn wonders if he can feel the passing of four years in his fingertips.
“Poe,” Kes says, and wraps his arms around him, one large hand cradling the back of his head. They don’t speak but they hold on for a long time. Finn takes half a step back, and waits.
Eventually Poe pulls back, rubbing a hand over his hair with a short, rough laugh. He reaches back to clasp Finn’s forearm.
“And this must be Finn,” Kes says, raising his eyebrows expectantly.
“It’s good to meet you, sir,” Finn says, holding out his hand. Kes uses it to drag him forward.
“Yeah, we’re huggers,” Poe deadpans over his father’s shoulder. “Where’d you think I got it from?”
They spend the rest of the day settling in and catching up. Poe insists on introducing Finn to the Force-sensitive tree first thing, running his hands over its bark like it’s a beloved pet he left behind. The curving trunk and tapered leaves don’t look anything like the rest of the planet’s foliage; Poe had told him that his mother put a lot of work into getting it to thrive that first year.
“She slept out here during a freak cold snap once.”
Finn leans back against the tree and gazes up into its branches. It might be his imagination, but the ache in his bones seems to fade a little. “It’s amazing, Poe.”
“Yeah,” he says fondly, patting a round knot. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
Poe shows him around without much input from BB-8; it seems Kes has mostly kept the house the way he remembers it.
“Aw, Dad, you still haven’t replaced this rug? I might not be able to see it but I can feel the ugliness through my socks.”
“You hate that rug so much, go buy me a new one,” Kes calls pleasantly from the kitchen, where he’s chopping vegetables for dinner. (Finn doesn’t think it’s so bad — the pattern’s a bit loud, maybe, but he likes the colors.)
******
The proposed sightseeing trip gets rained out the next morning. Normally Finn wouldn’t mind getting a little wet, but his joints don’t take too kindly to weather these days.
“Okay, turn over,” Poe orders, rubbing his hands together to warm the bacta-balm in his palms.
Finn groans and obeys, pulling the pillow beneath his head. “Don’t use too much, it’s running low.” Rey had used a high-quality commercial balm as the base and then added some plant compounds under Luke’s direction. Even the doc had been impressed with the homemade salve’s efficacy on Finn’s singular ailment, when nothing short of a dip in a tank seemed to help. And it smells nice, too.
“We can ask the general to bring more.” Poe smoothes his hands down Finn’s neck to his shoulders and along his arms, leaving skin tingling in his wake. “I’m sorry, babe, I didn’t even think about how the climate might affect you.”
“Could’ve been worse,” Finn mumbles into the pillow. “Could’ve caused brain damage, or blindness.”
Poe lets out a chuckle, working a kink out at the small of Finn’s back. “What a pair we’d be then.”
Neither of them mentions that the electrical strikes could also have resulted in death. Luke was frankly shocked that they hadn't, considering how little control Kylo Ren had over his emotional state or his power by then. Instead there had been pain, in constant waves with no relief until Ren let go, a pain that may very well manifest itself in chronic arthritis. Finn has improved greatly over the past few weeks, but it's still too early for long-term prognosis.
“We’re already quite the pair,” he says quietly as Poe’s strong hands massage the balm into his legs. If the aches do linger as the Jedi master warned they might, this isn't such a terrible remedy. “But we survived.”
Poe falters for a moment.
“Yes, we did.” He leans down to press his lips to the nape of Finn’s neck, his beard tickling Finn’s skin. Finn knows he’s thinking of everyone who didn’t survive, Han and Ello and Slip and Muran and Renard and Kay and —
Finn rolls over to kiss him, cupping his jaw. He wasn’t a big fan of the stubble burn at first but it’s grown out enough to feel soft beneath the pads of his fingers. The beard suits Poe’s strong nose and romance holo hair, and Finn finds that he kind of likes it now. Besides which, he understands without asking that it’s meant to honor Snap, as much as the letter Poe had spent twelve consecutive hours writing and rewriting before sending it to his mother and ex-wife.
“You look more like your dad with this,” he observes, stroking Poe’s face.
“Let’s just hope I don’t start going gray in a couple of years like he did.”
Finn would never admit it out loud, but he’s secretly looking forward to the day when the gray begins to creep in at Poe’s temples. Not for himself, so much, though he thinks he might like to lay off the cardio and let his belly go flabby at some point.
They can do those things now; they can grow older and softer together. Finn could apply to med school like Kalonia has urged him, though he isn't sure yet if he wants to go into general medicine or something in the mental health field. And Poe, as far as he's concerned, would be well-suited for any number of paths: teaching or music or administration or politics (General Organa’s obvious preference, though she hasn’t said anything overt yet). Hell, he could set himself up as a street magician on the upper levels of Coruscant, reading lines on palms and snatching muja fruit out of midair, and Finn would still consider himself lucky to come home to him every day.
But there’s time to discuss all of that, on this impromptu sabbatical or after it. They don’t have to decide anything for awhile yet.
He runs his hands idly through Poe’s hair, a corner of his mouth lifting at Poe’s faint hum of pleasure.
“Can we spend all day in bed?”
Poe stretches languidly, draping himself halfway over Finn’s body. “We can do anything we want.”
“Anything,” Finn echoes, thinking about the future for the first time in his life, and kisses the creases over his eyes.
******
“I smell caipha peppers. This was Leia’s request, wasn’t it?”
Finn glances up from his datapad as Kes settles in the chair across from him. “I’m not sure if it was a request so much as a condition of her showing up at all. Uh, not that she didn’t seem glad to see you, sir,” he adds, since the general is still technically his boss.
Kes offers him a brown glass bottle. “It’s certainly been awhile. And Finn, please, stop calling me that.”
“Sorry, s — Mr. Dameron,” Finn responds automatically, wincing at himself and making Kes chuckle.
He sips at the beer, which is cool and fizzy and tastes a bit like the tree nuts Poe had added to his oatmeal at breakfast. He’s holding court in the kitchen now, whipping up what seems like an insanely complicated recipe judging by the teetering piles of dishes on the countertop. Rey is helping by alternately chopping, washing, tripping over BB-8, and dodging Poe’s attempts to pull her into a dance. The music flowing through the long pass-through window is something he recognizes as a favorite of Poe’s, with a quick beat and a bright brass section.
Things haven’t been easy between the two of them lately, so Finn takes it as a good sign that Poe invited her. They’d talked about it just once, on Takodana, after Finn woke up wracked with phantom pain from a nightmare. It isn’t so much that Poe blames Rey for choosing stun cuffs over the killing blow when Kylo Ren had knelt at her feet. He believes passionately in fair trials and the rule of law and all the ideals he’d defended at great personal cost. But a world in which Ren still breathes while Snap and so many others are gone is a difficult world for him to accept. Finn gets that, and he recognizes it would’ve been easier in some ways if it had ended like the old days, with the villains conveniently vanquished and the heroes celebrating their victory over the evil Empire.
On the other hand, the cycle had started over again barely a generation later. Maybe they can do better this time, with Ren and Phasma and their ilk paying for their crimes with time instead of their lives, with a better understanding of what supports distant planets need when their infrastructures collapse without the support of a powerful hegemony. Maybe.
(I think I might have done it. A hushed confession, scarcely audible over the murmur of the river through the open window. Even if he was unarmed, even knowing it was wrong, if I’d been there and heard you screaming —
Shhh, I’m okay. We’re okay.
But Finn, what kind of man does that make me?
The kind who lies awake at night thinking about a choice he didn’t have to make, same as me. And about all the choices we did make.)
“It’s so green,” Rey had said when she landed, the highest praise she knows, granted in a voice both wearier and smaller than he’s become accustomed to. She keeps saying she’ll only impose for a few days; Finn is confident he can stretch that to a week. If anyone could use a little peace and quiet, it’s Rey.
And Leia too, not that she’s ever been the type to leave her duties behind. She’s in the study on a holocall to her brother. Luke is the only one who can bear to be near her son for any length of time; his mind is in such turmoil that just standing outside his cell makes Leia feel faint. Rey’s shielding is a little better, but Luke says it’s not her responsibility. Ben will get better or he won’t; either way he won’t be hurting anyone anymore, and he isn’t alone.
“How are you feeling?” Kes wants to know.
“Much better, thank you.” The alcohol had dulled the twinge in his muscles, although that isn’t a feeling he wants to cultivate. It was his own fault anyway; he insisted on scaling one of the smaller temples, over Poe’s objections. But the view had been worth it.
“Glad to hear it.” He glances back in the kitchen, where Poe has finally caught Rey without a knife or rolling pin in her hand. He spins her out and back into his arms, singing along while she giggles and matches his steps. She’s much quicker on her feet than Finn (not that Poe ever complains about his toes being stepped on). He can’t remember the last time he heard her laugh like that.
He’d be perfectly content to watch his two favorite people in the galaxy dance and roll out dough and stir six different pots on the stove, but Kes is leaning forward with a serious expression on his face.
“While my son is otherwise occupied, I wanted to take the opportunity to thank you.”
Finn blinks, forgetting the admonishment over address in his confusion. “Sir?”
Kes rolls his own bottle between his hands. “When Poe told me how quickly his eyesight was deteriorating, I was damn worried. He never wanted to talk about his diagnosis — refused to accept it, really, even when we were assured it wouldn’t affect him for decades. He lied about it on his Academy application, you know.”
Finn nods — he didn’t know that, actually, but it sounds like something a teenager with bedroom walls covered in fighter schematics and recruitment posters would do.
“So when he said he had two years left…well, I started thinking I’d be getting a call from the general before that time was up.” His words are blunt, but his face is drawn in shadows. He takes a long pull on his beer before continuing. “He’s always loved to fly, like his mother, and he’s always been a bit reckless. I was so afraid of what that meant for my boy, him knowing he was going blind sooner rather than later.”
“I know,” Finn says in a low voice. Every time Poe had gone up in that T-70....
Kes puts a hand on his knee, his grip warm and firm. “But here he is,” he says, shaking his head with a wondering laugh, “making a mess in my kitchen and flirting with that pretty girl who can talk to my mangy old tree. And I’ve got you to thank for it, I think, at least in part.”
Finn’s mouth drops open and he nearly upends his beer. “Oh no, sir, that’s not — it’s got nothing to do with me, believe me. I wouldn’t even be sitting here if he hadn’t gotten me off that Star Destroyer.”
And then crashed us on a craphole planet where I met a testy droid and that pretty girl who knocked me out with a stick — but that’s a longer story and Kes knows the bones of it already.
“Poe is the strongest person I’ve ever known,” he insists, rubbing his palms along his thighs. “I’m just along for the ride.”
Kes quirks an eyebrow. “I know how that feels, son. I’m still grateful he’s not on that ride alone.” He hoists himself to his feet, circling around in the direction of the kitchen. “I’d better go make sure they’re not setting anything on fire. Oh, and Finn?”
“Yes, Mr. Dameron?” Finn feels like he’s back in basic training, being called on in class.
He leans over the back of the sofa, looking down at Finn, his brown eyes dancing.
“People who search for ‘Yavin 4 marriage customs’ on my computer get to call me by my first name.”
Finn feels the heat drain from his face. Poe has developed incredibly sharp and accurate hearing — he can gauge someone’s facial expression and estimate their age by tone of voice alone — but the music’s turned up pretty loud and Rey is exclaiming over the sauce, so maybe —
“Everything’s ready!” Poe announces, flapping his apron (which says “Kiss the Pilot” in flowery script). “Finn, can you muster the general?”
No, Finn decides with satisfaction, he didn’t overhear; and he goes to call Leia in for dinner.
******
“Ow!”
“Watch your six, Corporal — I sure can’t.”
“Very funny. You could’ve woken up BB-8 and made this easier, or let me turn on a light.”
“No need, I know my way around my own house. There’s the door — two steps down — whoops, I got you, buddy.”
“Any excuse to cop a feel, huh?”
“Like you don’t enjoy being manhandled. Can you see better now?”
“Yeah, the moon’s bright enough. Across the field to the west?”
Poe’s mouth alights just below his ear and his hands glide down Finn’s waist to his hips. “Yes.”
The A-wing’s cockpit is roomier than an X-wing’s, but it’s still a tight squeeze. Poe clambers up first and hauls Finn in after him. They shift around, Poe accidentally kicking Finn in the shin and Finn smacking his head on the canopy, before they settle in the pilot’s seat with Finn’s back to Poe’s chest.
“So this is where you learned to fly.”
Finn runs his hands over the controls. He’s been up in starfighters before so he knows the ropes, even though this is an older model. There’s a small holoprint pinned to the corner of the console. Finn touches its faded edge, smiling at the image of a woman sitting in this ship with a young boy on her lap. He’s got her mess of curls and a missing front tooth, and they’re both beaming down from the pilot’s seat.
Poe props his chin on Finn’s shoulder. “Might need a little maintenance first, but I bet we could get her up in the air. What do you think?”
He turns his head. Moonlight catches in Poe’s dark hair and the stars shine in his eyes.
“As long as you’re flying with me,” Finn says, and kisses the pilot.
******
The little prince sat down on a stone, and raised his eyes toward the sky.
"I wonder," he said, "whether the stars are set alight in heaven so that one day each one of us may find his own again..."
—Antoine de Saint-Exupéry