Finn wakes up and Poe starts having second thoughts.
(Yes, the tense change is intentional.)
***
Finn sleeps like the dead—and Mama had spun stories like this too, of enchanted princes and princesses cursed into the sleep of the dead by wicked witches—and in the interim, Rey goes off in search of Luke Skywalker.
Poe promises her he’ll check in on Finn as often as he can, when he’s not on missions or running sims with new recruits, and report back to her immediately should Finn wake.
And so Poe finds himself at Finn’s bedside, skimming though a datapad, reading to Finn some of Mama’s—and his—favorite Yavin fairytales. He recites to Finn the story of the floating city in the clouds. The one about the dragon who longs to be a real, human boy. The story of the princess who talks to the Force-trees.
He keeps the story of the prince in the tower to himself, though, for no real reason. He keeps that one in his holster, with the safety on.
“—and this princess, she’s a real brave one,” Poe says, as he absentmindedly flips a page on his datapad. He’s not reciting from the holobook he’s pulled up onto the screen, this one he’s reciting from memory. “She’s the daughter of a lost empire. The heir to an empty throne. She knows loss and war, has been forged in fire. When the dragon tightens his chains around her, all she thinks of is freedom. Vengeance.”
Maybe not the kind of romantic tale Mama would have told, Poe thinks, as he observes Finn’s inert form, but he likes this one. It’s a true story, anyway, and those make for the best stories.
“The princess bides her time, plans her escape with a brave knight and a handsome soldier. One day, feeling bold, she takes the chains that imprison her and dances for the dragon and his hordes. The dragon, drunk on food and wine, is enchanted. And here, she sees an opening for her escape. She takes the chains and—”
Poe doesn’t get a chance to finish his tale. Finn’s motionless form begins to stir on the cot, eyelids twitching and then fingers moving at his thighs. Poe stills at his side, clutching the datapad in his suddenly clammy hands, breath caught in his throat. He’s afraid to breathe, as if the fragile threads holding—tethering—Finn to the world of the living will snap it he does.
(That’s in Poe’s stories too. Maybe he should start reading others.)
Finn opens one eye and then the next, then blinks up at the ceiling. He smacks parched lips and makes a dry, throaty, utterly miserable sound that has a medidroid at his side in a heartbeat, a glass of water in its hand.
Doctor Kalonia rushes in, along with nurse-droids and attendants, who maneuver Poe out of the way. They lay hands and pincers and claw-like apparatus on Finn and gently guide him into a sitting position. One droid quickly slides a pile of soft pillows under Finn’s back, and Finn groans appreciatively, eyes fluttering shut.
“Ah, ah, eyes open,” Kalonia says, holding up a metallic pen. She presses the side of it and a light blinks on. After examining Finn’s bloodshot, bleary eyes, Kalonia listens to his heartbeat and, deciding everything all checks out, orders the droids and assistants out.
Poe gets up too, tucks his data pad under his arm, nudges his stool under the foot of the bed and prepares to follow them out, but the doctor lays a hand on his arm and he turns toward her.
“Doctor?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows at her in question.
“Stay with him. I need to inform the General that he’s awake,” she orders, and hustles out, leaving Poe standing awkwardly next to the side of Finn’s bed.
Poe feels useless now, with Finn awake. Now that he’s awake, Finn doesn’t need Poe reading fairytales or holding his hand.
He probably doesn’t need Poe’s devotion either.
Poe thinks about Cousin Dameron and wonders—
“Poe,” Finn rasps, his voice rusty with disuse. He digs his fingers into the blanket laid across his lap. “Wh-where’s Rey? Why isn’t she here?”
Poe inches closer and sets his datapad down on the stool to rub his hands over his face. “Rey’s on a mission to retrieve Luke Skywalker. The last of the Jedi. She’ll be back, though. She promised.”
Finn nods slowly, processing that, then sweeps his eyes down the length of Poe’s body and back up again. “You look like you went for a tumble in the barracks with a Bantha,” he comments, tone quirking up at the end.
Poe manages a smile at that. “It’s been a rough few weeks, bud—”
“I’ve been out for weeks?” Finn exclaims, eyes widening. Immediately, he kicks off the blanket and attempts to stand, but his legs buckle and Poe manages to catch him by his arm.
“Whoa, whoa. Easy there. You’ve been off your feet for nearly three weeks, in a medically induced coma. You need to build your strength back up,” Poe says, guiding him to sit on the end of the bed.
Finn sighs and laughs, though a touch humorlessly. “You mean to tell me I’ve been sleeping for nearly a standard month? Holy Force, if this’d happened back on the Finalizer, they would’ve just chucked me out of the airlock and that’d’ve been that.”
Poe drags the stool back out from under the bed and sits across from Finn. Their knees bump and Poe attempts to maneuver the stool so that he’s not practically sitting in the poor guy’s lap. He’s had a whole lot dumped on him in the few minutes he’s been awake.
Poe can’t bring himself to mention the debt he owes Finn now. Not yet. He’d probably think it was strange or, worse yet, creepy, disgusting. If Finn rejected him, rejected his offering—well. Poe’s not about to risk that. The potential of friendship with Finn is more than he could have hoped for anyway. His own hangups about this particular Yavin IV tradition are his and his alone, and he needn’t force them on Finn.
“You look…” Finn trails off, motioning in the general vicinity of Poe’s face. “Like you’ve got something you wanna tell me.”
“I, uh,” Poe says rather articulately.
“Right.” Finn regards him with a skeptical head tilt and crosses his arms over his chest.
“It’s nothing, buddy. Pal.” Poe claps Finn on his knee. “You hungry? How about I ring for one of the helper droids to bring you something to eat?”
Finn looks down at Poe’s hand on his knee and Poe slips it off without trying to look like he just got caught with his hand somewhere it shouldn’t be. Which it was, but still. These are Poe’s problems, not Finn’s.
I can do this, Poe tells himself, in a feeble attempt to strengthen his resolve.
He can do what his cousin couldn’t. Traditions are only traditions if you honor and uphold them.
[FILL] Finn/Poe, Yavin 4 sexy warrior traditions 9/?
Finn wakes up and Poe starts having second thoughts.
(Yes, the tense change is intentional.)
***
Finn sleeps like the dead—and Mama had spun stories like this too, of enchanted princes and princesses cursed into the sleep of the dead by wicked witches—and in the interim, Rey goes off in search of Luke Skywalker.
Poe promises her he’ll check in on Finn as often as he can, when he’s not on missions or running sims with new recruits, and report back to her immediately should Finn wake.
And so Poe finds himself at Finn’s bedside, skimming though a datapad, reading to Finn some of Mama’s—and his—favorite Yavin fairytales. He recites to Finn the story of the floating city in the clouds. The one about the dragon who longs to be a real, human boy. The story of the princess who talks to the Force-trees.
He keeps the story of the prince in the tower to himself, though, for no real reason. He keeps that one in his holster, with the safety on.
“—and this princess, she’s a real brave one,” Poe says, as he absentmindedly flips a page on his datapad. He’s not reciting from the holobook he’s pulled up onto the screen, this one he’s reciting from memory. “She’s the daughter of a lost empire. The heir to an empty throne. She knows loss and war, has been forged in fire. When the dragon tightens his chains around her, all she thinks of is freedom. Vengeance.”
Maybe not the kind of romantic tale Mama would have told, Poe thinks, as he observes Finn’s inert form, but he likes this one. It’s a true story, anyway, and those make for the best stories.
“The princess bides her time, plans her escape with a brave knight and a handsome soldier. One day, feeling bold, she takes the chains that imprison her and dances for the dragon and his hordes. The dragon, drunk on food and wine, is enchanted. And here, she sees an opening for her escape. She takes the chains and—”
Poe doesn’t get a chance to finish his tale. Finn’s motionless form begins to stir on the cot, eyelids twitching and then fingers moving at his thighs. Poe stills at his side, clutching the datapad in his suddenly clammy hands, breath caught in his throat. He’s afraid to breathe, as if the fragile threads holding—tethering—Finn to the world of the living will snap it he does.
(That’s in Poe’s stories too. Maybe he should start reading others.)
Finn opens one eye and then the next, then blinks up at the ceiling. He smacks parched lips and makes a dry, throaty, utterly miserable sound that has a medidroid at his side in a heartbeat, a glass of water in its hand.
Doctor Kalonia rushes in, along with nurse-droids and attendants, who maneuver Poe out of the way. They lay hands and pincers and claw-like apparatus on Finn and gently guide him into a sitting position. One droid quickly slides a pile of soft pillows under Finn’s back, and Finn groans appreciatively, eyes fluttering shut.
“Ah, ah, eyes open,” Kalonia says, holding up a metallic pen. She presses the side of it and a light blinks on. After examining Finn’s bloodshot, bleary eyes, Kalonia listens to his heartbeat and, deciding everything all checks out, orders the droids and assistants out.
Poe gets up too, tucks his data pad under his arm, nudges his stool under the foot of the bed and prepares to follow them out, but the doctor lays a hand on his arm and he turns toward her.
“Doctor?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows at her in question.
“Stay with him. I need to inform the General that he’s awake,” she orders, and hustles out, leaving Poe standing awkwardly next to the side of Finn’s bed.
Poe feels useless now, with Finn awake. Now that he’s awake, Finn doesn’t need Poe reading fairytales or holding his hand.
He probably doesn’t need Poe’s devotion either.
Poe thinks about Cousin Dameron and wonders—
“Poe,” Finn rasps, his voice rusty with disuse. He digs his fingers into the blanket laid across his lap. “Wh-where’s Rey? Why isn’t she here?”
Poe inches closer and sets his datapad down on the stool to rub his hands over his face. “Rey’s on a mission to retrieve Luke Skywalker. The last of the Jedi. She’ll be back, though. She promised.”
Finn nods slowly, processing that, then sweeps his eyes down the length of Poe’s body and back up again. “You look like you went for a tumble in the barracks with a Bantha,” he comments, tone quirking up at the end.
Poe manages a smile at that. “It’s been a rough few weeks, bud—”
“I’ve been out for weeks?” Finn exclaims, eyes widening. Immediately, he kicks off the blanket and attempts to stand, but his legs buckle and Poe manages to catch him by his arm.
“Whoa, whoa. Easy there. You’ve been off your feet for nearly three weeks, in a medically induced coma. You need to build your strength back up,” Poe says, guiding him to sit on the end of the bed.
Finn sighs and laughs, though a touch humorlessly. “You mean to tell me I’ve been sleeping for nearly a standard month? Holy Force, if this’d happened back on the Finalizer, they would’ve just chucked me out of the airlock and that’d’ve been that.”
Poe drags the stool back out from under the bed and sits across from Finn. Their knees bump and Poe attempts to maneuver the stool so that he’s not practically sitting in the poor guy’s lap. He’s had a whole lot dumped on him in the few minutes he’s been awake.
Poe can’t bring himself to mention the debt he owes Finn now. Not yet. He’d probably think it was strange or, worse yet, creepy, disgusting. If Finn rejected him, rejected his offering—well. Poe’s not about to risk that. The potential of friendship with Finn is more than he could have hoped for anyway. His own hangups about this particular Yavin IV tradition are his and his alone, and he needn’t force them on Finn.
“You look…” Finn trails off, motioning in the general vicinity of Poe’s face. “Like you’ve got something you wanna tell me.”
“I, uh,” Poe says rather articulately.
“Right.” Finn regards him with a skeptical head tilt and crosses his arms over his chest.
“It’s nothing, buddy. Pal.” Poe claps Finn on his knee. “You hungry? How about I ring for one of the helper droids to bring you something to eat?”
Finn looks down at Poe’s hand on his knee and Poe slips it off without trying to look like he just got caught with his hand somewhere it shouldn’t be. Which it was, but still. These are Poe’s problems, not Finn’s.
I can do this, Poe tells himself, in a feeble attempt to strengthen his resolve.
He can do what his cousin couldn’t. Traditions are only traditions if you honor and uphold them.
Poe can survive this.
***
TBC