albinomilksnake | STAR WARS: possible spoiler warning

1. For Rey

Sure, he didn't know anything about her, beyond what Finn had said. But what Finn had said - what Finn had done - had been enough. He'd dragged the whole rebellion with him to save her, and had managed to save the rest of them in the meantime. And then she'd dragged him all the way back, half dead, but thankfully very much alive.

He didn't need to know her, to know that he already liked her. Or that he owed her one, despite the state of the jacket.

Because at least the jacket had come back.

When they'd landed, Poe had run over right away - all smiles and pumped up adrenaline - only to find them pulling Finn out on a stretcher, and Rey standing stone faced over him. They hadn't spoken then, but they'd shared a glance. A worried, fretful glance, all triumph sucked from him instantly. He'd run off after the stretcher even as the rest of the team celebrated. A lot of them had died. He was used to that, he expected that. And in some ways, death might have been easier for him to deal with. Wounded and dying but home? Way harder to face.

So he didn't go looking for Rey until Finn was stable. Until he had actual news to give her, though he was sure she'd already have been told. He still wanted to thank her in person.

When he found her, he jogged over, still in his flight suit that he'd forgotten to change out of, yet.

"Hey. Rey, right?"

2. For Finn, post recovery

"Yeah, there you go, you got it," Poe was saying, grinning as he leaned over Finn's shoulder in the cockpit of the X-Wing. Really, the ship was too small for both of them, but that's why the canopy was popped open as he pointed to the controls. "These are the in atmosphere controls. Works a little differently since you've got air and gravity to contend with. We'll start you on something with an actual co-pilot seat, but there's nothing quite like sitting in the cockpit of this baby, is there?"

3. Wildcard baby

Edited 2016-01-10 15:53 (UTC)

He wants to say yes. No, scratch that-- he wants to say hell yes, but he's keeping his hands mostly away from the controls, and in that too-tight space it's hard to keep from feeling like accidentally elbowing something will send a shower of blaster fire raining down on some poor tech mulling around nearby. Feels like hunkering down in the tie fighter all over again (less immediate, sure) only last time it was easier to swallow down the idea of knocking out a little friendly fire.

"You're sure this thing's off, right?"

Because he can count out at least ten lights-- little tiny, blinking lights-- that are still on and probably functional. And possibly dangerous.

Edited (when you realize your iPad ate a very important word...) 2016-01-11 13:24 (UTC)

Poe chuckled. "Relax. BB-8 isn't going to let us suddenly blast off. Fairly sure 'thrown from an x-wing while training' is a bit too ignoble an epitaph, even for me."

He shifted, reaching across Finn to tap at a little screen.

"This is the altitude meter. Once you're above the atmosphere, the readout will switch to your proximity radar. These-" He shifted again, bumping his elbow against the side of Finn's head while he did so, "-- Are your primary weapon systems - your blasters. And this--" He leaned down to flip up the cap on the joystick, "Is how you arm your proton torpedoes."

Did the ship just make an odd revving sound?

It's not a stretch for Finn, having to pick things up with only minimal understanding. Most First Order cadets went through hell learning how to latch on their armor, let alone handle new weaponry or scenarios during combat simulations, and the obligation of leading FN squad was always an exercise in adaptability. This, though - this is nicer. Something more to do with current company rather than how tense he is all the way up through his shoulders until Poe's talking him down.

Doesn't even mind getting clipped by the edge of Dameron's arm when he leans forward, the both of them half-jammed against a bucket seat designed for one.

"Uh-huh. Got it." Focused, attentive to a near razor sharp point, Finn's clearly mapping out the visual landmarks for each and every one of the vital systems as they run down the list.

--at least until he hears the x-wing breathe somewhere off behind them, low and groaning, like something snoring in its sleep. Snaps his head around without warning, nearly butting his face right into the bulk of Poe's shoulder

"--what was that?"

He manages to avoid being smacked by Finn's face by pulling back quickly, with a bemused look.

"That's the arming sequence," He said as if he had not just armed torpedoes in the middle of a Resistance base, with dozens of bystanders. He lets Finn believe it for a couple of seconds before giving him a lopsided smile. "Haven't actually loaded up any torpedoes, since the last run, so there's nothing to arm, but that's what you'd hear, anyway."

He couldn't help himself, and rubbed a hand over Finn's short cropped hair. He wasn't much of a flight instructor - preferred to do the flying rather than teaching someone else to - but Finn was an exception. And this was better than just hovering over the ex-stormtrooper while he recovered. Having Finn up and about was a massive relief, even if Rey hadn't returned yet.

Sure, there were simulations for this kind of thing, but this was more fun.

"Right, so once they arm, the targeting computer pops up," he said as it did so, sliding into place. "If it's a large target, don't bother, it just gets in the way. But if you need pin point precision, as long as your droid knows what you need to hit, it'll feed in the targeting for you. Isn't that right, BB-8?"

The droid whistled happily from behind them.

"You--" He's somewhere between bewildered and indignant, just before he realizes that his guard is the butt of the joke. Eases off with a groan, and instead of turning back towards the paneling up front in one smooth gesture, knocks his head back so that it's pressed right into Poe's chest. Exhales once, eyes shut.

Doesn't open his eyes again before muttering, pointedly, "Yup. Got it. Targeting computer does what you need it to."

Worst student of the year: Finn by a landslide.

Poe grins as the weight of Finn's head presses against his chest and he raises a hand to ruffle his hair fondly.

"You're doing fine," He assures him - the sentiment not needing to be voiced for Poe to feel it. "Just let me know if you'd rather go get some target practice instead of having me try to turn you into a flyboy."

Or, you know, drinks. That would be fine too.

It's an affectionate little noise that Finn makes in response, tongue to his teeth and some entirely lopsided grin settled there in spite of all the faux disinterest he'd tried to feign just a few seconds prior. Crinkles his nose and ducks his head to shake it-- and Poe's palm-- off, though he's still smiling by the end of it.

Poe Dameron's a charismatic man. More than that, he's a good man, and he's one of the only people in the entire universe Finn trusts completely.

"Hey you know me - shooting's what I'm here for."

If the X-wings were bigger, maybe reconfigured more like the tie fighters back on base, there wouldn't be any nervousness on Finn's part: Poe could fly, he could shoot, and they'd wreck the opposition like there was no tomorrow.

STAR WARS: possible spoiler warning

one for rey, one for finn, and one for anyone else who wants this loser

boops your nose

blushes fiercely!!

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