“Shit,” he says, when he wakes up the next morning—because it is morning, and he’s spent the night in medical, taking up a bed—with his neck aching and his droid snoozing in low power. There’s another doctor at this hour of the day, whose name he doesn’t know, but whose face is familiar. She’s wearing a name tag; he cranes his neck, trying to get a glimpse at it, and sends spasms of discomfort rippling through his neck and shoulder.
“Commander Dameron!” says Dr. (apparently) Alara. “Good to see you awake."
“Good to be awake,” he lies, and sells it, the best he can, with a crooked grin.
Dr. Alara ducks her head, blushing. She fumbles with her data pad for a moment. “How long had it been since you got a good night’s sleep?"
“I don’t know,” he says, honestly. He isn’t even sure what qualifies as a good night’s sleep anymore.
“Right,” says the doctor. “Well, you got a solid ten hours last night. There’s been a couple of people in here, looking for you, but Dr. Kalonia told me to keep them—keep you—well, make sure you got your rest."
If there’s anything he doesn’t need more of, it’s rest, but Poe nods. “Who’s looking for me?"
“Maybe you should get breakfast first."
“Good idea,” he says, smiling. “After that, though. I wanna check in with whoever’s looking for me as soon as possible."
“Well, half your squadron’s come and gone. General Organa’s droid came, some of the—"
“General Organa’s droid?” He stands up, much too quickly. “Did he say anything?"
“Just that you’re to report to the General once you’re feeling up to it."
Great. Well. That’s never, probably. He sighs. “Thanks, Doc,” he says, and gives a lilting whistle to rouse BB8 from artificial slumber.
“Commander Dameron—"
“Breakfast, I got it!” he calls back, turning glancing over his shoulder to wink at her. “Headin’ to the mess right now, I promise."
**
All he gets at the mess is caf and and a protein bar, but it’ll have to be enough. His head’s still light from the painkillers and the ten hours of sleep (he hasn’t gotten ten hours of sleep since he was a kid: sick, home from school, and miserable).
The Control Room is quiet when he gets there: by no means not empty, but nowhere near as full as when he had his tantrum. The General is there, of course: looking at a broad array of the universe, apparently updating the planets currently believed to be under immediate threat from the First Order.
“You sent for me, ma’am?"
“There’s been reports of suspiciously efficient raids on trade ships just beyond the Gordian Reach."
“Oh?” Poe hears himself say, colder than he intends, but he’s got a bad feeling as to where this conversation is going and can’t help himself.
"Wexley’s making a reconnaissance run out there, in hopes of getting a fuller picture of the situation."
“Good for him."
The General turns to look at him, and looks so fundamentally exhausted that Poe feels himself flush with shame. “Given your current…” her pause is masterful, born not from uncertainty but intent to leave him squirming. “Condition,” of unmitigated assholery, she doesn’t say, but clearly means. “He’ll be dropping you off at Yavin IV on the way."
Poe swallows and fixes his gaze on one of the bleeping lights of the display behind her — a transport ship, he assumes, from the size and the speed with which it’s approaching Dermos. “Understood."
The General seems surprised by his acquiescence, and her voice softens. “I know you won’t believe this, Commander,” she says, quietly. “But this isn’t a punishment."
Poe straightens his back. His shoulder aches, which seems appropriate. “Am I dismissed?"
General Organa sighs. “You are, Commander Dameron."
“Thank you, ma’am,” he says. In lieu of a salute, he gives a curt nod, and spins on his heel with precision his Academy instructors would’ve wept at. It’s the best he can do.
**
Snap, like everyone else who’d witnessed his breakdown, has been walking on eggshells around Poe since then.
Poe finds himself resenting it, though in a way it’s easier, means he doesn’t have to make much conversation on the quick jump to the Gordian Reach. Not like he’s got much to say, anyway. Sorry I’ve been such a dick lately, buddy, might be a start, but he’s not quite ready to make it, especially not with Snap throwing him those careful, wary looks, like he’s going to — hah—snap at any minute.
He’s nice enough to let Poe sit in the co-pilot’s seat, though, so Poe smiles as pleasantly as he can, and keeps his mouth shut otherwise. Forces his good hand into his pocket, to keep it from twitching anxiously at the controls he’s desperate to touch, and tries his best not to think about how much he hates riding in ships that he isn’t himself flying.
**
They reach Yavin IV just as night begins to fall: Poe watches the shade of the thick canopy of tree tops change from vibrant green to dull black as Yavin sets ahead of them.
The grey-brown stone of the ancient towers peak from the trees, gleaming under the light from the gas giant. Poe feels a swift, strange punch to the gut at the sight. He hasn’t lived here in years, went straight from Academy barracks to a solitary apartment on Mirrin Prime to the cramped quarters on D’Qar. Hadn’t been born there, even. But something about this place always gets to him — the thick air, the lush jungle. The sounds of animals and insects; even some of the plants rustle on their own, a background, soft susurration that’d been terrifying, as a kid, but now it’s just…
Snap sets the ship down in a clearing a couple hundred feet from the ranch. Poe wills himself out of his memories, out of his head, and back to reality. He can see the lights of the ranch in the distance.
“Home sweet home?” Snap says, and Poe huffs a laugh.
“I guess.” He stands up, grabs his bag, and calls for BB8, who rolls after him, quieter than usual. Almost as if he's caught Poe's mood, and he kind of hates himself for that, for transmitting his childish melancholy to a usually impossibly chipper droid.
Snap follows him, a couple of steps behind. Poe’s strangely grateful for it, and even more at the fact that he seems to know better than to ofter to take Poe’s bag.
A tall, solid figure emerges from the ranch, and lopes up to them; BB8 lets out a happy little squeal and rushes away, greeting Kes Dameron by spinning gleefully around his ankles till he crouches down, putting him roughly at eye level with the droid. His laughter fills the distance between him and Poe.
“Hey, little buddy,” he hears his father say, watches him make a real show of listening to BB8’s bleeps. Kes has never quite been able to get the hang of binary, but you’d never know it, watching him with BB8.
Eventually, Kes straightens from his crouch. “Hey, kid,” he calls out, waving.
Poe holds his head up high, trying his best not to feel like a child who got sent home from school for fighting. “Hey, dad."
Kes looks at him for a moment, mouth twitching, before throwing his gaze back at Snap, like a challenge.
“That you back there, Temmin Wexley?"
Poe doesn’t need to glance back to know that Snap’s saluting. “Sergeant Dameron. Sir.”
“At ease, son,” Kes says, finally letting a smile peak through. He walks up to Poe, resting a hand on his uninjured shoulder and giving him a squeeze; Poe nods in response, letting his gaze drop. Kes tsks lightly at him, but returns his attention to Snap. “You got time to join us for dinner, Captain?"
“‘Fraid not, sir. Recon mission."
“Next time you’re in the system, then?"
“That’d be—that’d be great, sir."
“Good man,” Kes says, nodding. “Take care of yourself out there."
“Will do, sir,” Snap says. A moment’s hesitation, and then: “Poe?"
Poe half-turns, just enough to be able to glance over his shoulder and give him a friendly wave. “See you soon, buddy. Thanks for the ride."
Snap swallows his momentary surprise and grins back in something like relief. “Any time, man,” he says. “Have fun."
Poe forces a smile and nods again, which does nothing great for the incipient headache. Snap seems satisfied, though, and heads back to his ship. Poe turns away, gazing at the house while he listens to the engines start up.
“How you doin’, kid?”
He glances over at his dad. “Great."
Kes laughs, obviously unconvinced, as he reaches down to grab Poe’s bag.
“I can—"
“Yeah, yeah,” Kes says, slinging it over his shoulder, which settles it.
“Thanks, dad."
Kes smiles at him, small and fond, and throws a careful arm over Poe’s shoulders, guides him back to the ranch with BB8 bringing up the rear. “You hungry?"
He’s not. Hasn’t been for weeks, really. Not about to say it, though.
“For your cooking?” Poe says, with a smirk. "Always."
Kes snorts. “Oh, all right, smart guy,” he says, pushing him forward and into the house. “Go get washed up, we’ll see how much of my terrible food you can choke down."
Poe opens his mouth to respond but, can’t: his breath catches as he looks around.
It’s the same as it’s always been, the house: orange walls around him, blue in the living room to his right, green in the kitchen, which he can catch a glimpse of from here. The holo frames in the foyer track his life: squirming out of his mother’s lap when he’s about four; grinning widely on the first day of school, with his curls neatly combed; a rotating series shots of him, standing next to the tree out front, charting their mutual growth over the years. A large image on the dark wooden table in front of him: his graduation ceremony at the Academy, having his wings pinned on by his father, while both of them try not to cry.
BB8 bumps against the back of his calves; he drops his gaze, suddenly aware of the fact that he’s standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at nothing. His father’s beside him, asking if he’s all right.
“I’m fine,” he says, because he has to be.
His dad chuckles, drops Poe's bag to the ground, and comes up around him. “C’mere, kid."
“Dad—"
“I know, I know, you’re fine. For your old man, okay?” he says, slinging an arm around Poe’s good shoulder and pulling him close. Poe doesn’t fight it, lets himself be dragged into a firm, all-enveloping hug. Presses his forehead against his father’s shoulder, wraps his good arm around his waist, and takes a breath. “Missed you, kid,” says Kes, stroking the back of his head. Poe’s struck by a half-forgotten memory, of Kes picking him up and carrying home from a day at the fair, of stroking his hair in the same way.
“Missed you too,” Poe mumbles, and blinks, a little desperately, trying to chase the watery sting out of his eyes.
FILL: Poe, Kes Dameron, injury recovery and family time (2/?)
“Commander Dameron!” says Dr. (apparently) Alara. “Good to see you awake."
“Good to be awake,” he lies, and sells it, the best he can, with a crooked grin.
Dr. Alara ducks her head, blushing. She fumbles with her data pad for a moment. “How long had it been since you got a good night’s sleep?"
“I don’t know,” he says, honestly. He isn’t even sure what qualifies as a good night’s sleep anymore.
“Right,” says the doctor. “Well, you got a solid ten hours last night. There’s been a couple of people in here, looking for you, but Dr. Kalonia told me to keep them—keep you—well, make sure you got your rest."
If there’s anything he doesn’t need more of, it’s rest, but Poe nods. “Who’s looking for me?"
“Maybe you should get breakfast first."
“Good idea,” he says, smiling. “After that, though. I wanna check in with whoever’s looking for me as soon as possible."
“Well, half your squadron’s come and gone. General Organa’s droid came, some of the—"
“General Organa’s droid?” He stands up, much too quickly. “Did he say anything?"
“Just that you’re to report to the General once you’re feeling up to it."
Great. Well. That’s never, probably. He sighs. “Thanks, Doc,” he says, and gives a lilting whistle to rouse BB8 from artificial slumber.
“Commander Dameron—"
“Breakfast, I got it!” he calls back, turning glancing over his shoulder to wink at her. “Headin’ to the mess right now, I promise."
**
All he gets at the mess is caf and and a protein bar, but it’ll have to be enough. His head’s still light from the painkillers and the ten hours of sleep (he hasn’t gotten ten hours of sleep since he was a kid: sick, home from school, and miserable).
The Control Room is quiet when he gets there: by no means not empty, but nowhere near as full as when he had his tantrum. The General is there, of course: looking at a broad array of the universe, apparently updating the planets currently believed to be under immediate threat from the First Order.
“You sent for me, ma’am?"
“There’s been reports of suspiciously efficient raids on trade ships just beyond the Gordian Reach."
“Oh?” Poe hears himself say, colder than he intends, but he’s got a bad feeling as to where this conversation is going and can’t help himself.
"Wexley’s making a reconnaissance run out there, in hopes of getting a fuller picture of the situation."
“Good for him."
The General turns to look at him, and looks so fundamentally exhausted that Poe feels himself flush with shame. “Given your current…” her pause is masterful, born not from uncertainty but intent to leave him squirming. “Condition,” of unmitigated assholery, she doesn’t say, but clearly means. “He’ll be dropping you off at Yavin IV on the way."
Poe swallows and fixes his gaze on one of the bleeping lights of the display behind her — a transport ship, he assumes, from the size and the speed with which it’s approaching Dermos. “Understood."
The General seems surprised by his acquiescence, and her voice softens. “I know you won’t believe this, Commander,” she says, quietly. “But this isn’t a punishment."
Poe straightens his back. His shoulder aches, which seems appropriate. “Am I dismissed?"
General Organa sighs. “You are, Commander Dameron."
“Thank you, ma’am,” he says. In lieu of a salute, he gives a curt nod, and spins on his heel with precision his Academy instructors would’ve wept at. It’s the best he can do.
**
Snap, like everyone else who’d witnessed his breakdown, has been walking on eggshells around Poe since then.
Poe finds himself resenting it, though in a way it’s easier, means he doesn’t have to make much conversation on the quick jump to the Gordian Reach. Not like he’s got much to say, anyway. Sorry I’ve been such a dick lately, buddy, might be a start, but he’s not quite ready to make it, especially not with Snap throwing him those careful, wary looks, like he’s going to — hah—snap at any minute.
He’s nice enough to let Poe sit in the co-pilot’s seat, though, so Poe smiles as pleasantly as he can, and keeps his mouth shut otherwise. Forces his good hand into his pocket, to keep it from twitching anxiously at the controls he’s desperate to touch, and tries his best not to think about how much he hates riding in ships that he isn’t himself flying.
**
They reach Yavin IV just as night begins to fall: Poe watches the shade of the thick canopy of tree tops change from vibrant green to dull black as Yavin sets ahead of them.
The grey-brown stone of the ancient towers peak from the trees, gleaming under the light from the gas giant. Poe feels a swift, strange punch to the gut at the sight. He hasn’t lived here in years, went straight from Academy barracks to a solitary apartment on Mirrin Prime to the cramped quarters on D’Qar. Hadn’t been born there, even. But something about this place always gets to him — the thick air, the lush jungle. The sounds of animals and insects; even some of the plants rustle on their own, a background, soft susurration that’d been terrifying, as a kid, but now it’s just…
Snap sets the ship down in a clearing a couple hundred feet from the ranch. Poe wills himself out of his memories, out of his head, and back to reality. He can see the lights of the ranch in the distance.
“Home sweet home?” Snap says, and Poe huffs a laugh.
“I guess.” He stands up, grabs his bag, and calls for BB8, who rolls after him, quieter than usual. Almost as if he's caught Poe's mood, and he kind of hates himself for that, for transmitting his childish melancholy to a usually impossibly chipper droid.
Snap follows him, a couple of steps behind. Poe’s strangely grateful for it, and even more at the fact that he seems to know better than to ofter to take Poe’s bag.
A tall, solid figure emerges from the ranch, and lopes up to them; BB8 lets out a happy little squeal and rushes away, greeting Kes Dameron by spinning gleefully around his ankles till he crouches down, putting him roughly at eye level with the droid. His laughter fills the distance between him and Poe.
“Hey, little buddy,” he hears his father say, watches him make a real show of listening to BB8’s bleeps. Kes has never quite been able to get the hang of binary, but you’d never know it, watching him with BB8.
Eventually, Kes straightens from his crouch. “Hey, kid,” he calls out, waving.
Poe holds his head up high, trying his best not to feel like a child who got sent home from school for fighting. “Hey, dad."
Kes looks at him for a moment, mouth twitching, before throwing his gaze back at Snap, like a challenge.
“That you back there, Temmin Wexley?"
Poe doesn’t need to glance back to know that Snap’s saluting. “Sergeant Dameron. Sir.”
“At ease, son,” Kes says, finally letting a smile peak through. He walks up to Poe, resting a hand on his uninjured shoulder and giving him a squeeze; Poe nods in response, letting his gaze drop. Kes tsks lightly at him, but returns his attention to Snap. “You got time to join us for dinner, Captain?"
“‘Fraid not, sir. Recon mission."
“Next time you’re in the system, then?"
“That’d be—that’d be great, sir."
“Good man,” Kes says, nodding. “Take care of yourself out there."
“Will do, sir,” Snap says. A moment’s hesitation, and then: “Poe?"
Poe half-turns, just enough to be able to glance over his shoulder and give him a friendly wave. “See you soon, buddy. Thanks for the ride."
Snap swallows his momentary surprise and grins back in something like relief. “Any time, man,” he says. “Have fun."
Poe forces a smile and nods again, which does nothing great for the incipient headache. Snap seems satisfied, though, and heads back to his ship. Poe turns away, gazing at the house while he listens to the engines start up.
“How you doin’, kid?”
He glances over at his dad. “Great."
Kes laughs, obviously unconvinced, as he reaches down to grab Poe’s bag.
“I can—"
“Yeah, yeah,” Kes says, slinging it over his shoulder, which settles it.
“Thanks, dad."
Kes smiles at him, small and fond, and throws a careful arm over Poe’s shoulders, guides him back to the ranch with BB8 bringing up the rear. “You hungry?"
He’s not. Hasn’t been for weeks, really. Not about to say it, though.
“For your cooking?” Poe says, with a smirk. "Always."
Kes snorts. “Oh, all right, smart guy,” he says, pushing him forward and into the house. “Go get washed up, we’ll see how much of my terrible food you can choke down."
Poe opens his mouth to respond but, can’t: his breath catches as he looks around.
It’s the same as it’s always been, the house: orange walls around him, blue in the living room to his right, green in the kitchen, which he can catch a glimpse of from here. The holo frames in the foyer track his life: squirming out of his mother’s lap when he’s about four; grinning widely on the first day of school, with his curls neatly combed; a rotating series shots of him, standing next to the tree out front, charting their mutual growth over the years. A large image on the dark wooden table in front of him: his graduation ceremony at the Academy, having his wings pinned on by his father, while both of them try not to cry.
BB8 bumps against the back of his calves; he drops his gaze, suddenly aware of the fact that he’s standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at nothing. His father’s beside him, asking if he’s all right.
“I’m fine,” he says, because he has to be.
His dad chuckles, drops Poe's bag to the ground, and comes up around him. “C’mere, kid."
“Dad—"
“I know, I know, you’re fine. For your old man, okay?” he says, slinging an arm around Poe’s good shoulder and pulling him close. Poe doesn’t fight it, lets himself be dragged into a firm, all-enveloping hug. Presses his forehead against his father’s shoulder, wraps his good arm around his waist, and takes a breath. “Missed you, kid,” says Kes, stroking the back of his head. Poe’s struck by a half-forgotten memory, of Kes picking him up and carrying home from a day at the fair, of stroking his hair in the same way.
“Missed you too,” Poe mumbles, and blinks, a little desperately, trying to chase the watery sting out of his eyes.
**