Finn looked up from where he was fiddling with BB-8, the BB astromech android prototype, v. 8. Rey, aka Force, aka The One, depending on who you asked, was peeking at him from around the door. “Have you turned on the news recently?”
That was never a good question. Finn rolled across his bedroom to peer at the old tube TV in their dingy family room. Mr. Solo had given it to them two years ago as a house warming gift. It needed an upgrade, but being a superhero wasn't exactly a lucrative business. The talking head on the TV looked especially grim, her perfect eyebrows furrowed in almost comical concern.
“-- Poe Dameron, of The Rapier News, has been kidnapped. The First Order has released this video.”
The screen flashed to a dingy room with no windows. A spotlight highlighted a familiar curly haired man tied to a chair. He was slumped forward, head bowed, but a moment later he looked up.
“So,” Poe said, flashing his usual devastating grin at the camera. One cheek was flushed pink, as if he'd been recently hit. “Who should talk first?”
Finn groaned, sliding one hand down his face. “Again?”
**
The thing about Finn was: he wasn't always a superhero. There was a Before. Before he was Rebel, the newest masked crusader to hit the streets. Most superheroes had a Before. It was practically a part of the job qualifications: must have a compelling origin story. Bonus points if it is Extra Mysterious.
Finn’s origin story was a bit -- different.
No one asked him about it. Well, everyone asked him at first, but after the first seven times of leaping onto the nearest roof and running off into the sunset, no one asked anymore.
No one besides Poe Dameron, that is.
“Rebel!”
Finn groaned and looked up at the building he was standing by. It would be a stretch, but he could probably make it to the roof. Poe was sprinting down the street, dodging around people and, for one alarming moment, a bus -- and Finn tensed, preparing to save the ridiculous reporter again -- when he popped up from behind a stoop backed elderly lady. Poe managed not to bowl her over, though she still smacked him with her purse, on principle. Poe grinned apologetically at her, but didn't stop until he was well in Finn’s personal space.
“Mr. Dameron,” Finn said, adopting his usual British accent. “What can I help you with?”
Poe looked a little flushed, possibly from his mad dash after Finn. “Do you have a couple minutes to chat? Maybe over a cup of coffee -- we can make it super informal, if that would make you more comfortable.”
There were times requests for interviews sounded a lot like asking a guy out on a date. Finn cleared his throat and took a half step back. “Sorry, mate. Got things to do. In fact, I think I hear someone getting mugged.”
“You have super hearing?” Poe asked, excited.
“Uh, yeah.” Finn did not have super hearing. He maybe had above average hearing, according to Rey, who he always caught sneaking his chips, no matter where she was in their apartment.
“Wow,” Poe said, a little starry eyed.
“Yeah, so,” Finn said, taking another step back.
“Right,” Poe said. His smile dimmed slightly. “Maybe another time?”
And, because Finn was completely hopeless, he nodded and said, “Sure, yeah. I'd love to.” Which was incredibly stupid, but Poe’s grin went back up in wattage and, well, Finn was pretty much fucked, anyway.
**
That had been two days ago. Now, apparently, Poe was tied up in some warehouse or basement. Again. Being a reporter, Poe was always sticking his perfect nose where it didn't belong. Being Poe Dameron, he was always caught. He had a fast mouth and could talk his way out of things about 50% of the time, but it appeared this would be the other 50% of the time.
“How the hell did he get himself caught by The First Order,” Finn asked, panicked.
Rey shot him a sympathetic look. “I can take care of this alone, if you want.”
Rey was one of the few who knew about Finn’s history, but that was more because she was an ultra powerful psychic, and less because Finn had been in a sharing mood. And hadn't that been an awful two weeks in the early days. She hadn't liked his dubious background as much as he hadn't liked her crawling around in his fucking head. They got past it, though; Rey was his closest friend, and they worked as partners as often as they worked alone.
“They want me,” Finn said, clenching his jaw. They hadn't specifically asked for Rebel, because The First Order was, thankfully, run by a bunch of dumbasses, but that was just semantics.
“No, they want FN-2187. They have no idea who Rebel is, because they are a bunch of dumbasses.”
Finn slanted a suspicious look at her. “Are you reading my mind?”
Rey grinned. “No, they are just that dumb. You call yourself Rebel.”
Finn swatted at her. In a gross abuse of her powers, she made him smack his own arm.
“Anyway,” Finn said, rubbing his arm. “I won't say no to you tagging along -- ”
“‘Tagging along,’” Rey repeated, offended. “What am I, your sidekick?”
“But I'm going.”
He didn't want to. Every fiber of his being strained away from The First Order; he'd even considered leaving the country when he first got out, despite Rey’s protests. But this was Poe, and Finn had no good judgement when it came to Poe.
“Fine, fine,” Rey said, flapping a dismissive hand. “I didn't think you'd trust just anyone with your boyfriend, anyway.”
FILL: The Mysterious Man in the Mask (1/?)
Finn looked up from where he was fiddling with BB-8, the BB astromech android prototype, v. 8. Rey, aka Force, aka The One, depending on who you asked, was peeking at him from around the door. “Have you turned on the news recently?”
That was never a good question. Finn rolled across his bedroom to peer at the old tube TV in their dingy family room. Mr. Solo had given it to them two years ago as a house warming gift. It needed an upgrade, but being a superhero wasn't exactly a lucrative business. The talking head on the TV looked especially grim, her perfect eyebrows furrowed in almost comical concern.
“-- Poe Dameron, of The Rapier News, has been kidnapped. The First Order has released this video.”
The screen flashed to a dingy room with no windows. A spotlight highlighted a familiar curly haired man tied to a chair. He was slumped forward, head bowed, but a moment later he looked up.
“So,” Poe said, flashing his usual devastating grin at the camera. One cheek was flushed pink, as if he'd been recently hit. “Who should talk first?”
Finn groaned, sliding one hand down his face. “Again?”
The thing about Finn was: he wasn't always a superhero. There was a Before. Before he was Rebel, the newest masked crusader to hit the streets. Most superheroes had a Before. It was practically a part of the job qualifications: must have a compelling origin story. Bonus points if it is Extra Mysterious.
Finn’s origin story was a bit -- different.
No one asked him about it. Well, everyone asked him at first, but after the first seven times of leaping onto the nearest roof and running off into the sunset, no one asked anymore.
No one besides Poe Dameron, that is.
“Rebel!”
Finn groaned and looked up at the building he was standing by. It would be a stretch, but he could probably make it to the roof. Poe was sprinting down the street, dodging around people and, for one alarming moment, a bus -- and Finn tensed, preparing to save the ridiculous reporter again -- when he popped up from behind a stoop backed elderly lady. Poe managed not to bowl her over, though she still smacked him with her purse, on principle. Poe grinned apologetically at her, but didn't stop until he was well in Finn’s personal space.
“Mr. Dameron,” Finn said, adopting his usual British accent. “What can I help you with?”
Poe looked a little flushed, possibly from his mad dash after Finn. “Do you have a couple minutes to chat? Maybe over a cup of coffee -- we can make it super informal, if that would make you more comfortable.”
There were times requests for interviews sounded a lot like asking a guy out on a date. Finn cleared his throat and took a half step back. “Sorry, mate. Got things to do. In fact, I think I hear someone getting mugged.”
“You have super hearing?” Poe asked, excited.
“Uh, yeah.” Finn did not have super hearing. He maybe had above average hearing, according to Rey, who he always caught sneaking his chips, no matter where she was in their apartment.
“Wow,” Poe said, a little starry eyed.
“Yeah, so,” Finn said, taking another step back.
“Right,” Poe said. His smile dimmed slightly. “Maybe another time?”
And, because Finn was completely hopeless, he nodded and said, “Sure, yeah. I'd love to.” Which was incredibly stupid, but Poe’s grin went back up in wattage and, well, Finn was pretty much fucked, anyway.
That had been two days ago. Now, apparently, Poe was tied up in some warehouse or basement. Again. Being a reporter, Poe was always sticking his perfect nose where it didn't belong. Being Poe Dameron, he was always caught. He had a fast mouth and could talk his way out of things about 50% of the time, but it appeared this would be the other 50% of the time.
“How the hell did he get himself caught by The First Order,” Finn asked, panicked.
Rey shot him a sympathetic look. “I can take care of this alone, if you want.”
Rey was one of the few who knew about Finn’s history, but that was more because she was an ultra powerful psychic, and less because Finn had been in a sharing mood. And hadn't that been an awful two weeks in the early days. She hadn't liked his dubious background as much as he hadn't liked her crawling around in his fucking head. They got past it, though; Rey was his closest friend, and they worked as partners as often as they worked alone.
“They want me,” Finn said, clenching his jaw. They hadn't specifically asked for Rebel, because The First Order was, thankfully, run by a bunch of dumbasses, but that was just semantics.
“No, they want FN-2187. They have no idea who Rebel is, because they are a bunch of dumbasses.”
Finn slanted a suspicious look at her. “Are you reading my mind?”
Rey grinned. “No, they are just that dumb. You call yourself Rebel.”
Finn swatted at her. In a gross abuse of her powers, she made him smack his own arm.
“Anyway,” Finn said, rubbing his arm. “I won't say no to you tagging along -- ”
“‘Tagging along,’” Rey repeated, offended. “What am I, your sidekick?”
“But I'm going.”
He didn't want to. Every fiber of his being strained away from The First Order; he'd even considered leaving the country when he first got out, despite Rey’s protests. But this was Poe, and Finn had no good judgement when it came to Poe.
“Fine, fine,” Rey said, flapping a dismissive hand. “I didn't think you'd trust just anyone with your boyfriend, anyway.”
“He's not my boyfriend,” Finn spluttered.