carry that weight

“You have my blessing, Poe.” General Organa’s amusement at Poe’s expense only grew drier the further from the main Resistance base he was stationed, it seemed, the longer he was gone. It caused an ache to spread in Poe’s heart, that amusement did. He missed her, damn it, and the way he could rely on her strength, her decisions, to see him through his own. He’d never been meant to lead—not like this anyway, not in a command center of his own, not when more than the lives of his own squadron sat on his shoulders—but circumstances had forced the general’s hand. And now here he was, stationed on the ass end of Republic space, scraping and clawing for every inch of disputed space he could get his hands on because the bigger the buffer between the Republic and the First Order, the better. “Not that it would stop you if I didn’t.”

“No, ma’am,” he answered, his spine straightening as he readied himself to snap off a salute in acknowledgment. There was no hiding the motion from the holoprojector and therefore no hiding it from her. Still, he didn’t think she’d hold it against him. His every responsibility weighed on him, but even so, he’d adjusted; he knew how to stand tall in spite of it. “But I’ve always found my luck holds up better when you’ve given it.”

The corner of her mouth lifted as she rolled her eyes, one eyebrow cocked at an incredulous angle. “I’m sure.” Then, narrowing her eyes, she wagged her finger at him. “Tell my brother he can take on an officer’s role whenever he’d like. Take some of that burden from you.”

Poe grinned, smothered the want in his voice with jocularity. He would love to foist some of this off onto Luke. So, so much. “Maybe this time he’ll listen to your advice, ma’am.”

She waved him off with a careless gesture of her hand. “He won’t, but it’s worth a shot anyway.”

Swallowing, Poe glanced down. Blue light coruscated across the floor, almost mesmerizing. Soothing in its way. Or maybe that was just Leia. “Tell Finn that Rey and I say hi,” he said instead of dwelling on the things he’d never get and shouldn’t have yearned for as a result.

Not that he hadn’t gained more than enough experience managing his disappointments there. He’d started young in that respect and nothing had changed in the intervening years. Every year brought new desires and every year saw them thwarted.

This wasn’t new.

“Finn’s fine, Poe,” the general said, happy to humor Poe in this at least. “In fact, he’s handling command with far greater aplomb than you.”

Poe laughed. “Of course he is. He’s Finn.” I’m just the fighter jock playing way above his station here. Dragging his hand across his face, he forced himself to stand at parade rest. “What am I doing here, General? Really?”

Eying him closely, her holocam picking up the glint of passion that not even hundreds of lightyears could flatten, she shook her head. He used to be that way, too. What Poe wouldn’t give for some of that verve back. “You can’t keep asking yourself that, Poe. You know what you’re doing there.”

“I wasn’t asking myself,” Poe insisted.

“Are you sure about that?” She turned away, her attention abandoning him entirely for the span of ten seconds or so. He assumed there was an aide just out of cam range. Connix, maybe. Or Greer. “Poe, I have to go. Good luck with the mission. I look forward to our next meeting. We can discuss yet another of your famous successes then.”

Her holoprojection blinked out of existence, his own equipment winding down automatically as he stepped off the platform. Tearing his uniform jacket from his shoulders, he abandoned the miniscule room in which that particular comms array resided. Used only for priority communications, it was equipped with the best security encryptcodes credits and threats and patriotism could buy. Even the door was coded so that only Poe could get in. Only in the event of his death could the locking mechanisms be changed.

Poe found that a little grisly, but it was what General Organa wanted and so he hadn’t argued with her about it.

“All right,” he said to himself, balling his jacket between his hands. “Let’s do this, huh?”

The humidity made Ben’s robes stick to his shoulders, his spine, his sides. They clung to the back of his neck along with the hair that wouldn’t stay in the leather thong he always tied it up with. Stray strands plastered themselves to his forehead, temples, and cheeks no matter how often he pushed them away. The worst part of it all was no one else seemed anywhere near as affected by it. Mr. Dameron certainly didn’t complain and Luke was as even-tempered about it as ever, which was to say there was a quiet buzz of vague annoyance somewhere inside that head of his, but he remained as outwardly unruffled as he always was.

It didn’t hurt that he didn’t look like he was about to drown or expire in his robes either.

Ben would have settled for at least that much… equanimity.

“The tree’s looking well, Kes,” Luke said, turning a pleased smile his way. “I knew I was right to trust your family with it.”

Ben turned away and peered up at the sky, squinting at the cloudless blue sky to keep from rolling his eyes. It was a tree and this was Yavin 4. That wasn’t exactly an achievement here. Maybe a tree on Hoth would’ve been worthy of Luke’s appreciation, but this one? There wasn’t anything special about it.

Mr. Dameron said something in response, his voice little more than background noise as Ben paid him as little attention as possible. There was a shuttle coming in, the metallic skin of it glinting in the sunlight as it made its slow, ponderous way toward the spaceport. Stepping away from the arboreal appreciation taking place behind him, Ben watched its descent, intrigued for no reason that he could see. Why should he care about a shuttle? Shuttles arrived a dozen times an hour and carried nothing more interesting than tourists and trade goods.

And yet…

“That’s a generous offer,” Luke said, dragging Ben’s attention back where it belonged, half a conversation lost to Ben’s distraction. “But we couldn’t possibly impose on you. I’m happy to arrange lodging nearer to the temple.”

Ben snorted. That was a nice way of saying Luke intended for them to set up camp on what was probably going to end up being the most uncomfortable patch of land on this entire moon. He should’ve been used to it by now—it was what they always did after all—but he still didn’t particularly like it.

Mr. Dameron’s eyebrow rose in disbelief. “Right,” he said, doing nothing to change Ben’s presumption that he thought they were the strangest people he’d ever come across, him and Luke. “Well, you’re welcome to do whatever you’d like, of course, but it wouldn’t be an imposition. There’s plenty of room.”

It struck Ben that maybe Mr. Dameron was lonely.

And he could tell when the same thought occurred to Luke, who never seemed to have that problem anymore, like he’d learned to love solitude, experiencing a flash of understanding through their bond as the epiphany hit. Luke glanced back at Ben, a question in his eyes. Ben shrugged in response. Pretending not to care one way or the other was usually the easiest way to get what he wanted.

Luke liked to call it a healthy release of attachments. Called it, too, the hardest balance a Jedi would ever have to reach for. It was, he always said, the one goal toward which they trained. Too attached and you tempted the dark side. Not attached enough and you lost sight of the dark side entirely.

Both led to destruction.

Ben was less than convinced.

“All right, Kes,” Luke said, taking Mr. Dameron’s hand in his, a warm smile on his mouth. “We accept your offer.”

Whatever the case may have been, at least they’d get to sleep in real beds for once. Or at least under a roof. Both of those were luxuries that Ben rarely experienced these days. “Thank you, Mr. Dameron.”

Dameron grinned, blindingly bright. “You can call me Kes, too, you know?”

A smile froze on Ben’s mouth, pained. “Thank you… Kes.”

Familiarity wasn’t his strong suit. That much was certain.

The galaxy map twinkled in the center of the room, a constant, looming presence that Kylo was forced to work around. Every day—his every move—this map determined what Kylo would do, where he would go.

It was, sometimes, a crueler master than the Supreme Leader. There was no arguing a point with a map. No amount of logic or passion or sheer audacity could change what the map demanded of him. No, the map merely offered cold calculations, unassailable analyses of his many battlefields. He glared at the red sections, the flashing signs of his failure in this sector. The fact that there were more blue sections than he’d started with didn’t matter to him. As long as there was a single red patch, he wouldn’t be free to attack his own goals again.

It almost made him wish Hux’s precious Starkiller had been the triumph Hux always expected it to be. If it had proved itself the perfect weapon, he wouldn’t be here. Instead, he was stuck until the Redoubt was no longer disputed.

Too bad Poe Dameron didn’t make resolving this situation easy.

Leaning against the lip of the table on which the holoprojector stood, he stared up. Raising his hand, he rotated the hologram, tapped at his next target, plucked that target free from the rest of the map. It was such a small corner, barely worth the trouble, but it needed to be done and he had the troops and ships ready to accomplish what still needed doing there. Why this target on this day, Kylo couldn’t say, but he’d learned to trust his instincts. And his instincts told him to go here.

Maybe this time Poe wouldn’t put up a fight over such an inconsequential speck of space.

And maybe a Nabooian ikopi would learn to pilot a TIE fighter and save Kylo from having to deal with this mess entirely.

Dashing his hand through the air, he killed the holodisplay entirely. Darkness fell over the room, punctuated by a handful of emergency lights that shone constantly, lighting the way to the door and around the perimeter of the room.

The Force sang through him the way it always did when he found a plan and served his purpose. He released a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, reluctant to return to the command center proper. Too many faces would be staring back at him, expectant, waiting for their latest orders with Kylo wanting to do nothing but tell them all to pick a hell of their choosing and go to it.

These people wouldn’t take a step without his approval; it was exhausting. Even his Knights mostly hesitated to take initiative. Kylo had no idea how Hux dealt with it, but occasionally, he wished he was more like the general, more willing to appreciate the fact that he could issue demands and see them done on his behalf.*

Drawing in a deep breath, he recalled one of Luke’s teachings. Visualize a pool of water, he’d once suggested, and throw a rock into it. Watch the ripples spread across the surface. Watch and watch and watch until they smoothed out again. Throw as many rocks into that pool as you wanted, it’d never damage it. Kylo was supposed to be the pool. Luke tried to teach him to be the pool.

It hadn’t stuck.

Obviously.

But it did center him enough that when he straightened up, he felt… better. About going out there. About having to do this again. And then again tomorrow. And again the day after that.

The fact that it was Poe he was fighting against hardly registered anymore. And some days, he could pretend as easily as not that it was some nameless, faceless commander behind the Resistance presence in this sector. Some days, though, he couldn’t.

This was one of those days.

“Ready my squadron,” Kylo said to the first face he saw outside his private office, “and alert the Knights to be prepared to lead the ground assault.”

“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Mitaka bobbed his head and clutched his datapad tighter to his chest. He stepped backward and almost tripped over his own feet doing so. Wincing, he tried to lift his chin and he didn’t voice the question in his eyes. “Right away, sir.”

Kylo strode past him, no longer interested now that Mitaka had confirmed his assent.

There was too much to do, so much he still had to accomplish that he threatened to crumble under the pressure of it, to rattle the cages that confined him and demand to be freed when before he’d been a happy pawn. He’d thought himself consumed by the dark side; Snoke had promised him he would be.

But the dark side never had to contend with the never-ending grind of this fight.

And his master was so very far away.

That left him so very much time to think about things Snoke would not want him thinking about.

A lot of things surprised Poe about today—the fact that he’d actually escaped from Major Deso’s clutches long enough to get some shore leave, the fact that he’d not had second thoughts about said shore leave, the fact that the day was bright and lovely and just the right balance of hot and humid—but nothing surprised him quite as much as the fact of the sight of a pair of swoop bikes parked along the side of the house. Swoop bikes that had been customized, of course, to be safer for tourists, but swoop bikes all the same.

Grabbing hold of his landspeeder’s door, he pushed himself up and over the edge. Rummaging in the back, he hefted his duffle onto his shoulder and turned just quickly enough to see a stranger in his father’s kitchen. Tall, he practically filled the window. And unhappy, too, if the tight, priggish expression on his mouth said anything about him. Sipping water from a glass, he turned to stare out the open window of the kitchen and caught Poe looking at him.

Tall, Dark, and Dour narrowed his eyes at Poe.

So Poe had to retaliate—he had to, it wasn’t in his nature not to—and chose the most potent weapon in his arsenal to get back at this truly easy target: his smile. Grinning, he raised his hand to his forehead and offered a jaunty, pleasant salute. “Hey, there,” he called, loud enough that if his father was nearby, he would hear, too. “Not often we get handsome strangers like yourself out this way.”

Poe was close enough now that he could see the disturbingly quick flush that bridged the man’s nose and stained his cheeks. His lips compressed, too, only adding to the ambiance of surliness he wore like a cloak in the hunch of his shoulders. Poe wasn’t that much older than him, but he remembered when being so easily embarrassed and belligerent about it came just as naturally to him, too.

Good thing the military stripped you of an ability to feel embarrassment almost the minute you entered basic training. Otherwise Poe might’ve sympathized more. And where was the fun in that?

The man said nothing and turned away, using the tried and true method of ignoring a thing and hoping it would go away. And, oh, that only made it better. He was going to have to—

The front door slid open, his father’s body filling the entryway. There were a few more gray hairs around his temple than Poe remembered, but he looked as solid as ever. Dropping his duffle, Poe jogged the rest of the way and pulled Kes into a hug. “How’s it going, dad?” he asked, inhaling the scent of the aftershave his father had used since… since Poe could remember him smelling of aftershave. It would’ve brought tears to his eyes if he let it. He’d missed it. Home. He always forgot it when he was away. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

Kes clapped him on the back and laughed directly into his ear and dragged him bodily off the ground for good measure. “Hell, kid. You’ve gotten big.”

Poe laughed, too, rolling his eyes. “Dad, I stopped having growth spurts at seventeen.” But he got the gist of what his father meant anyway; guilt gnawed at him, planting nerves in his gut that probably wouldn’t ever settle, not if he kept up the hectic schedule he’d set for himself. It was easy enough to guess Kes’s actual meaning: it’s been a long time, you should come home more.

I miss you.

Punching him on the shoulder, Kes shook his head before squeezing his bicep. “Nah, I mean these. They stick you in the army when I wasn’t looking?”

“Ah.” Now Poe was the one with a warm face. Rotating his arms back, he looked down at the ground, kicked at the grass. “No. But better living through tedium is a big time strategy in the New Republic Navy.”

Kes nodded, understanding, a playful smile on his mouth and a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Does this mean you’ll be able to keep up with me when we go hiking now?”

Groaning, Poe dragged his feet and his ass back to his duffle, reaching down to sling it over his shoulders. “You’re killing me here, you know that right? I didn’t come home to do more work.” Gesticulating wildly in the direction of the kitchen, he added, “Why don’t you introduce me to your guests instead, huh? Here you are proving all those rumors of hermitage wrong and I don’t know a thing about it.”

“Just get in here,” Kes answered, unruffled. “And maybe consider behaving like the consummate gentleman your mother and I raised you to be.”

Poe winked. “Sir, yes, sir.”

He was clever after all. Having fun and being a consummate gentleman could coincide. He was sure of that.

A dozen faces looked up at Poe as he entered the command center, each with a varying degree of interest or alarm in their features. Rey, always so quick to react, strode toward him, worry in her eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “What is it?” she asked, throwing a dirty, suspicious glance at his uniform jacket.

Yeah, he should’ve put that back on.

Too late now.

Working his arm around her shoulder and clamping his hand over her clavicle, he leaned toward her. “You should learn how to relax.”

She glared at him and shrugged out from under his touch. “You’re one to talk,” she answered, quiet, mindful of the people around them. Her voice took on a more circumspect quality. “You should see your face right now.”

“That bad?” A frown pulled at the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t thought—but it was possible he didn’t look quite as confident as he should have. Dragging his hand across his jaw, he sighed. “Okay.” Counting to three, he thought, you can do this. You know how to do this.

And though he probably still looked too grim—Rey stared at him askance even after he stepped up to the display around which his advisors, his crew, most of his most trusted friends stood—he sensed the others relaxing. When he looked across at Luke, his features partially obscured by the map projected between them, the Jedi nodded and offered what might have been a very, very small smile. Not very encouraging as far as such things went.

Luke wasn’t exactly the encouraging sort anymore, though he tried to be.

The galaxy had just ground them all down to their least soft selves. And Luke wasn’t immune to that. None of them were.

“General Organa’s given us the go-ahead,” he said, lacking the finesse he remembered having, but could no longer access. How did you encourage people when they all knew there was no such thing as a decisive victory? They’d destroyed a system-killing superweapon, but here they all were. Still fighting. Harder and uglier than before.

Rey’s eyes widened and she nodded her head slowly, deliberately. The near-universally understood expression for hurry the kriff up and say something.

Highlighting a pair of places on the map with a tap of his fingertip, he said, “It’ll be tricky. We’ll be stretched a little thin, but both of these places are underdefended. Or, in one case, completely undefended.” Blowing up each image, he gave everyone a chance to analyze the locations for themselves. “The bulk of our forces will be hitting the FO base here.” He pointed at the larger of the two spots and then at the second. “I’ll be leading a team here.”

“Poe!” Rey said. “You can’t just—”

Poe’s eyebrow climbed his forehead and he stared her down. She might’ve been a Jedi. And she might, too, not be in his direct chain-of-command, but that didn’t warrant an outburst like that. She knew better. “Excuse me,” he said, cool. “I’m the highest priority target they know about in this sector.” They, of course, meaning Be—Ren. Ren. Kylo Ren. For obvious reasons, Luke and Rey were more valuable, but so far they’d all managed to keep both of them a base-wide secret. In addition to commanding his own base elsewhere, Finn and his location were being kept quiet, too, for the same reason. Formally, uncomfortably, he straightened his shoulders. “If you can see a flaw in this strategy, I welcome your input. Otherwise…”

She got his meaning and tightened her jaw, anger flashing in her eyes.

Yeah, well. She wouldn’t be the first or last person he disappointed in this fight. That didn’t bother Poe much anymore. As long as they succeeded, it didn’t matter what else happened in the meantime.

After all, Poe was the only one they could dangle in front of the First Order without risking too much. He might’ve been their best pilot, but they had a lot of good ones. They could fill any void he might’ve vacated. And he’d held off doing this for far longer than anyone could have expected. Best to save something like that for a special occasion and make sure you don’t ruin the element of surprise by abusing the tactic.

Good thing this was a special occasion. “That FO base may never be this easy to take again,” he said. Ren so rarely shifted troops and equipment, even when he should have. But for whatever reason, he must’ve thought Poe’d given up on this particular stretch of the Unknown Regions. Joke was on him; Poe never gave up on anything. But he’d learned patience since the last time they met and maybe, just maybe, Poe could wiggle his way in there and do some real damage.

Time would tell.

“We have to give it a shot,” he said, looking directly at Rey, daring her to issue another complaint. Half of him was surprised that she backed down, bowing her head and looking at the floor; the rest of him was grateful that he wouldn’t have to fight with her over this, too. He wasn’t up for the embarrassment that would bring.

He didn’t need a fractured base on top of everything else.

Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, he sighed quietly and outlined the plan to the people around him, their faces rapt as he spoke, each word growing stronger and more confident. By the end, he actually believed they had a chance in hell of doing this.

Two teams. One obvious: a target, a goal for Kylo Ren to pursue. The second: covert, unremarkable. The kind of team designed to go unnoticed. “Half of the Pathfinders will be with my team,” he finished. “The rest will accompany the ground troops hitting the genuine target. Understood?”

Poe felt certain they would be safe as long as Kylo had Poe to focus on.

Hopefully that wasn’t too arrogant of him to believe.

A round of affirmations filled the room. They were less certain than he would have liked, but more so than he could have expected.

It had to be enough.

Kes slid a glass of water across the table at Poe, taking the chair from the opposite side and spinning it before straddling the seat just the same way Poe used to do. It made something warm and welcoming grow inside Poe’s chest, something like sunlight, comfortable and safe. Stars, he really had missed this place if the way his father sat managed to make him feel nostalgic.

“All right, then,” Kes said, arms crossing the back of his chair. His chin rested against the back of one hand. “How long are you here for?”

Swirling the glass, Poe peered down into the clear surface. The light streaming in through the window caught on it and twinkled back, bright, almost blindingly so. “Couple months, maybe? I don’t know how soon they’ll want me to deploy again.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I never converted your room into that hologame suite I always dreamed of,” Kes answered, deadpan, a grin threatening to overwhelm the majority of his face. It ruined his effort to appear disapproving. Poe thought Kes probably knew that.

“Hey, I gave you my blessing when I moved out,” Poe said. “It’s not my fault you didn’t follow through on that.”

Kes waved him off, his eyes searching Poe’s face as though he was determined to catalog every difference he could measure. Poe considered asking him what he saw there, but decided against it; he wasn’t sure he’d like what his father had to say.

“So, Luke Skywalker, huh?” Poe asked instead. He nodded, lips pursed, eyebrows raised. “I’m impressed.”

Kes shrugged, flapped his hand back toward the rooms Kes had handed over for the Jedi’s use. “He wanted to see the tree. And they’re planning on doing some research over at the temple. I figured it wouldn’t be very friendly to force them to find a place in town.”

After taking a sip of the water, Poe set the glass on the table. “I’m not judging.” He laughed a little and scrubbed at his chin. “I don’t think Solo’s too happy with you, but you can’t please everyone, huh?”

“I’m not sure Solo’s happy with much of anything,” Kes said, even and philosophical. “Some people are just like that, I guess. But he’s polite enough and that’s all I could ever want to ask of anyone.”

“That’s just because everyone’s ‘polite enough’ for you.” But Poe’s fondness for his dad only grew as he sat there with him. Kes was a good man, the best Poe knew; he deserved better than to be stuck here alone for years at a time. Swallowing, Poe drummed his fingers against the table. Maybe you should think about mustering out, he thought, biting his lip. You’ve almost done your time. You’re not doing that much good in the Navy. “You’re a lot more patient than most people.”

“Come on. Being Leia Organa and Han Solo’s son and Luke Skywalker’s nephew? They’re good people, but that has to be a strain.”

Poe frowned, pondered that fact for a minute. Sometimes it was rough enough being Shara Bey’s son and she wasn’t galactically famous and/or infamous depending on your point of view and how you felt about the Organa-Solo household. “Yeah.” He picked at the table with his thumb. “Probably.”

“Uh huh,” Kes said. Stretching across the table, he shoved at Poe’s shoulder. “So maybe cut the guy some slack. You might find you like him.”

“It’s a big galaxy,” Poe admitted. “Stranger things have probably happened in it somewhere.” He thought about the wide breadth of Ben Solo’s shoulders, the dark shade of his eyes, the angular stretch of skin across his cheekbones. “I don’t dislike him.”

Kes’s eyes twinkled with the understanding earned through fatherly intuition and long years of experience with Poe’s personality. He didn’t say anything, but his meaning was clear all the same.

Don’t tease him too badly, Poe.

Poe supposed he could do that. Or try anyway.

The others filed out of the command center, dismissed by Poe with a wave of his hand and an order that they complete preparations for their latest op. Poe rarely sat in this room, feeling like he owed it to everyone to slip away and let them complete their work without their commanding officer looming. It didn’t make sense and probably no one noticed, but all the same…

Sighing, he dropped into one of the chairs that formed a ring around the holoprojector and dropped his head against the backrest. Spinning the chair from left to right, he looked up at the ceiling before closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

A pair of soft-soled boots brushed against the floor, quiet and unobtrusive. He didn’t want to crack open his eyes, but he did it anyway. “Hey, Luke,” he said. “You got something to say, too?”

“No.” Luke smiled, tired, and wrapped his hand around the back of another chair. “You mind?” he asked.

Poe shook his head. He did mind, but he didn’t have it in him to push Luke away on top of everything else. There was no one here who knew Ben the way they did. It didn’t seem right to deny him on that basis alone.

“Rey’s young,” Luke said, apropos of nothing.

“She is that,” Poe agreed.

“She worries about you.” Luke’s hands clasped in his lap as he crossed his legs. His ankle bounced impatiently and the worn leather of his boot creaked lightly in time with it. “She worries about everything.”

“There’s a lot out there to worry about.” He crossed his arms and tucked his chin down, thoughtful, sucking on his teeth. “I really can’t blame her.” I was the same way. I’m still the same way. He turned to face Luke, serious. He’d meant to talk this over with Luke later, as close to go-time as he could manage so he couldn’t argue, but now seemed like the right time. “I’m putting you in charge while I’m gone.”

“Poe,” Luke murmured. “I’m not…”

“You have to.” Poe leaned forward, wrapped his hands around the armrests. “I trust you to handle this. It won’t be for long.” He paused, searching Luke’s face for signs of capitulation, but all he saw was the usual placid mask he wore. Poe pursed his lips together. “Please. I don’t leave the base all that often anymore. I need to know the place will be in good hands.”

Chuckling bitterly, Luke rubbed his hand over his beard. There was fresh pain in his eyes; then again, there was always pain in his eyes, sometimes it was just dimmer than other times. “There are better hands than mine out there.”

“Not here,” Poe answered. “Not right now.” He could’ve tried to argue with Luke about this, but it would’ve taken more time than either of them had to reach any sort of consensus on the matter. Hell, this was an argument they’d had silently for years now. Ever since he came back from Ahch-To. “Luke, come on. I know it’s not ideal, but nothing here is ideal.”

A frown twisted at Luke’s mouth, pulled unhappily at his face. His attention fell away and it was only long experience that let Poe know he wasn’t ignoring Poe.

He was meditating on an answer.

There would be no point bothering him until he reached a conclusion on his own. No amount of pushing or prodding from Poe would change Luke’s mind. So Poe waited even though he wasn’t as good at it as he wanted to be.

When Luke opened his eyes, Poe knew his answer even before he gave his assent.

Getting to his feet, Poe clapped Luke on the shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you,” he said, fully meaning it, fully feeling it, hoping some of that came through to Luke in the Force. “You’ll be great.”

And he believed it as much as he could. Luke would hold things down just fine in his absence.

As far as destinations went, Ben could admit that Yavin 4 probably wasn’t the worst. There was Ilum, after all, strip-mined and cold and miserable as it was, where Ben had, for the first time, learned how wrong the Force could feel. There was Jakku, hot and dry and equally miserable, home to tales of Jedi treasures lost to the sands and indifferences nurtured by that out-of-the-way world. Certainly Dagobah counted. There were, Ben reasoned, many places worse than Yavin.

If nothing else, getting to spend his days inside, the Massassi Temple mostly cool thanks to never, ever seeing any sunlight, meant it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it could have been. The worst he suffered was a hike through the forest twice a day and not even long ones at that.

And yet it was Yavin that made Ben grind his teeth, impatient with the need to be anywhere else. More than Dagobah. More than Jakku. More than Ilum.

“Have you ever considered smiling?” Poe Dameron said, perched on an upturned crate so big his feet dangled inches off the floor. Worse, he constantly kicked the heel of his boots back against it as though merely pestering Ben with his presence wasn’t obnoxious enough. Thunk thunk thunk. Thunk thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunkthunkthunk.

“Can you stop that?”

“The talking or the…?” He demonstrated the thunk one last time. And added in a twirl of his hand for good measure.

So he knew just how annoying he was being and was doing it anyway. Great. Ben wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse.

“Both,” Ben answered, trying to get his voice somewhere in the vicinity of not unpleasant. Neutral, even, would have been great. A headache converged behind his eyes, brewing and bubbling just beneath the threshold that would take it from overt to unbearable. Every Force technique in the book had failed him and he’d reached the point of considering sending Poe off with a mind trick.

Maybe it wasn’t fair, but it would’ve eliminated at least one source of Ben’s foul mood.

He also didn’t succeed in sounding anything other than hostile.

So that whole ‘stretching for neutrality’ thing? It didn’t work.

Poe gave half a smile, his eyes warm and—fond. Reluctantly fond. Fond, Ben thought. What do you know about fondness? Or amused maybe. That made far more sense. It was definitely amused—and at Ben’s expense. Hopping down from the crate, Poe dusted his hands together. “Sure, Ben. I can do that for you.”

He spoke plainly, Poe did, like he meant it. Ben sensed no deception in the Force, not even a hint of anything other than a man holding steady to his word. That made Ben suspicious, but as he worked himself up to saying as much, Poe was already backing away and hooking his thumb over his shoulder. “Let me know if you need any help,” he said, casual, pleasant, a little cooler than Ben had heard him before. “I’ll just check in with Master Skywalker. Had a few questions I wanted to ask him anyway.”

Shuffling, somehow both less and more graceful than the description suggested, he spun around and jogged toward Luke. Just as he said he would. And though Poe wasn’t speaking very loudly, Ben still heard, “Hey, is it true you were based out here during the war?” as it echoed and bounced off the ancient stone structure around them.

Ben scoffed quietly and shook his head, not in the least disappointed that Poe had taken him at his word. Not at all. Not even a little bit. The datapad in his hands cracked and groaned in protest of the grip he held it in, but remained whole and intact despite that fact. He would’ve liked to throw the thing, maybe at Poe and maybe at the wall. But he did neither, focusing his attention back at trying to get translations worth a damn out of the thing.

Who knew it would be this hard to figure out what some wall engravings said?

Ben knew… now that he was trying to do just that anyway.

And he didn’t like it one bit.

If he also didn’t like that Poe had acceded so easily, he didn’t let himself think about it. He should’ve been happy after all. He was happy. Happier than before anyway. His headache was already receding after all.

Definitely worth it.

The surface of D432.6AgI was every bit as boring as the moniker it carried, easily forgettable and devoid of anything meaningful enough to give it a worthwhile name. Plains spread toward the horizon and beyond. A few rolling foothills dotted the distant land around their designated landing site, never resolving into grand mountains the way such structures sometimes did.

The only stakes here concerned the long-abandoned bases that had, at one time, served as touchstones in a war long done and forgotten. Here was proof of one mere conflict in a galaxy bloodied since before recorded history by such conflicts. If those people had known they were fighting for their own decay, would they have kept it up?

Kylo wondered if these ancient bringers of war would appreciate or decry its return to this spot. Would the bones buried in this dirt look upon the sky and enjoy the spectacle?

He turned toward one of the stormtroopers standing sentinel on the patch of land they’d chosen to set down on. The wind whipped at his robes and caused the stormtroopers’ plates of armor to clack together when it caught on the edges. A sensor in his helmet indicated one-hundred to one-hundred and twenty kilometer per hour gusts weren’t uncommon.

Kylo glanced up at the base they’d chosen. The stone it was constructed from was smooth and worn. And no wonder. If this was what it had to stand up against, it was a wonder any of these spots still existed at all.

“Secure the base,” Kylo said, hand slicing through the air to point at the door they’d probably have to cut through. “Inform my Knights once that job is completed.”

“Yes, sir,” they all of them said in the same monotone. Only one showed enough daring to offer what could have been construed as a concern. No, not concern. A desire for the best, most accurate intel he could get. That was how he’d have justified it to himself. “Where will you be, sir?”

Though the troopers couldn’t see it, he smiled. Turning toward his TIE, awkwardly perched in the wheat-yellow grass, its rudimentary landing gears swallowed up by the same, he said, “I have a space battle to command.” Tilting his head in the troopers’ direction, he tugged at his gloves and tightened each hand into a fist. “I leave this in your capable hands.”

“Yes, sir,” they all said again, issuing perfect, precise salutes, their armor shifting and resettling in time with one another. The leader barked out an order that the rest followed with the same degree of precision. Uncanny, that’s what they were. And barely any presence in the Force. Most of them anyway. Less than the general population as far as Kylo could tell.

A few… well, there was always someone who was different, unique.

Special.

Kylo might have watched them work—he found himself aggravatingly interested in Hux’s stormtroopers—but he had more important things to do at the moment. The Force nudged him about, a twisted vine tugging and pulling him in every direction, demanding and demonstrative all at once. It knew something was coming.

And time was of the essence.

A shadow fell in a long stretch across Poe, his bike, and the lawn. Even if Poe couldn’t guess who it was from that alone, the voice gave it away. “What are you doing out here?”

“Ben Solo, as I live and breathe,” he answered, curious and pretending he wasn’t as he made another adjustment to the power core he was currently hoping to coax a little more speed out of. Swiping his hand across his forehead, he peered up at Ben from his position on the ground. From this vantage point, Ben Solo almost managed to look intimidating. He assumed Ben would like to know that, so he kept it to himself. Gotta keep the mystery alive or whatever. “What can I do for you?”

“What are you doing?” Ben’s eyes narrowed and he shifted on the balls of his feet.

Poe snorted. “Dancing,” he answered. “What do you think?”

“It looks like you’re illegally modifying a swoop bike,” Ben said, a little snippy, possibly unhappy with Poe’s nonsense. Not that he was the first. “But that doesn’t seem right to me. Republic Navy men don’t do that.”

What do you know about Republic Navy men, Ben Solo? Are you keeping secrets?

“That’s because it’s not,” Poe answered, teasing. Happy that Ben was as sharp as he was. He slapped the bike’s nose, appreciative, and pulled himself up. “I’m just helping her reach her potential. Isn’t that right?” Talking directly to the bike was unnecessary, sentimental even for Poe, but Poe wanted to see what Ben would do. Or, well, hear it anyway. He was making a concerted effort to avoid looking at Ben too closely for fear of liking what he saw.

Snorting, Ben crouched down, almost eye level with Poe now. He inspected Poe’s work with single-minded determination, serious enough about it that a flutter of unease pulsed in Poe’s gut, visceral. The learned response of someone who faced formal inspections on a weekly basis, COs staring at you and issuing punishments based on how poorly you faired.

Poe’d never once been reprimanded, but that didn’t stop him from worrying about the possibility.

And now he was feeling something very similar from Ben; frankly, it was mixing some signals that didn’t need mixing as far as he was concerned.

“Pass muster, chief?” Poe asked, light, keeping the edge out of his voice. Ben was the kind of guy who’d fall on a weakness and exploit it, Poe was fairly sure of that. And Ben knowing he cared what Ben thought about his work—when he didn’t even entirely understand why himself—that didn’t seem like good practice.

Ben’s head turned, sharp, his incredulous glare encompassing a full and worthy disdain for Poe and everything he believed in. His hands curved over the knees of his breeches, the deep, almost black color faded there, as he pushed himself back into a standing position. “Your secondary coupling is going to overload the first time you turn the ignition on this thing,” he said, superior, every word a pulse of blaster fire. It was everything Poe should have hated, but didn’t. Not in this case. “Might make a mess.”

Because Poe didn’t know better and he always liked to escalate every situation he found himself in, his eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth. He knew it and he let it happen anyway. Then he opened his mouth and really got to work escalating things. “Seems like you might enjoy the idea of me making a mess.”

An admittedly impressive sneer pulled at Ben’s upper lip. “Hardly,” he insisted, a little too strongly. Or, just strongly enough that Poe was willing to make an audacious hunch and run with it. Poe could at least concede he was handling himself a little better than he had when they first met. Not that his father would agree. Then again, Poe always had enjoyed making people blush.

But now he actually did like Ben, when before he had no real investment in the outcome of his torments. So even if Poe pushed further, he’d never have pushed as far as he needed to to genuinely offend Ben.

Planting his palms on either side of him, he got his feet beneath him and popped up, dusting his hands against his trousers. It wouldn’t do anything to dislodge the smears of grease, not really, but it did knock the dirt from his palms. “You’re cute,” he said, “and I’ve heard from people-who-aren’t-me that I’m not too terrible to look at. Why don’t you let me show you around Yavin some?” Tilting his head, he gestured vaguely in the temple’s direction. “It won’t involve ruins, I promise.”

Ben looked him up and down, confusion and annoyance fighting for dominance of his features. Confusion won, which made his response all the more delightful. “What makes you think your appearance has any bearing on whether I’d want to spend time with you?”

Poe laughed. “Oh, you really are adorable,” he said, because he couldn’t not be an asshole when given the opportunity. “Look, to be honest, not a lot of people want to spend time with me for my sparkling personality.” I’m sure you’d know nothing about that. “I’ve been told a time or two my mouth’s gonna get me in trouble one day. So I’m not self-involved enough to realize this—” He waved now at himself. “—has nothing to do with it.”

Ben’s face went blank, giving Poe the chance to realize he’d just stuck his foot so far down his throat he’d be hopping everywhere from now on. This, this was why only Karé, Iolo, and Muran were willing to put up with him. This right here. Everyone else thought he was insufferable and they were right to think so.

“Your personality getting you into trouble? That just doesn’t seem possible,” Ben said finally, deadpan, and Poe almost fell for it before he realized Ben was joking.

And that just made it better. “I don’t know,” Poe answered, shrugging, adopting a hapless tone for effect. “It’s a gift. Or a curse maybe. Nobody appreciates me as much as I do.”

“That’s devastating.” And now, Ben’s face did flush just so, not quite the angry red Poe was more familiar with from the last time he’d purposefully poked at Ben. He stamped at the ground, brushed the sole of his boot back and forth over the grass. “It must be difficult being you.”

“Oh, it’s the worst.” Poe winked and, despite the unaccountable case of nerves fluttering through him, he asked, “So what do you say?”

“About what?”

Poe groaned, his hand coming up to rest just above his heart. You’re killing me here. “Hitting the best the settlement has to offer?”

Ben’s brow arched and his mouth fell open slightly. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, bud,” Poe said. “I am.”

Ben narrowed his eyes. “When?”

Ben didn’t know it yet, but there really wasn’t anything to do on Yavin no matter what time of day it was. It might’ve drawn a bunch of tourists, but that didn’t make the entertainment any better. Turning his attention to the bike for a moment, he bit his lip and then turned his attention to the distant horizon. Already the sky was turning orange and red and pink; twilight wasn’t too far off. He’d been at this for ages anyway and there wasn’t any rush to complete this project he’d taken on anyway. “How about now?”

Ben’s features took on a lost, listless quality as he, too, stared toward the horizon. Poe could tell he was considering it, but he couldn’t guess based on what he saw whether Ben would say yes. He hoped he would, but unlike with just about everyone else he knew or met, he couldn’t guess.

So when Ben said yes in a distant, unsure way, Poe knew it was something worth celebrating.

Good thing he also knew just the way to do it.

Too bad Ben would probably hate him for ever being born. But Poe had given him a warning.

Of a sort anyway.

Even though Poe had a few inches on Rey and he was stretching his stride to be deliberately long, Rey was keeping up just fine. Even while talking at him full-speed, her breathing hardly changed. “Poe, whatever you’re thinking, it’s a bad plan.”

“Thanks for waiting until no one was around to say that at least,” Poe answered, his lungs burning a little more than was strictly necessary. Of course, these days he had so little time to worry about taking care of himself, maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. “You lose points because I know full well that you always think all my plans are bad.”

Rey rolled her eyes, skimmed her hand over the hallway’s walls. Her cheek indented where she was biting at the inside of it. “I’m serious. What are you thinking? What are you doing?”

Trying to put an end to this, he thought, fierce, fed up. “I’m tired of being stuck here,” Poe said. “All of us are. I’d like to go home sometime soon. Don’t you?” He glared down at her, well aware that what he was about to say was a low-blow and doing it any way. “Wouldn’t you like the chance to see Finn again sometime before we’re all dead?”

At the mention of Finn, Rey glared at him in turn, a hurt sheen forming in her gaze. One that she blinked away, leaving behind only fire. “Kriff you, Poe,” she said, spitting the words. “I care about ending this just as much as you do. But you’re the commander of this base. You can’t just take risks like this.”

She was being fairer to him than he deserved, but—stepping ahead of her and turning, he stopped. Held his hand up. “I’ll take whatever risks I have to,” he said, no hint of amusement, understanding, or anything other than the hard-ass ‘commander of this base’ anywhere in evidence. If she wanted him, she’d have him. He didn’t even allow himself to voice the anger he was feeling at being questioned, at having to do this, at being told by someone over ten years his junior that he was making a mistake. “You would, too, if you were in my position. Rey, you have taken risks even though you’re not.” He threw his hands out. “Besides, this is all just one big risk. You don’t even know what I’m planning on doing. How can you say what’s worthwhile or not?”

Her features hardened and her jaw tightened and she got that determined look that meant trouble. Too bad Poe wasn’t having it today. “I know you. Something’s different about this mission. It has been from the start.”

Poe swallowed and refused to be cowed. Rey liked to throw her understanding of the galaxy around; she presumed so much and knew that she was right far, far too often. He wondered if it was just something that Force users took for granted. Luke was the same way. Even Leia sometimes. Ben definitely was. They were tuned into something greater than themselves, something greater than the galaxy as it was, and so they thought they knew best. Always.

And maybe they knew something, but Poe sure as hell didn’t think it was the best thing. One day, Rey would get the chance to learn that. He hoped anyway.

Though perhaps not the way Luke had. Or Ben. She deserved better than what had happened to them, what they’d done to themselves. He hoped whatever day came along and taught her this lesson was kinder.

Tapping his foot, impatient, he gripped her by the shoulders, willed her to understand. “Listen,” Poe said, “I’m doing what’s best for you guys, I promise. I’m taking a chance, yes, but it’s not as big a gamble as you seem to think it will be.” I know it’s not. I have to believe it’s not. He winced, because his next suggestion wasn’t going to map with that. Not for Rey anyway. “But I’m going to need your help and I’m going to need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

He was so, so very tired of prying obedience out of the people he oversaw. He wasn’t good at it. And he didn’t feel good doing it.

Rey’s eyes scanned the floor left and right before looking at Poe directly. She remained defiant, but her words surprised him. “Sure, Poe. I can do that.”

She might not have liked it, but he believed he could take her at her word. “Good,” he said. “Thank you.”

Relief slipped into his heart, pumped through him and relaxed his muscles and spirit and the hard knot that sat in his chest constantly. The sensation was so unusual for him now that he almost didn’t recognize it. But because he did recognize it, he could appreciate it all the more.

It’d be the last time today he’d feel it, he was sure of that.

Entering the club was like hitting a wall made of sound—the clanking of glasses at the bar, the irrepressible noise of people talking and laughing and living, the music that indicated dancing was in the future of anyone who wanted it, it was all here. The songs may have been different, the clothing styles slightly altered, the clientele a little more upscale, but it was the same in all the ways that mattered.

There was no changing Piffa’s under any circumstances; no amount of tourism would alter the place entirely. There was something comforting about that fact. “Come on,” he said, snaking his arm around Ben’s elbow and tugging him forward. Ben’s eyes widened and he resisted for a moment, but ultimately he conceded, his steps slow and lumbering. “I promise you won’t be bit.”

“I don’t really…”

Oh, Ben. I know. You don’t have to finish that thought. It’s obvious. “They have the best drinks in the sector, I promise.” He patted Ben on the chest, three quick swats that confirmed for him that Ben’s width and breadth weren’t all for show. That took work. Poe was impressed. And appreciative. Smiling, he hoped Ben realized that fact. More than that, he hoped Ben was glad of it if he was aware. You care way too much about this, Dameron. “That’s all.”

“So when you said you wanted to show me Yavin, this is what you had in mind? A bar?”

“Hey!” Poe feigned offense as he dragged Ben inside, shouting over the noise. Winding his way through the tables and crowds to find one of the shadowy, private corners where Ben might feel more comfortable. “I’ll have you know this place is a hidden gem in the galaxy.” People clogged the walls, leaning against them while they sipped their drinks. For a moment, Poe was worried they’d have to do the same, but he knew something most of these individuals didn’t.

Leading Ben toward the back, he found the draped doorway he was looking for.

“Should we be going in there?” Ben asked, wary.

“Not a rule-breaker, huh?” Poe answered, sympathetic and a little amused. Ben didn’t seem the type to concern himself with where he should and shouldn’t be. Must be hard if you spent all your time traveling the galaxy looking for stuff in places you weren’t necessarily supposed to be. “Don’t worry. This is a public space.” Some places had VIP sections. Piffa’s had the locals’ section. Or rather, the section most people didn’t bother entering because they either didn’t know it was there or didn’t know they could if they noticed. But come here enough and you got to know everything about it. Mostly, that meant locals.

Pulling aside the drape, he waved Ben in and ducked his head in. Unlike the main floor, it was quieter back here with fewer people to talk over. “Some things don’t change,” he whispered directly into Ben’s ear, pushing him forward with one hand planted between Ben’s shoulder blades.

“Huh?”

“There’s always been a little more breathing room back here.” A few tables were occupied, but there was nothing unusual about that. Seeing Ben relax a little bit more made it worthwhile either way. “Pick the spot you like best.”

Ben’s gait slowed, his head twisting left and right. While he considered his options, Poe took a bet with himself as to where Ben would choose.

When he picked the corner Poe suspected he would, Poe mentally congratulated himself. “Good man,” he said, knuckling at Ben’s bicep as he walked past Ben to take the seat across from him. He plucked the flimsy from the far end of the table and pushed it into Ben’s hand. “Anything on that menu’s gonna be good, I promise.”

Ben lifted his brow in challenge, but stared down at it with way more seriousness than such a thing deserved.

Perching his chin on his fist, Poe took the opportunity to examine Ben’s features. This probably wasn’t the ideal place for that—dim lights that illuminated from below weren’t exactly flattering—but he liked what he saw. He liked that Ben was serious, that shadows fell across his features in interesting ways, even that he never failed to indicate his displeasure in the most forthright of ways, meaning frowns and sneers and poisonous words galore. Ben was difficult, he’d made that much about himself known, but that gave Poe the room to be difficult in return.

For a guy who generally considered himself a pleasant person, that was still a relief in a way.

The fact that neither of them held it against the other for long was merely a bonus.

They made their orders on the datapad inset in the table, Poe choosing a local beer and Ben going with a whisky neat. Poe almost rolled his eyes and asked Ben who he was trying to impress, but he kept his mouth shut for once. Even if this was Ben, he didn’t insult people on first dates.

Is this a date, Dameron? Does he know that?

Poe decided he’d know by the end of it if he didn’t figured it out before that. “So,” he said, voice vaguely muffled by his continued use of his hand as a pedestal for his jaw, “how are you enjoying Yavin?”

“It’s… fine,” Ben said, awkward. “I’ve been worse places.” Lowering his eyes, he grimaced. “I mean—”

Poe laughed. A lot of people were proud of Yavin, but Poe didn’t have much room to talk. He’d left the first chance he got. “You’re honest. I like that.” Don’t push too hard too fast. “You really spend all your time doing…” His hand circled in the air. “…the work you do?”

Ben tilted his head, apparently mulling over his answer. “We train, too. Luke’s planning on opening a school, but he wants to know as much as he can before he does. Sometimes I think it’s overkill. He’s been at this as long as I’ve been alive.”

Well, that explained Luke Skywalker, but what about Ben Solo? “And what will you do?”

“Continue training.” He shrugged, his hand reaching up to clasp at the back of his neck. “Teach. I don’t know.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

Their drinks arrived in the hands of a shiny, silver droid, interrupting before Ben could answer. It was a pity, too. Poe was very interested in what he had to say on the matter. But instead of glaring at the droid, he smiled and leaned toward it. “Thanks so much,” he said, lifting his beer, relishing the chill of the glass against his palm. “Does Piffa still run the bar?”

“Yes, sir,” the droid answered, bobbing its head and rolling backward and then forward again on its single wheel.

“Great. Tell her Poe says hi.”

The droid’s head caught the light as it bowed forward again. “I will, sir. Enjoy your drinks.”

In the silence that followed, the sound of the music playing in the rest of the bar became loud enough to hear even back in here. At first it was a song Poe didn’t recognize, but after a moment, the music shifted, played a little louder even back here. And longing overcame him, a tight aching ball of it squeezing behind his breastbone.

There used to be a jukebox somewhere in the building—Piffa moved it from time to time—that Poe had filled to the brim twice over probably in his time here before shipping out…

“What is it?” Ben asked.

“Hmm?” Poe shook his head, brushed his fingers through his curls. For once, his own face warmed with embarrassment, but there was no way Ben would be able to tell in this light. “Oh. Nothing. I just—I used to play this song all the time when I came here. Before I deployed the first time. I haven’t thought about it for a long time. That’s all.”

“No, you’ve got—” He motioned with his hand in a way that made no sense to Poe, but apparently meant something to Ben. “—it’s obviously not nothing.”

He spoke with enough ferocity that it startled Poe a little bit to hear it. Nobody cared that much about Poe’s feelings except his dad. And even then, he wasn’t sure his dad would have noticed this particular… thing.

The low, melodic tones continued to wind toward them, the moment slipping through his hands. He didn’t know how many times he’d danced to this song, the meandering, sweet notes a perfect way to get close to someone, share a bit of baggage-free intimacy. He’d liked that about it back in the day. Now he merely wanted to…

To what?

Ben’s chair scraped the floor as he climbed to his feet, holding his hand out. A deep look of perturbation crossed his face and he wiped his other hand down his side repeatedly. But the former remained palm up, steady. His fingers snapped with impatience when he didn’t respond immediately.

“A Force-null would be able to tell what you wanted,” Ben said. That didn’t explain why Ben was the one to make an overture, but as Poe took his hand, he didn’t much care. Of course, Ben blew it by immediately stretching to grab his glass and swallowing every centimeter of liquor in it, but that only endeared him to Poe all the more somehow.

“Not a dancer?” Poe asked, sympathetic. Not enough to insist it was okay, that he didn’t have to—because he wanted to know what it would feel like to have Ben’s hands on him for an extended length of time and he didn’t know if he’d get another chance.

“Not really.”

Poe jerked his head toward the wall. “You want to take this out on the actual dancefloor at least?” One drunk couple stood and swayed in another corner, laughing, heedless, but mostly the other patrons in this section of the bar kept to themselves or stared, judgmental, at the lot of them.

Ben took in their surroundings for what looked like the first time. And immediately dismissed everything and everyone in here. For a guy who got embarrassed anytime anyone paid him a compliment, that was surprising. “Yeah, I don’t give a shit. Do you want to go out there?”

Poe exhaled on an amused huff. His curls brushed his forehead as he shook his head. Honestly, he kind of liked the idea of this being a private moment, something between them and them alone—and the few people who sat back here, too, he supposed, but fewer than they’d find out there. “No,” he answered. “I guess not.”

Poe was right about one thing at least. It was nice to feel Ben’s hands on his shoulder and clasped around his hand, tucked in close between them. The whole time, Ben remained awkwardly stiff and a little lumbering.

But it was the best time Poe ever remembered having when it came to that song.

And it distracted Poe enough that he didn’t remember to tell Ben that this was supposed to be a date until after they’d gone back to his dad’s place and said good night.

He’d have to rectify that. Good thing Poe was imaginative. He’d think of some way to clue him in.

Because this was definitely date territory now.

Kylo flipped the switch on the comms, his eyes scanning the stretch of space around him. Stars pricked through the dark, their light twinkling and catching on the TIEs around him. His senses stretched out around him. His HUD showed nothing amiss, but he knew it was only a matter of time before that would change. Keying a code into his computer, he pushed it out to the other ships. “Do not engage with any ship that broadcasts that IFF code. Do you understand?” It wasn’t the first time he’d issued this order and it wouldn’t be the last. Of course, it had never been a problem before. He hadn’t witnessed Poe flying a ship since before—before…

He hadn’t even seen him at Starkiller, though he’d found out afterward he’d been there. He’d been the one to take it down, put them on this path to start with. Kylo had been too busy elsewhere and was glad for the reprieve.

No, Kylo thought, you know that’s not true.

Affirmatives from each and every pilot crossed his comms. He nodded, appeased. Now we wait.

It didn’t take long before ships streaked into existence around them, just as Kylo expected. He watched as his TIEs swooped, engaging immediately with the enemy. It required only a moment’s scan to find his own target and at that, he hit the throttle hard, determined to push that ship out of the main fray. Poe Dameron was his. And he wouldn’t be struck down today. Not here, not now.

Swinging around, Kylo caught sight of the small FO carrier hanging in the distance, a gray, soft target that nobody went after, knowing the fight was truly here. Good. Kylo didn’t care whether it survived this encounter or not—his ship could make it back to base without it—but it made things easier knowing he needn’t concern himself with it yet.

But just as he expected, Poe’s X-wing split off, making the same wide arc Kylo’s ship made. Almost smiling, he cut power to the engine, slipping low as Poe’s ship overshot his. Throwing everything into reignition, he waited for Poe to turn, flip his ship, do anything. And he did finally, slow and lacking in finesse, giving Kylo more than enough time to catch back up before he could actually turn and get a head-on shot.

Catching Poe’s ship in the crosshairs of his targeting computer, he adjusted slightly, just off of center. It might disable Poe’s ship if he was lucky, but since this was Poe, he would never, ever be lucky.

Poe’s X-wing juked awkwardly, just a little bit more quickly than Ben had been expecting. Quickly enough that his laser fire struck Poe’s S-foil, scored it across the top and put it into a spin that was so very not like Poe that Kylo’s heart thundered in his chest—

Just in enough time for the Force to shriek at him from two directions, the planet and the X-wing both. Wrong wrong wrong.

This wasn’t Poe.

This wasn’t Poe.

He slammed his palm on the comms array. A headache threatened to slice his brain into ribbons. Wincing, he spoke as steady as he could manage. “Disengage. Retreat vector S-32A.”

The one good thing he’d ever encountered in the First Order was the ability of the pilots to blindly follow commands. They fell into line almost as well as Hux’s stormtroopers did even without his or Phasma’s influence. He appreciated it now, because not a single one disobeyed.

In fact, they obeyed so quickly, it was clear the X-wings didn’t know what to do anymore, making wide graceful arcs through space as they sought to figure out what had changed. No shots were fired despite Kylo turning himself into an easy, visible target. Fools and failures, the lot of them.

By Kylo’s estimation, everything had changed. The Force warped around him, dark and bloody and achingly familiar. His father’s features flashed in his mind, an image he hadn’t thought about in years and never, ever revisited.

Fury lanced through his body and tore at his skin. Despite it, he remained icily, terrifyingly calm.

In the confusion, he pushed the thrusters on his TIE. It could outrun anything Poe had in his arsenal, flew better and more accurately in atmosphere, too. An X-wing had him beat on landing, but given enough of a head start he’d be fine.

Whoever was flying Poe’s X-wing caught on quicker than he’d hoped, but not quickly enough.

It was no matter; they weren’t a threat to him.

Not right now.

“I might be a little biased,” Poe explained, pulling Ben along by the wrist as they tromped their way through the underbrush. He’d told Ben there was a clearing nearby and this time of year it was definitely worth it to hike through the forest in the dark to see it. Ben might’ve been mistaken, but he thought the sky back at the Dameron homestead was perfectly serviceable. “But Yavin’s got the best stars in the galaxy.”

“Did they take a poll or something?” Ben asked, concerned that Poe could feel Ben’s pulse beneath his fingertips.

“No, smartass. Just personal experience.” His head tilting up, he slowed for a moment, scanning the canopy above them. Humidity clung even here despite the late hour and the shade and shadow around them. It made sweat prickle along Ben’s forehead and around his hairline. “We’re almost there.”

Ben could’ve grumbled. He wanted to. But that would have belied the truth, too, which was this: he enjoyed being here with Poe. Even if he was uncomfortably stuffy despite the loose weave of his shirt and the breeze that occasionally kicked up. Rustling the leaves, it offered a small respite from the stifling warmth.

“What makes it so special?” Ben asked.

Turning to look back at Ben, he narrowed his eyes, though Ben could only really tell by the way the shadow shifted above his cheeks. “It’s home,” he answered simply. “You can see a lot of them. I don’t know. They’re pretty.”

Ben stared back blankly. Reasonably sure the former was true, he couldn’t make the same claim about Poe’s latter assertions. Either way, he tried to imagine what having a favorite view of the night sky would feel like. He’d never stuck around anywhere long enough to feel one way or the other about them, though he’d slept under enough, too. They were a fact of life. That was all.

“Okay,” he said. “So show me.”

And Poe did, pulling him the rest of the way through the forest. It turned out there was a clearing and it was nearby—Poe hadn’t been lying or exaggerating, which was a minor miracle since Poe’s whole personality consisted of exaggeration—and when he looked up, he felt almost like he could reach up and skim a handful of stars from the sky.

“Wow.”

“Cool, huh?” Poe stabbed him in the chest and clapped his other hand over Ben’s shoulder blade. His voice was prideful. “Just a little further.”

It was only luck that stopped Ben from tripping over a dip in the ground. Luck and, sadly, Poe’s hand around his elbow. “Careful there,” he said. “Should’ve warned you. It can be a little uneven around here.”

“I’ll watch my step,” Ben said, dry.

Poe huffed, amused. “See that you do.”

Picking his way more carefully over the terrain, Ben kept an eye out for what he thought might be the correct spot. But every time Ben thought they’d found a perfectly acceptable one, Poe kept ploughing forward, relentless.

He was relentless until suddenly he wasn’t, stopping so quickly Ben almost ran into his back and had to hold tighter to Poe’s arm to steady himself. Poe gestured, expansive, and dislodged Ben in the process. “And here we are.”

There was a blanket spread across the ground, thick and invitingly soft by the looks of it, and a bucket filled with ice and a bottle of whisky and a pair of glasses next to it.

“Champagne’s a little more romantic,” Poe admitted, scratching at his elbow. “But I figured anyone who drank whisky neat has a preference for whisky. I honestly hope I’m not wrong about that.”

Something tugged at Ben, something he wasn’t sure he liked. It was pleasant enough, he supposed, whatever it was, but it felt a lot like something that’d end up with him having to pull out of a tailspin if he let it. “You did this for me?”

Poe shrugged. “I mean, I did it for us. I’m not exactly averse to spending time with people I like and good liquor in my favorite spot on Yavin, you know? But if you want me to pretend I’m that selfless, sure. Knock yourself out.”

He pursed his lips, fighting the smile that threatened to form on his mouth, the first one to try in a long time.

Coughing into his fist, Poe pointed at the blanket. “You wanna maybe take a seat before I embarrass myself further?”

Ben did as he asked while Poe twisted the closure on the bottle of whisky and poured a glass for Ben. Then, dropping a handful of ice into his own glass, he got some for himself. Sighing, he took the spot next to Ben, far closer than was entirely necessary and leaned back on one elbow. They sat there quietly, peaceably for a long time, nighttime noises lulling Ben into a more relaxed state than he could ever remember finding himself in—the chirping of insects, the occasional chatter of a woodcat, the empty hoots of birds.

The ice in Poe’s glass clanked against the sides as he lifted his drink and even that was a less annoying intrusion than it might have been otherwise.

“You ever feel like you’re doing the wrong thing with your life?” Poe asked, out of nowhere, shocking Ben with the earnestness of the question, the bleakness of it. Ben only saw Poe in profile, his features highlighted by the profusion of starlight overhead. It did nothing to tell Ben what Poe was thinking or feeling.

Ben could have reached out with the Force, but that felt both too personal and too close to do anything other than burn both of them.

So instead he swallowed, his brow furrowing, searching for the right answer. His blood pounded in his ears. Poe was asking for something that Ben rarely let himself about, let alone say out loud. But for Poe, he could. And when he did, he felt nothing more nor less profound than a moment of complete relief at being able to make an admission. “All the time.”

Poe turned and looked at him. His gaze seemed to root around in Ben’s head, find all his secrets, leave him exposed. For once, he didn’t mind the thought that something might learn something he didn’t want to know. He believed Poe wouldn’t do him any harm for knowing. “I’m sorry,” Poe said. “It’s a shit feeling.”

“Yeah.” Drinking the last of the whisky in his glass, he gestured for the bottle. “Are you thinking of quitting the Navy?”

Poe shook his head. “I love flying. I love knowing I’m doing… I don’t know. Whatever I’m doing. It seems to have value anyway. I get to protect people.” His tongue wet his lower lip. “I’m doing a good thing out there. I know I am, but…” His hand covered his mouth and dragged down his jaw, weary maybe. “I feel like I should be here, too. I want to be here. I want…”

Ben tried to muster some piece of advice that might make Poe feel better, that might help. Luke, Luke would probably know what to say. Poe’s father, too. But Ben was just Ben. And he had no experience, no words or thoughts that he could deem useful enough for a moment like this.

“Oh, hell,” Poe said, before Ben could speak. “Forget it. I didn’t bring you out here to suffer through my ramblings.”

Pushing down his feelings of failure and instead hoping for something even more prone to failure, he asked, “What did you bring me here for then?”

Poe’s eyes softened, as did his mouth. “To thank you.” His gaze dropped to Ben’s mouth and lifted again immediately. “I had a good time the other night. And maybe…” He raised his hand. It hovered in the air for a moment, before he leaned toward Ben, thumbed at Ben’s chin lightly and pulled him forward. “Maybe…”

The fan of Poe’s eyelashes lowered as he closed his eyes, his mouth pressing against Ben’s, soft and insistent as he tipped his head to better fit their lips together.

Ben’s grip tightened on his glass until he recovered the foresight to put it down. His hand fisted in the blanket. The silence around them was lost in the thundering of Ben’s heart, the swish of his blood, everything in him humming with an aliveness he’d never felt before. Moaning, he pulled Poe closer, dragging their chests together. Finesse was the last thing on his mind, but as Poe groaned, too, Ben figured he couldn’t mind too much.

When they parted, Poe stared down at him and touched his face with his fingertips, smoothing the pads over his cheeks and down to tip up his jaw again. “Huh.” His fingers wandered their way across Ben’s lips and all Ben could think to do was press a kiss to the still ice-cooled skin of them. “Ben, you’re…”

But Ben never learned what he was going to say, because Poe replaced his fingers with his mouth and by the time Ben thought of it again, Poe was tucked against his side, pointing out every constellation in the sky it seemed and more than a few that Ben thought Poe’d made up on the spot and it didn’t seem relevant anymore.

“Luke wants us to stay a while longer,” Ben said into a lull in Poe’s chatter.

“That so?” And if Ben didn’t know any better, he’d think Poe had perked up at that. “Guess that means I’ll get the chance to take you dancing again.”

Ben confirmed it with a hum and a tightening of his arm around Poe’s shoulders. His lips skimmed over the top of Poe’s head, not close enough to make an impression, but closer than Ben thought proper for what they were doing; his hair tickled at Ben’s jaw, his cheek. If he could, he would have told Poe to say screw it to his obligations, his responsibilities, he’d have suggested they throw it all away and try something new. Poe could leave the Navy; he could leave Luke to complete his life’s work at his own leisure without Ben as the tagalong.

It was a nice dream.

But Ben knew it was just a dream.

“I guess that does,” he said, thinking there were plenty of worse things he could be doing than dance.

Kylo tore out of his harness, tore out of his ship, tore his way into the base his Knights had been meant to keep safe. He barely noted the shuttle perched nearby, almost fully hidden by the aboveground portion of the building. From the body he stumbled across upon immediately stepping inside, he’d have said they were doing their job. And yet, the Force twisted, still wrong, around him.

He kicked at the body, turned it and breathed in relief when it was no one he recognized. He was dressed like the Pathfinders of old, barely armored, but highly skilled, and so, so familiar. He swallowed and stared for a long moment, frozen in place. Thinking of Kes, of his dad, of his mom resurrecting them for her paltry, pathetic Resistance, he couldn’t move.

The Force shivered, lancing through him like shards of ice, growing colder as he walked through the hallway toward the source of the disturbance. Another body lay sprawled across the floor, her blaster stretched before her. Its strap wound around her wrist, like she’d died trying to reach for it. Blood pooled around her head. He was close enough now that the odd angle of her neck almost turned his stomach.

Under normal circumstances, he thought it wouldn’t have.

Hurrying past, he heard the sound of a lightsaber powering down nearby. More than one. Only two had yet earned the right to carry one.

The Force blared its warning in his head, his heart. His loyal attack dogs, his bodyguards, his Knights. They were dead, every last one of them for what had transpired here.

Turning down the corridor that would lead him to his followers, he paused, tilted his head, dragged in a heavy, haunted breath. His chest seized and his hand tightened around his lightsaber hilt, the casing creaking beneath his touch. Another four bodies lined the wall, all of them Pathfinders.

Through a door, the first of his Knights stepped into the hall. “Master—”

“What happened here?” he asked.

“We—”

Kylo lifted his arm and tightened his hand into a fist. His Knight flailed in the air, legs kicking out, his voice little more than a gurgle as he tried to explain, to scream, to utter any noise at all. There was no explanation Kylo would accept. The galaxy was no longer a place where explanations were necessary.

Explanations didn’t unkill the unkillable.

The second got as far as the door before Kylo snapped his neck. The third and fourth he didn’t remember striking down. And the last two. His best. His truest. His lightsaber carved far too easily through their bodies for what they’d done. Neither had time to draw their weapon and neither suffered anywhere near as much as they deserved.

He stared at the floor. Stared and stared and for a long time didn’t see anything. Because he didn’t want to see it. Because he couldn’t.

Poe looked smaller than he remembered. The jacket, the jacket was different, but so much like the ones Poe always wore that he didn’t need to turn the—the body to confirm.

So he twisted away instead, crouched down and tore the mask off of his nearest Knight’s face. The wide visor covered the delicate, fine features of his best servant. He would have mourned the waste if he wasn’t so very glad she was dead now, too. Plucking the holorecorder from inside of it, he considered it, the frayed ends of the wire curling in his palm. She’d liked to record everything—to better relive it later, she’d always said.

What would he find if he looked?

As though the echoes in the Force weren’t enough. Get your hands off me, he heard, watery and wavering. Where’s B—Kylo Ren? The fear, the pain, the betrayal he sensed. So much more than…

He shook his head, but he was unable to clear the ghosts from his mind.

We have orders, Commander Dameron. From the Supreme Leader. His best, his brightest’s voice.

Boots pounded in the hallway outside.

It was Rey. The girl, the scavenger. She who once upon a time could have been the greatest achievement he had left.

She was nothing now. She was less than nothing.

She shot toward the crumple of Poe’s lifeless form, her hand reaching for the lightsaber hooked to her belt. “Poe!” There was anger and hatred and fear, so much fear, in her eyes, too, in the curving snarl of her mouth. She spoke with such viciousness it might have torn through him, ripped a hole in his chest. “What have you—?”

She stilled, choking, a bone in her wrist shattering as she threw herself directly into Kylo’s grip, the Force strong with him as he made her stop. Not a muscle in her body could move. She struggled mentally, but even so, she couldn’t shout and she couldn’t get out of the invisible cage he’d thrown around her. He relaxed his hold just enough for her lungs and ribs to expand again, but tendrils of the Force continued to press against her throat. A warning. A demand. She would not live if she spoke.

He didn’t need to ask her to know what happened anyway: Poe’d trained her to fly the way he did. Poe’d given her his X-wing. That was how he’d been fooled for so long up there. Because Poe’d thought Kylo would be with the ground troops, while Kylo had known Poe would be flying. Poe always flew his own missions—or he had, back before he’d been turned into a leader of more than his own squadron.

Foolish. Foolish.

“Get him home.” He couldn’t recognize his own voice. “Abandon this sector. And let me assure you, the next Resistance troop, officer, or ship I see will suffer a fate worse than anything you might find here.” He didn’t motion his head toward the twisted, severed pieces of his Knights, the plastoid armor melted to trooper after trooper, that littered the hallway behind him, but he figured he didn’t have to. They spoke for themselves. “I have no reason to play nice any longer, scavenger.”

It wasn’t until he completed pre-flight checks that he allowed Rey to complete the order he’d given her, releasing the hold he kept on her through the Force.

And it wasn’t until he was back on base, his officers and technicians and support staff little more than their component parts strewn across the floor, that he could breathe again. The scrubbers in his helmet couldn’t keep up with the smell of blood, of char, of the fouler stenches of death that he’d wrought upon these people who ostensibly served the same master he did.

He could tear apart the First Order with his hands and nothing would be right again. He could do the same to the Resistance. It would make no difference.

The Force filled him, crept into every empty space inside of him. It was like the Supreme Leader always said it could be, had always trained him to believe it was. But nothing the Supreme Leader had taught him had ever made him feel this way. Incandescent, it threatened to burn the heart out of him, fill him with glorious, perfect purpose.

It wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

But it was all he had now.

And he’d found his purpose.

“I lo—”

Poe clapped his hand over Ben’s mouth, locking the words in a cage behind Poe’s palm. His heart thundered in his chest and pure, incandescent anger molded itself around and fused into his bones. How dare Poe stop him from—but there was an emotion just as powerful in Poe’s eyes. More than one. Fear. Unhappiness. Guilt.

The frozen, brittle smile on his mouth, superficially calm and happy and charming, couldn’t compare to that. It stilled Ben’s ire, confusion slowly replacing his frustration.

“Look, I know, okay?” Poe said, nodding slowly like he was trying to draw out a skittish, distrustful creature. And maybe that was what Ben was. He certainly felt—he didn’t know what he felt about himself though he knew exactly how he felt about Poe. “I know already.”

Poe dropped his hand.

“Then why—” Why couldn’t he just say it? It wasn’t easy for him; he’d never done it, not like this. He probably should have been relieved that Poe didn’t want to hear it. Instead, he just felt cold.

Pitying, Poe grabbed Ben by the shoulders and pulled himself onto his tiptoes to press a gentle kiss against Ben’s mouth, succeeding in thawing Ben’s mood enough that Ben didn’t think he’d shatter at whatever Poe said next. “Didn’t you know? It’s bad luck to make declarations before a new tour.” His hands fisted tighter in the lightweight linen of Ben’s shirt. “Please. I know. I feel the same, you hear? Just—don’t say it. Please.”

Flashes of wreckageheatflamesshriekinglaserfiredeathdeathdeathnotgoodenough all accosted Ben’s senses, so real Ben couldn’t tell whether Poe’d witnessed such things firsthand or he was merely conjuring the images himself of what he thought fighting, real fighting would be like.

Poe refused to let his gaze be caught and pulled away and Ben liked neither of those things, but he didn’t know what he could do about them now that Poe’d made his position clear. “I’ve gotta head to the spaceport. My transport’s leaving in an hour.”

“You’re afraid,” Ben said finally, grabbing at Poe’s arm, understanding and sympathy—no, empathy, he understood completely on such a visceral level that for one moment Ben himself was no longer frightened—flooding his mind and body, a revelation. Is this what Luke’s always going on about, he thought, wild. For one moment, this moment, he could be stronger than he was—for Poe.

“Buddy, I’ve been gods-damned terrified since the day I kissed you that first time,” Poe said, because he could never bring himself to hide behind a lie when there was a truth to tell. Ben worried sometimes that that would lead to Poe burning himself out; Ben believed there was only so much one person could share before there was nothing left. And Poe gave everything he had to everything he did.

Sometimes, Ben would rather he kept some of himself in reserve, but Ben was selfish, too. He wanted as much of Poe as Poe would give him. The galaxy probably felt the same.

A ragged breath sucked its way into his lungs, succeeding only slightly in undermining the hitch that caught in his throat.

“Okay,” he said, hoping he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life, letting this go unsaid. But Poe didn’t actually ask him for much—not beyond what he called ‘common courtesy’ and the occasional ‘attitude check’ anyway—and Ben realized he wanted to do something for Poe. He tried to smile, sure it came out as more of a grimace. “Okay, then. I’ll let it be left unsaid.”

Poe relaxed, his own smile growing more genuine, and he punched Ben lightly on the shoulder. “I’ll comm you when I get back to base.” He then pulled Ben into a tight hug, nearly toppling Ben forward with the strength he asserted. Even if he didn’t say the words and didn’t want Ben to say the words, Ben knew. That had to be enough. “Good luck with the Jedi artifact search, huh?”

Ben’s hands circled Poe’s torso, one settling in the small of his back while the other curved around the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, thanks.”

Clapping Ben once on the arm, he released his hold on Ben and stepped backward. “See you around, hotshot.”

Ben wanted to offer to accompany him to the spaceport, but there was still so much to do and he wasn’t—he wasn’t sure he could let Poe go if he had to watch him board the transport itself. This was easier. This was safe.

If he’d known then that it’d be the last time he saw Poe without a mask to obscure the view, the last time he’d see him and still be Ben Solo, he would’ve said to hell with it, thrown it all away on a whim, pushed Poe to accept what he so clearly couldn’t allow himself to have.

If he’d known then that they’d one day stand on the opposite side of a battlefield, he would’ve told Poe Dameron he loved him, that he’d only ever loved him, that the months they’d spent together, so many they almost equaled a year, had been everything to him; he would have told him that Yavin was the only place he’d ever wanted to stay for any length of time, that Poe’s smile was worth more than Ben’s belief that he didn’t deserve to see it nearly as often as he did, that his powers no longer frightened him when he was with Poe.

If he’d known then that that fear would one day end with Poe being the one left terrified and alone, one more loss in a war full of losses, he would have thrown it all aside, every ambition he had, every care that lodged itself in his heart and drove him forward. He would have cast them off, turned away from them, and abandoned them for a life spent being nobody, accomplishing nothing more productive than a day’s honest work with the man he cared about at his side. He could have sustained himself on Poe’s optimism, his spirit, his trust and offered everything he had in return, what little of it existed.

It would have been enough; he will learn this when it’s no longer an option for him.

But he hadn’t learned it yet.

And Poe would never have even that much of a chance.