So I started writing this thinking it would be a short little done-in-an-hour minifill, but somehow it ran away from me. Also, I've never written this much of Poe before and I hope he came out okay.
---
It wasn’t shaping up to be one of the best days Poe Dameron had ever had.
For starters, he’d been captured by the First Order. Again. That by itself was generally enough to knock it out of the top ten. (The one exception there was a single day that held the dubious honor of being the solid best and solid worst at the same time, when the Stormtrooper marching him to his death suddenly took off his helmet and said, “This is a rescue.”)
It was simple bad luck they ran right into a First Order light cruiser smack dab in the middle of nowhere, on their way back from delivering vital supplies to a resistance group on an isolated, Outer Rim mining world. Ever since the destruction of Starkiller Base, the Order had ramped up construction on their navy, putting pressure on planets under their control for more and more natural resources. The pressure lead to unrest, which lead to insurgence. The harder the Order tried to control their supply worlds, the more isolated pockets of rebellion cropped up. The Resistance was only too happy to lend a hand.
It was worse luck that the temperamental hyperdrive motivator on their borrowed freighter chose that exact moment to act up.
But Poe had been in worse spots before on his own, and this time he had Finn with him. Between the two of them, Poe knew there was no situation they couldn’t get out of. They just had to hold it together and figure out the right moment to escape.
Nobody- not Poe, Finn, or the First Order pilots- was expecting the cruiser to suddenly be ambushed by the Guavian Death Gang and boarded.
“This just got interesting,” Poe muttered, one ear pressed to the blast door. Blaster fire sounded in the corridor outside their cell, mixed with the heavy boom of home-modified percussive cannons. Maybe that right moment was going to come sooner than they thought.
“Good interesting or bad interesting?” Finn asked.
“I think just ‘interesting’ interesting.”
Eventually, after the fighting has gone quiet, the door to their cell slides open. A sharp-faced humanoid woman, with white-blonde hair that harshly contrasted her dark skin, leans in the doorway. Red-armored guards flank her on either side. She snarls, apparently startled to find anyone in the room.
“Who the kriff are you two?” she demands, in accented Basic.
“I’m Poe Dameron, this is my friend Finn,” he says quickly, bound hands raised in the galactic gesture of ‘please don’t shoot me’. “We’re not with the First Order. We were captured just before you boarded.”
“We just want to get out of here. Whatever your issue is with them, we’re more than happy to leave you to it,” Finn adds, raising his hands too when Poe elbows him in the side.
The woman leans back on one hip, her plate armor rustling. “Do I look like I was born on a Siobagh root farm to you?”
“It’s the truth, see?” Finn says, a little desperately, gesturing with his bound hands. “We’re not First Order. We’re with the Resistance.”
Normally, Poe would make more of an effort to cover up their affiliation, particularly around the Death Gangs, who ran a lucrative side-business as bounty-hunters and sellers of information, but since they didn’t seem to be on the best terms with the First Order at the moment, there didn't seem like much to lose.
“Our ship broke down on a mission for General Leia Organa. We were ambushed and taken prisoner by the Order,” he says steadily. Even in the lawless Outer Rim, General Organa’s name had a little bit of weight to it. “The Resistance doesn’t have any dispute with you guys. All we want to do is go home. I’m sure we can make it worth your while.”
The woman considers, tapping the black metal fingers of a cybernetic hand on the doorframe. “If you’re Resistance boys, where’s your ship?”
Poe curses inwardly. “I don’t know. I think the Order might have set it adrift after they grabbed us.”
“Convenient.” She smiles. “It’s a good thing for you you’re pretty.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey,” Finn frowns, offended.
“Throw them in with the other one,” the woman orders. To Poe, she says, “We’ll see if General Organa wants to make freeing you worth my while. If not, I’m sure I can find some use for you.”
“Well this day just gets better and better,” Finn sighs, as the red-armored guards hustle them out of the cell and down the hall. Poe doesn’t bother to struggle against the bruising grip on his upper arm.
So things hadn’t exactly improved, but they definitely hadn’t gotten worse either. At least the Guavian Death Gang was a whole lot less likely to torture them for information about the Resistance. On the other hand, they were more inclined to just shoot escaping prisoners first and ask questions later, so they had better be damn sure of any escape plan before they went for it.
What did they have going for them? They had each other. They were both alive and unhurt. That counted for a lot in Poe’s book. They were on a First Order ship, something Finn had said he knew his way around. Compared to a few hours ago, there were a lot fewer Stormtroopers between them and the exit.
Plus, that woman seemed to like him. He might be able to work with that.
Up against them: no rescue in sight, no plan, and enough cybernetically enhanced guards to, apparently, take out a small First Order cruiser. Whatever the Order did to piss off the Guavians, they hadn’t done it half-way.
“Hey,” Finn hisses, under the rasp of the guards’ breathing apparatuses. “Hey, Poe.”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“You trust me, right?” His eyes are fixed on what looks like an air vent set low to the ground in the hallway ahead of them.
“With my life,” Poe answers automatically.
Finn smiles at him, that embarrassed little half-smile he does when he can’t quite understand how anyone could want to care about him, would want to treat him like he deserves the entire universe on a plate.
“I’ve got a plan. I’ll be back for you. Soon.”
“I know you will,” Poe says quickly. Confidently.
Their hands are still locked together in front of them, both of them being manhandled along at angles to each other, but Finn manages to knock Poe’s left elbow with his right. It’ll have to do.
Right before they pass the air vent, Poe stumbles, overbalancing and taking a knee. The not-too-bright guards nearly fall over themselves trying not to trip over him. Finn’s guard is slightly ahead. He turns, swinging his helmeted head around to look at Poe, his grip on Finn’s arm loosening just a little, and that’s all the opening he needs. They had practiced hold-break tactics for occasions like this.
Well, maybe not exactly like this.
Finn drives his shoulder first into the guard and then jerks away while he- is it a he? It’s hard to tell under all that plating- fumbles with his blaster rifle. The grating on the air vent slides back when Finn hits the panel beside it, and before either guard can react he drops to one knee and rolls. Poe can’t resist letting out an enthusiastic little whoop of joy. The grating slides shut behind Finn with a cheerful little beep.
Cursing in some unfamiliar language, one of the guards aims his weapon at the air vent. The other swings the butt of his blaster rifle down at Poe’s face, and that’s the last thing he remembers before everything goes black.
--
He wakes up an indeterminate amount of time later, his head pounding and his mouth tasting like old bile, to a slow drip, drip, drip of water on metal.
His neck is stiff. Rolling from where he’s lying on his face onto his back, Poe realizes that his arms are still bound together in front of him. “Oh come on guys, it’s not like I’m going anywhere,” he complains, mostly to himself, trying to roll the knots out of his shoulders.
They’ve left him in some kind of utility room with piping lining the walls. It's smaller than the holding cell. Dim blue emergency lighting makes everything look bleak and ominous.
Trying to get a bearing on the place, Poe notices for the first time that he’s not alone. A pale man in a torn First Order officer’s uniform is slumped against a console to his left. Curled over on his side with his eyes closed, he looks half-dead. Mottled bruising peeks out from under his open collar.
“Psst- Hey. Red,” Poe says. “Are you awake?”
After a long moment, the man answers without opening his eyes, “Unfortunately. You’re alive, then. I was starting to wonder if they had left a corpse in here with me.”
Poe opens his mouth to answer. Pauses. Says instead, “Why would anybody do that?”
Fill: Exes and Ohs - 1/4
---
It wasn’t shaping up to be one of the best days Poe Dameron had ever had.
For starters, he’d been captured by the First Order. Again. That by itself was generally enough to knock it out of the top ten. (The one exception there was a single day that held the dubious honor of being the solid best and solid worst at the same time, when the Stormtrooper marching him to his death suddenly took off his helmet and said, “This is a rescue.”)
It was simple bad luck they ran right into a First Order light cruiser smack dab in the middle of nowhere, on their way back from delivering vital supplies to a resistance group on an isolated, Outer Rim mining world. Ever since the destruction of Starkiller Base, the Order had ramped up construction on their navy, putting pressure on planets under their control for more and more natural resources. The pressure lead to unrest, which lead to insurgence. The harder the Order tried to control their supply worlds, the more isolated pockets of rebellion cropped up. The Resistance was only too happy to lend a hand.
It was worse luck that the temperamental hyperdrive motivator on their borrowed freighter chose that exact moment to act up.
But Poe had been in worse spots before on his own, and this time he had Finn with him. Between the two of them, Poe knew there was no situation they couldn’t get out of. They just had to hold it together and figure out the right moment to escape.
Nobody- not Poe, Finn, or the First Order pilots- was expecting the cruiser to suddenly be ambushed by the Guavian Death Gang and boarded.
“This just got interesting,” Poe muttered, one ear pressed to the blast door. Blaster fire sounded in the corridor outside their cell, mixed with the heavy boom of home-modified percussive cannons. Maybe that right moment was going to come sooner than they thought.
“Good interesting or bad interesting?” Finn asked.
“I think just ‘interesting’ interesting.”
Eventually, after the fighting has gone quiet, the door to their cell slides open. A sharp-faced humanoid woman, with white-blonde hair that harshly contrasted her dark skin, leans in the doorway. Red-armored guards flank her on either side. She snarls, apparently startled to find anyone in the room.
“Who the kriff are you two?” she demands, in accented Basic.
“I’m Poe Dameron, this is my friend Finn,” he says quickly, bound hands raised in the galactic gesture of ‘please don’t shoot me’. “We’re not with the First Order. We were captured just before you boarded.”
“We just want to get out of here. Whatever your issue is with them, we’re more than happy to leave you to it,” Finn adds, raising his hands too when Poe elbows him in the side.
The woman leans back on one hip, her plate armor rustling. “Do I look like I was born on a Siobagh root farm to you?”
“It’s the truth, see?” Finn says, a little desperately, gesturing with his bound hands. “We’re not First Order. We’re with the Resistance.”
Normally, Poe would make more of an effort to cover up their affiliation, particularly around the Death Gangs, who ran a lucrative side-business as bounty-hunters and sellers of information, but since they didn’t seem to be on the best terms with the First Order at the moment, there didn't seem like much to lose.
“Our ship broke down on a mission for General Leia Organa. We were ambushed and taken prisoner by the Order,” he says steadily. Even in the lawless Outer Rim, General Organa’s name had a little bit of weight to it. “The Resistance doesn’t have any dispute with you guys. All we want to do is go home. I’m sure we can make it worth your while.”
The woman considers, tapping the black metal fingers of a cybernetic hand on the doorframe. “If you’re Resistance boys, where’s your ship?”
Poe curses inwardly. “I don’t know. I think the Order might have set it adrift after they grabbed us.”
“Convenient.” She smiles. “It’s a good thing for you you’re pretty.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey,” Finn frowns, offended.
“Throw them in with the other one,” the woman orders. To Poe, she says, “We’ll see if General Organa wants to make freeing you worth my while. If not, I’m sure I can find some use for you.”
“Well this day just gets better and better,” Finn sighs, as the red-armored guards hustle them out of the cell and down the hall. Poe doesn’t bother to struggle against the bruising grip on his upper arm.
So things hadn’t exactly improved, but they definitely hadn’t gotten worse either. At least the Guavian Death Gang was a whole lot less likely to torture them for information about the Resistance. On the other hand, they were more inclined to just shoot escaping prisoners first and ask questions later, so they had better be damn sure of any escape plan before they went for it.
What did they have going for them? They had each other. They were both alive and unhurt. That counted for a lot in Poe’s book. They were on a First Order ship, something Finn had said he knew his way around. Compared to a few hours ago, there were a lot fewer Stormtroopers between them and the exit.
Plus, that woman seemed to like him. He might be able to work with that.
Up against them: no rescue in sight, no plan, and enough cybernetically enhanced guards to, apparently, take out a small First Order cruiser. Whatever the Order did to piss off the Guavians, they hadn’t done it half-way.
“Hey,” Finn hisses, under the rasp of the guards’ breathing apparatuses. “Hey, Poe.”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“You trust me, right?” His eyes are fixed on what looks like an air vent set low to the ground in the hallway ahead of them.
“With my life,” Poe answers automatically.
Finn smiles at him, that embarrassed little half-smile he does when he can’t quite understand how anyone could want to care about him, would want to treat him like he deserves the entire universe on a plate.
“I’ve got a plan. I’ll be back for you. Soon.”
“I know you will,” Poe says quickly. Confidently.
Their hands are still locked together in front of them, both of them being manhandled along at angles to each other, but Finn manages to knock Poe’s left elbow with his right. It’ll have to do.
Right before they pass the air vent, Poe stumbles, overbalancing and taking a knee. The not-too-bright guards nearly fall over themselves trying not to trip over him. Finn’s guard is slightly ahead. He turns, swinging his helmeted head around to look at Poe, his grip on Finn’s arm loosening just a little, and that’s all the opening he needs. They had practiced hold-break tactics for occasions like this.
Well, maybe not exactly like this.
Finn drives his shoulder first into the guard and then jerks away while he- is it a he? It’s hard to tell under all that plating- fumbles with his blaster rifle. The grating on the air vent slides back when Finn hits the panel beside it, and before either guard can react he drops to one knee and rolls. Poe can’t resist letting out an enthusiastic little whoop of joy. The grating slides shut behind Finn with a cheerful little beep.
Cursing in some unfamiliar language, one of the guards aims his weapon at the air vent. The other swings the butt of his blaster rifle down at Poe’s face, and that’s the last thing he remembers before everything goes black.
--
He wakes up an indeterminate amount of time later, his head pounding and his mouth tasting like old bile, to a slow drip, drip, drip of water on metal.
His neck is stiff. Rolling from where he’s lying on his face onto his back, Poe realizes that his arms are still bound together in front of him. “Oh come on guys, it’s not like I’m going anywhere,” he complains, mostly to himself, trying to roll the knots out of his shoulders.
They’ve left him in some kind of utility room with piping lining the walls. It's smaller than the holding cell. Dim blue emergency lighting makes everything look bleak and ominous.
Trying to get a bearing on the place, Poe notices for the first time that he’s not alone. A pale man in a torn First Order officer’s uniform is slumped against a console to his left. Curled over on his side with his eyes closed, he looks half-dead. Mottled bruising peeks out from under his open collar.
“Psst- Hey. Red,” Poe says. “Are you awake?”
After a long moment, the man answers without opening his eyes, “Unfortunately. You’re alive, then. I was starting to wonder if they had left a corpse in here with me.”
Poe opens his mouth to answer. Pauses. Says instead, “Why would anybody do that?”