If asked, Poe could still name every constellation visible from the Massassi temple back on Yavin IV. He’d spent night after night picking his way across the ruins, wondering what it had been like when General Organa had been stationed there, where they’d kept the starfighters, how they’d defeated a weapon the size of a moon manned by an empire that spanned the galaxy. All from this place. Occasionally he’d come across a bit of rebellion detritus—this shard of plasteel from a shattered shipping container, those long-defunct radio components, a pilot’s helmet, once—all things he’d have liked to investigate closer, but had left in peace instead.
As he stares up at the night sky above D’Qar now, he struggles with the clusters of stars that immediately pop out at him, a snake-like curve here, a stout, fat stack there, brighter than the rest, hundreds of patterns and not a single name to remember them by.
Leaves crunch somewhere in the vicinity of his right ear, a twig cracks, then another, and a thud. Then, a short, self-deprecating huff, almost a curse, nearly startles a laugh from him.
“So much for sneaking up on me, huh, Finn?” he says, can’t help it, the urge to tease so strong, powering his mouth before his brain can think better of it. His hands plant themselves on his hips as he turns to face the man now approaching, far closer already than Poe had expected from all the noise.
“I wasn’t sneaking,” Finn answers, knee-jerk. His boot lands in mud—Poe probably should’ve warned him about that—but he recovers with only a modicum of gracelessness to suggest he’d been caught unaware. “Whoa.” Hand flapping to indicate the clearing around them, he asks, “What are you doing out here?”
Poe peers back up at the sky. He could answer that question in a lot of ways. “You think these stars got names?” he replies instead, rolling his neck to better see Finn’s reaction, the serious way Finn considers Poe’s not-an-answer.
Finn purses his lips, scans the sky for a long, quiet moment.
“Depends on if D’Qar was inhabited or not, I guess,” he says, like he hadn’t considered the possibility before. His eyes find Poe’s. “Was it?”
“Don’t know.” And maybe that’s what bothers Poe so much. “We’re not exactly swimming in resources here to find out.” Poe’d always sorta held onto the idea that he’d run a planet-wide scan or two, take the recruits out on a run—practice, you know, for if they ever had to do a bit of spying or investigating from a ship for the Resistance, a not impossible scenario—see if they could find anything for the academics to play with in their spare time. It was gonna be a bit of fun they could all pretend was a military exercise.
The general would have loved it, Poe’s always thought. He’d probably even have sold Admiral Statura on the idea eventually.
But there’d always been something more pressing to do. Real military exercises. Real missions. They’d gotten, sadly, plenty good at intelligence gathering. Or, well, so they’d thought at the time. Probably Starkiller Base shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to anyone.
“First ships fly out tomorrow,” Poe says, and though he won’t be on any of them, it still feels like it’s too late to say goodbye. His fingers, cold from the night’s chill, push through his hair, catching on a few of the more disheveled curls. “Relocating to a new base. Always a good time.” But that’s just a lot of talk to fill the spaces, Poe knows. He’s always served the Resistance at D’Qar and he has no idea what to expect except that so far it’s been every storm he’s ever weathered jammed together with every move he’s ever made combined with the threat of death hanging because, oh hey, the First Order knows they’re here and he hates it. He hates all of it.
He’d just gotten his quarters the way he likes them.
Just like the good ol’ days, the general had said when she’d pulled him aside to make the announcement, an almost happy smile on her mouth as she’d explained it to him. Consider yourself lucky we’ve only had to do it the once so far.
Think of it as a good-luck charm, she’d insisted further, perhaps in light of Poe’s dubiousness. We’ve got them.
“Mmm,” Finn answers, noncommittal, which suggests to Poe he’s got an opinion he doesn’t want to share. “Not used to moving around?”
“Yeah, no. I got shifted around.” He tries to smile, succeeds only in ducking his head and kicking at the dirt. He sounds inane even to his own ears. “But I wasn’t in charge of anything back then. It’s easier when you’re not the one running the inventory checks.”
“I could help.” And something in the offer makes Poe’s chest clench. Poe wouldn’t wish inventory on his worst enemy—okay, maybe he’d like watching that bastard, Ren, tackle making sure they’ve got all 2,405 screws, nuts, and bolts accounted for, but it’s not like he’d trust the man with it, and he’d probably end up flinging handfuls of the things around just to make him count them up all over again—and here Finn’s offering his assistance like it’s nothing.
“That’s alright,” Poe says. In the darkness, there’s no way Finn can see the way Poe’s cheeks grow pink, which suits Poe just fine. “It’s about done anyway.”
Finn nods, easy and accepting, shoving his fists into his pockets. “You guys get word to Rey?”
“I think General Organa worked some magic,” Poe answers, wiggling his fingers in demonstration. He wouldn’t say she’d used the Force to make contact, but he couldn’t say she hadn’t either. The general hadn’t seen fit to specify and that’s good enough for Poe. “Rey knows where we’re going.”
Finn nods again, staring up at the sector of space the Millennium Falcon had disappeared into. Poe’s palm brushes the cold leather covering Finn’s shoulder and squeezes. He looks at Poe, smiling gratefully, but doesn’t brush the touch aside, even after Poe’s hand has lingered so long that it ought to be awkward.
“You never answered my question.” Finn speaks so softly that Poe almost can’t register the words, years of rumbling ships’ engines and missile strikes and shouts over the comms having done an irreparable number on his ears.
“What question?”
“Why you’re out here, man.” Finn shivers, a delicate, involuntary shake Poe wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t still touching the man. “It’s freezing.”
“Oh.” Scratching the spot behind his ear, he swallows. “That question.”
“So?”
“I don’t like not knowing the names of things,” he confesses, and it’s harder than he’d thought it would be to say, ridiculous as that thought is. Why should he care about a bunch of stars he probably won’t see again in his lifetime? Not from this vantage point anyway.
“Why don’t you name a few then?” A sliver of moonlight flashes across Finn’s teeth and Poe could kiss him for taking this… admission of his seriously. Not even hesitating where Poe would probably joke. “Wouldn’t be the first time. It might be you’re pretty good at it.”
Poe’s mouth twists into a reluctant smile, one he turns toward the stars. Nothing comes immediately to mind and when he doesn’t speak quickly enough, Finn lifts his arm toward a thick cluster low in the sky.
“That one looks a little like BB-8, don’t you think?”
Poe’s laughter rings out, echoing lightly against a nearby copse of trees. “That’s not very celestial.”
“Too bad. I like it.” Lifting his chin to look directly up, he sketches a vaguely rectangular shape just overhead. “That’s Luke’s Lightsaber.”
Poe doesn’t see the resemblance, but Finn sees it and that’s what matters. When he replies, he doesn’t bother hiding the fondness, the admiration he feels. “Luke’s Lightsaber it is then.”
“There’s the Dameron Trench Run down that way.” Elbowing Poe in the side, Finn points out this supposed Trench Run. “See, it’s not so hard.”
“Yeah,” he answers, cheered by Finn’s generosity. “I guess not.” Sliding his arm around Finn’s neck, he grabs at Finn’s collar and drags him closer. He looks back up at the sky and shakes his head. Luke’s Lightsaber. BB-8. Immortalized in the stars. Given enough time, they could probably come up with a dozen silly names for the shapes they might find up there. But it’s cold and Poe’s feeling better and there are still things to be done at the base and maybe this time he can face them. “Thanks, Finn.”
Finn resists following, catching the hem of Poe’s shirt and yanking on it. “You’re not gonna name one?”
“When I got you to do the heavy lifting for me?” Poe shrugs, tugging Finn toward the trail leading back to the base. This time, he follows. “Nah, I’m good.”
“You sure? I bet you’ve got at least one good name in you.”
“I’m good,” Poe says, laughing. “You did good. I’m gonna make you name all the stars for me next time.”
Finn puffs up just a little, squaring his shoulders beneath Poe’s arm. “Yeah?”
Glancing at the sky one last time, Poe nods. He likes the idea of Finn leaving his mark on this world. Even in this small, inconsequential way, even if Poe’s the only one there to see it. “Yeah.” Pondering it further, he warms to the idea, the whole of it exploding fully formed in his mind. Another perfect night like this—maybe even more than one—and none of them too late to make a real go of it. “Maybe we’ll even write ‘em down next time.”