summon the soup

Two men are deep in conversation when you step inside: Commander Nicvau Harik—or as you’re allowed to call him, Nic—is motioning with his hands while talking passionately about something. The lights from the holoprojector and screens bask the two men in a gentle, luminous glow as the door closes behind you, limiting additional light from entering the room.

“General Dameron,” you give him the courtesy of a nod, despite your feelings about the situation he’s put you in. “Commander Harik,” you continue. Their conversation dwindles as you walk to join them, and you wait for what you know is coming. Any second now. It’s written all over Nic’s face—deeply etched frustration that he isn’t hiding as well as you are. His soured expression softens when he meets your eyes, but his lips are still pressed together tightly as though he’s preventing himself from saying what he’s really thinking.

“You’re being reassigned to a different… mission.”

You know that this isn’t his fault, yet he’s the one having to deliver the message to you while Poe-fucking-Dameron stands there, observing you. The implication of Harik’s tone is clear; he’s using the word ‘mission’ in the loosest terms, which tells you all that you need to know about what you’ve got coming.

“Excuse me?” You clench your hands together behind your back to keep your frustration under control. “I’m already on a mission.”

“Were,” Harik corrects you. “General Dameron has requested your assistance and expertise on a pressing matter.”

At his name, your eyes slide back over to Poe, and you feel your frustration momentarily waver when you notice he’s already watching you. Even when you meet his gaze, he doesn’t turn his attention elsewhere. No matter how many times you’ve looked upon this man over the years, seeing him in a darkened room with the glow accentuating his features still hits you hard.

Today, he’s unshaven. There’s at least two or three days worth of stubble covering that deliciously strong jawline. Your eyes follow the peppering of grey amongst the darker patches while you take a second to admire the way the humidity has run wild with his hair—unruly curls refuse to stay pushed back and instead flick in many directions. A few strands stick to the beads of sweat on his temples, one of which dares to break free and roll down the side of his face.

You need to say something.

Finally, you respond. “And what exactly is this pressing matter?”

Your tone doesn’t go unnoticed, and you see the corners of Poe’s lips tug into a hint of a grin—he finds your frustration amusing. You’re wound up and festering, unable to unleash the full wrath of your grievances towards him while in the company of others.

“It’s a matter of translation,” he replies, and you can’t help the way your eyebrows pull into a scowl.

“No disrespect, General, but I think you’re making a mistake.”

The words are out before you can stop them, and you see Harik’s reaction through your periphery—it looks as though he is willing the ground to open up and swallow him whole. He knows there’s no stopping you.

“My supply run is more of a ‘pressing matter’, don’t you think? I’m sure there are enough people around here to translate for you.”

“Do you know the details of this pressing matter?” Poe’s voice mimics the way yours had carried those two words, and you find yourself becoming more frustrated with him.

“No, but I—”

“Then no disrespect, but maybe you should leave the attitude at the door the next time you’re called in here, Lieutenant.”

Fuck. He puts you in your place with such smoothness that you have no retort. There’s no malice to his words: hell, he barely even strays from the usual tone, and that’s what riles you up more.

“General, if I may…” Harik interjects with caution. He has a much more diplomatic way of approaching this conversation with the General, and you can’t help but wish he’d stand up to Poe for once. Your familiarity and lack of grace when handling certain subjects with Poe could be an issue at times—but when presented with an unfair situation, you were not one to take it with a polite smile. It had always been a strong trait you shared with Poe, much to Leia’s delight and exasperation. “We’re all ready to leave and I’d appreciate it if I could take my Lieutenant with me.”

You don’t say a word while Poe looks over at you again, considering Nic’s appeal on your behalf. He doesn’t miss the choice of words and the slight possessiveness that has seeped into his tone. My Lieutenant. Everyone in the room registers the unprofessional subtext, but surely Poe won’t connect the dots from one simple slip up… Right? You choose to ignore it. This is not the time to draw attention to it.

You’re not Nic’s. Not really. At most, you’re good friends and casual fucks. But nothing more.

Despite everything, you can understand Nic’s annoyance with the current situation. Poe could choose anyone advanced in languages to help him with this. He could. But, he won’t.

“Not this time.” The General leaves no room for argument.

“General,” you try again, in one final attempt to keep yourself on a mission that you had put so much time into planning. “I’ve worked so hard on this…”

“And your team will appreciate the effort you’ve gone to,” he states.

Nic’s eyes slide back and forth as he watches the exchange between you and Poe.

“Maybe so. But I’m sure they’d appreciate it more if I was there with them.”

“I’m sure they would.” Poe genuinely agrees with you on this, but it’s not enough to change his mind.

“Which is why you should let me go.”

“No.”

“General…” You trail off, unable to think of any other angle to argue. But, he waits. And when you have nothing else to say, he raises that eyebrow again.

So with a heavy sigh of defeat, you glance over to Nic and give him a look that says it all. You’re beyond frustrated. It was Poe’s idea to give you the opportunity to take more of a lead on this mission, only to have him snatch it back from you at the last possible second. Maybe you weren’t seeing the whole picture here. Maybe there is a genuine reason why Poe needs your help in particular. Maybe you were making this black and white when there was a whole spectrum of colours you’d only see when you were calm enough, but you can’t help it. Your disappointment is clear.

“That will be all, Commander.” Poe’s words put an end to his conversation with Nic, who nods to him and then lets his gaze linger on you. Your eyes silently curse him for not having a backbone and standing up to Poe. He mouths his apology to you and then leaves before your stare can burn a hole right through his jacket.

You would give anything to trade places with him, to be the one jumping in a ship and flying the fuck out of here. But, here you are, folding your arms across your warm chest while staring in displeasure at Poe. Even from this distance, you know the light from the holotable catches your soured expression, and you do very little to hide it.

“I always found the missions I didn’t necessarily want were often some of the best,” Poe states and motions for you to join him at the holotable.

“I always found the missions I was allowed to complete without the General unnecessarily pulling me out were the best ones,” you snap and join him. Dark eyes momentarily drop to where your laces bounce around your boots as you walk, and the familiar question is already slipping out of Poe’s mouth.

“Don't you ever tie those?”

“Don’t you have better things to do than notice my boots?”

Poe meets your gaze and grins. He finds your annoyance most amusing. With no need for formalities now that you’re alone with him, his energy shifts dramatically. Maker, he’s so frustratingly handsome, and after pulling rank in the way that he has, you’re torn between wanting to punch him and wanting to kiss him.

“I do. But I also like to make time in my day to piss off Lieutenants,” he continues.

Oh, he’s teasing you now? How very Poe of him.

You’ve known this man for many years: first as a friend and long before he rose to the title of General, something much more than that. Growing up in the Resistance under Leia’s care and command meant that wherever Leia went, once Poe joined the fight, he was never far behind—if not in person, then in the admiring way she spoke so highly of him—or cursed him, depending on what antics he’d been up to that day.

You understood him in ways that were hard to explain. You understood him because you’d weathered the war sheltered by the same protection—Leia’s care and affection had touched the hearts of the whole Resistance: but you, much like Poe, had been guided by her nurturing, motherly ways. The war had taken its toll on every family, and you were no exception to that. You had been born to brave parents who had eventually given their lives for the fight. At ten years old, with no other family, you had been taken under Leia’s wing, and she cared for you right until the end.

Although Poe had made his decision to defect from the New Republic and join the Resistance, there had still been much for him to learn. His decision making was often rash and done so in the heat of the moment: on more than one occasion, this had cost him greatly. Leia had taught him a lot—not just about being a leader, but she had helped him to learn many things about himself, too. She’d pushed him in the right direction, guided him to see the way when things felt helpless. It was clear that she had been preparing him for the inevitable: one day, someone would need to take her place. And that someone had been Poe.

To say that Poe had risen to the position of General was maybe a little too graceful for the way he had stumbled and tripped into his role. Was it something he had ever dreamed of? Absolutely not. He was the best pilot in the galaxy–the one who could fly anything, shoot down anything—point him at the target, and he’d hit it. But with the rank of General came responsibilities that he hadn’t been prepared for. Yet, he continued to do the best that he could, showing his ongoing dedication to the cause he had spent many years fighting for.

It was easy to forget that he wasn’t just Poe now; he was no longer the man whose arms you had found yourself in on many occasions, the man you had unintentionally fallen in love with—but there were moments, like this one, when that irritating yet charming personality managed to unearth those deep-seated feelings. Those feelings—coupled with the knowledge that if he didn’t need your help, you wouldn’t be here—made your completely justified frustration start to fade.

You shared something with this man that nobody else could truly understand. You shared a bond: an unspoken knowledge of each other which was kept locked away, as though it was something precious and sacred. There were things you knew about Poe that you would never share with anyone—they were yours to keep, whispered to you in quiet confessions on the nights you’d spent wrapped up with him. They were disclosures of his fears in the darkness: admissions of the mistakes that he had made and how much he struggled to forgive himself.

Together, you had both found a safe space: one free of judgment, where it felt easy to simply exist within each other’s energy. But those small, cherished moments had never become anything more. Their potential bloom had been cut short by the unforgiving grasps of war. They stood like a lonesome tree after losing its leaves, desperately searching for a Spring that would never come. There had always been reasons to not let your relationship grow into something more: the war, being stationed in different places for extended periods of time and more recently, Poe’s new position within the Resistance. But despite all of that, there would always be something, rooted so deeply between you that on some days, you felt it etched onto your very soul.

Within a few moments, the screens glow to life, displaying a mixture of things for your eyes to feast upon. The text isn’t written in Galactic Basic, and the more you study it, the more distracted you become—the frustration of being pulled from a mission becomes a distant memory. Poe knows how to win you over. After all these years, he has come to understand your interests: he admires your passion for your work, and he knows this is the fastest way to thaw your icy mood.

“You can read this, right?” Poe asks from beside you, but it doesn’t draw your attention away, your eyes remaining fixed on the screens.

“Yes…” You trail off, clearly distracted.

“How many languages do you know? Twenty-five?”

“Twenty-seven,” you correct him. “But I can read over thirty.” This time, you do steal a glance over at him and raise your eyebrows a little when you see that he’s already watching you instead of the screen.

“I still don’t understand how you can learn so many...” Poe doesn’t attempt to hide his admiration of your talents, and you quickly turn your attention back to the task at hand as you try to cover your smile in the darkness.

“I’m good at remembering things,” you explain.

The corners of your lips begin to curl at his next words: “You and your eidetic memory.”

And just like the end of a cold winter, your mood begins to thaw when graced with the warmth of Poe’s energy. It has the strongest gravitational pull you’ve ever known, and no matter how hard you try to fight it, you find yourself slipping right back into his orbit.

“I’m surprised you remember the name of it.” You continue the conversation and look over at him again. To no surprise, he’s still watching you.

“I guess we’re both good at remembering things.”

“I’d say I’m just a little better, though,” you tease. It earns you an easy laugh before he falls quiet to allow you the time that you need to concentrate.

The information that you’re studying is a series of exchanges between the owner of a mining company and someone interested in making a deal. It doesn’t appear that the owner wants to sell so there’s pressure being applied.

“What is it?” Poe asks, noticing the frown that’s slowly beginning to settle onto your features.

“It’s this part…” you start to explain and then trail off when he steps closer, wanting a better look at what you’re pointing at. As you stand there with his chest so close behind your shoulder, you quickly register that he doesn’t need to be this close to you. Poe can’t read any of this, which means this action is clearly intentional. An excuse, almost—no.

This is General Poe Dameron. The General Poe Dameron. The General Poe Dameron who made it absolutely clear that you could never be anything more than friends, despite your history and the feelings involved. But...he’s never been willing to let you go completely. There has always been that small thread that neither of you wish to cut: so fine, yet the strongest thing you’ve ever known. And when he bumps the back of your shoulder with his toned chest, you’re sucked right back into the repetitive cycle, set back on the same familiar trajectory.

Poe often stands too close to you: you lean comfortably against each other, sitting maybe a little too close during meetings, and of course, you fall easily into each other’s embrace, settling against his side during down time. You question it over and over again: could this still be something more? Are these intentional touches merely reminders of what was once shared between you…or a promise of something to come? But it always comes down to the same answer. Poe is a very tactile person. He likes to touch and feel—he’s one for a reassuring hand on the shoulder, the touch of an arm while laughing, and the hand on a back when making his presence known beside you.

But this almost feels purposeful, as though Poe has detected a new, contending force in his life: a challenging pull in the opposite direction that puts you at risk of drifting further away from him and closer to Nicvau Harik. Maybe you’re reading too much into it, or maybe you’re just fluent in reading Poe. For a man who has always sought the freedom of being in space, Poe sure seemed threatened by the potential of losing your grounding, gravitational pull.

You swallow thickly and lower your eyes.

There’s an undeniable heat creeping slowly across the back of your neck, and it’s not helped in the slightest by Poe’s fingers grazing lightly against your other shoulder. The reassuring hand. Not a single part of you moves as the humid air causes a bead of sweat to trickle down your lower back: even your chest feels hesitant to rise in its natural movement because you know that by doing so, you’ll feel your arm brushing against more of Poe’s upper body. But you can’t hold your breath forever, and you quickly remind your lungs to work, resulting in a deep intake of air through your nose.

Poe’s familiar scent is fresh, yet musky—a man who showered this morning but has been working for hours in the heat of the jungle. You can’t help yourself: you inhale again, seeking more notes that lace themselves together, mingling together to create the distinctive smell of the General. It’s the scent of the ground beneath the trees after lashings of rain, the familiar smell of the only detergent available on base—but it’s also the subtle hints of a man lingering beneath the surface of his title—leather and grease from a ship, which means at some point today, he’s been hiding out and keeping himself busy with his X-Wing so that nobody can bother him.

“What part?” Poe’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you lift your eyes to the screen again, resisting the urge to turn your head and breathe him in.

The longing and temptation are torturous. You would give anything to rest your forehead against the side of his jaw: that gesture holds the haunting familiarity of his stubble against your warm skin. No. You have to stop this.

“Here. It’s a threat,” you point to a line of text that you’re translating for him. “Whoever these people are, they really want that mining company.”

“I knew it!” Poe suddenly exclaims and takes the smallest step back from you.

Finally, you exhale. It’s heavier than planned, but you don’t think he hears it as he continues to celebrate himself for knowing something that he clearly didn’t know, until you had translated it for him.

“Did you?” you ask, raising your eyebrows in that ‘I really don’t think you did’ sort of way.

“I knew there was something going on there.” He’s far too excited about this. You can already see his chaotic side showing through: the way his eyes light up at the thought of getting involved and helping people out. It brings a hint of a smile to your lips because you know this is only a fleeting reaction—Poe will soon collect himself and think about the bigger picture.

“So what are we going to do about it?”

“We?” He looks at you, and his energy settles: that small glimpse of old Poe gives way to his new responsibilities. “You are going to go find Finn and take this and tell him what you just told me.”

You wait, watching this plan formulate in his head right before you, and sure enough, he continues: “He’s taking the lead on this, but you’ll be working with him.”

Why does that spark disappointment within you?

“And what will you do?” The question is out of your mouth before you can stop it. It’s as unexpected to Poe as it is to you, but you’re unable to take it back. Poe’s plans have nothing to do with you, not anymore—the General’s business is private and confidential, on a ‘need to know’ basis, which, most of the time, you don’t.

“I’m heading out. I’ve been invited to one of those celebratory dinner events.”

Of course he’s heading out. Who wouldn’t take the first opportunity to escape from this jungle during the hottest season? The heat is that heavy kind that makes even the most mundane tasks feel especially exhausting.

“For how long?” Another unexpected question claws its way out before you stop and think about it.

At this, Poe raises his eyebrows a little. But after a second or two, a small grin begins to curl over his lips. “Why? Are you going to miss me, Stitch?”

You roll your eyes at his question as well as his informal use of the nickname that he had given to you many years ago. You don’t spare a reply, instead heading for the door to inform Finn, as requested, about what you’ve seen.

But then he speaks again, stopping you in your tracks. “Stitch?”

Turning, you look back over at him with raised eyebrows, expecting another witty remark. “What is it this time, Poe? Would you like to know if I’ll pine over you in your absence?”

“Actually…” Poe holds up your datapad. “I was going to say you’ve forgotten this.”

Fucking stars. Heat prickles over the back of your neck again and brings with it a twinge of embarrassment. You quickly walk back over and take hold of the device, but Poe doesn’t let go of it. He holds it there, keeping you fixed in place in front of him.

“Good work on the translation.”

At the unexpected compliment, you lift your eyes and meet his. He’s sickeningly handsome. Even after all this time, the man is like a fine wine—he simply gets better with age. His charming, youthful looks that you once knew have matured over the years, bringing the peppering of greys through his hair and beard.

“Thank you.” The words are quieter than you intended as you swallow against your drying mouth and glance over his face again. This is a very slippery slope and one you can’t afford to let yourself start descending again. General Poe Dameron is strictly off limits now. But he’s like some forbidden fruit that you know the taste of: standing there with his hair swept back and those long eyelashes that frame his dark eyes perfectly.

No. You need to stop.

With one final tug, you free the datapad from his hand and take a step back.

“Enjoy your fancy dinner,” you offer him one last smile and turn away from him. But even with your back to him, you can feel those eyes watching your every move as you head towards the door. “Don’t miss me too much,” you throw over your shoulder and quickly slip out.

--------

“I thought you were heading out?”

“Yeah, me too.” You sigh and slump down beside Finn. He raises his eyebrows silently for you to continue explaining, but you’re not sure where to begin this time. This old, familiar routine is nothing out of the ordinary now: Poe pulls you from something you’re working on, and then Finn gets to hear you complain about it.

“Poe?” he asks. You nod. “And still no reason?”

You shake your head in agreement. “Said he needed help with translating this...” You motion to the datapad in your hand, and from the corner of your eye, you catch his expression before he schools it into something more neutral. “I figured you might be able to shed some light on his decision?” Although unlikely, you were still hopeful for some insight from another General.

There’s that tight-lipped expression on his face as he shakes his head. “I’m sure he wouldn’t pull you without good reason.” The diplomatic comment is followed by an apologetic look.

You exhale a heavy sigh and lean back in your seat. Finn knows more than he’s letting on.

“He hasn’t said anything to you?” you ask, that hopeful edge creeping into your words once again.

But all you get is the same sort of reply. “As I said, he wouldn’t do it without good reason...”

This time, Finn earns himself a roll of your eyes. “Not buying it,” you mumble and look down at the datapad in your hands. Somehow, your mind slips back to the way Poe had held onto it, keeping you in front of him for longer than he should have. No—you had to stop that thought right there. “There are plenty of people around here that can do this translation for him.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, “but none of them are you.”

And perhaps he’s said too much because when you meet his eyes again, he looks regretful. “I—I mean… they don’t speak as many languages as you do,” Finn says, attempting to backpedal.

Very slowly, you raise an eyebrow and watch him squirm.

“How many did you say you speak?”

“Is he doing this because he wants my expertise?” You answer Finn’s question with one of your own, but before you give him a chance to reply, you continue with your next: “Or is this his way of keeping me around?” As expected, you get no reply. Finn doesn’t need to voice his answer because the subtle tensing in his body language tells you all that you need to know: you’ve struck gold.

“I…” he begins after some serious consideration, and then trails off. “No... Not like that. I—I…” But then he pauses and stops himself completely before he can say too much.

You continue to press him, desperate for the spoken confirmation. You need to hear Finn say it, you need to hear him tell you that you’re not misinterpreting the situation with Poe. “So you’re saying he’s not trying to keep me around?”

“That’s not what I said—”

“It kind of is, though.” You fix him with a stare. Finn tries his best to stand his ground: he doesn’t want to give in. He wants to keep the confidentiality that he has with Poe, but you can already see him weakening.

“Does he not trust me?” You try a different angle now, having no success with the first approach.

Finn stutters, “No, no. It’s not that—”

“It has to be something.” You should stop. This is borderline cruel, “Does he not think I have the right skills for it?”

“No, I—”

Your next question is firing before he gets a chance to answer the last. “Is he regretting giving me more of a lead on it?”

“It’s Nic!” Finn finally cracks and cuts you off before you can fire more questions at him. With a heavy sigh, he rubs at his face and shakes his head to show his disapproval for blurting it out.

What did Nic have to do with anything? He wouldn’t have asked for you to be taken off the mission, unless… No. There was no way Poe could…

“He knows about you and Nic,” Finn confirms. “You know what Poe’s like. Accidentally let it slip while we were talking, tried to play it off and cover it up. He genuinely does want your help on this, but…”

Finn trails off in an attempt to find the right words instead of blurting out the wrong ones again. All it takes is a small raise of your eyebrow again, and he’s continuing: “I think finding out about you and Nic didn’t help any. I’m sure it made keeping you here harder to resist. But that’s just my opinion.”

Why hadn’t he said something? Why had Poe chosen to continue as though he knew nothing? But more importantly, why did you feel bad for him knowing? Or, even more so, why did you feel the need to go back and find him so that you could justify it? You didn’t owe Poe anything: the two of you were good friends, just like you and Finn. You didn’t feel bad for Finn knowing, so why was it different with Poe?

You knew the answer. You just really really didn’t want to think about it.

Despite all of the questions flooding your head, only one thing leaves your mouth: “Huh.”

And finally, a silence falls between you and Finn: both of you clearly lost in different thoughts. There were so many questions that you were trying to find answers to: When did he find out? Who told him? Why hadn’t he asked you about it? Stars, how long had Poe known?

“There is no me and Nic,” you finally speak and look over to Finn. This time, it’s his turn to raise his eyebrows, and you feel yourself squirm a little under his doubtful gaze. “There isn’t. Not like that, anyway. It’s just… a bit of fun, you know?”

“Look, Stitch. Whatever you do in your downtime is none of my business, and it sure as hell isn’t Poe’s, either. Unless you’re breaking rules, of course. Which… you’re not… You’re not breaking rules, are you?” The change in Finn’s tone has you laughing, and you can see in his eyes that it was his intention to try and lighten the mood a little. “I want to work on this with you because I know you’re the best at what you do. But I know your history with Poe complicates things a little, and he’s probably feeling the same way you would if you found out that he was seeing someone–”

“I’m not seeing anyone,” you clarify, again. “It’s nothing like that, Finn. This is just sex. And you can’t sit there and tell me Poe’s not doing the exact same thing.” The silence that follows confirms your suspicion. The thought of Poe fucking other people didn’t bother you: you weren’t jealous, nor did you make a fuss. You understood. You both had needs—and despite what you both might want or used to want, at least—you couldn’t fulfill those needs for each other anymore.

“Honestly, I don’t want to sit here and talk about Poe having sex.” Finn shakes his head, continuing, “What I do want to do is get back to that.” He motions to the datapad in your hand, and you find yourself grinning as you look down at it. Finn was right. This is what you were here to do, not talk to him about whatever sexual relationships were going on in your and Poe’s private lives.

You fill Finn in on everything: you translate the same thing you had for Poe and talk him through the details—once you’re both on the same page, it’s much easier to make progress.

“So then I cross-referenced and… I… Holy shit…” You trail off as the pieces suddenly fall into place right before your eyes. Poe had known that there was something going on: at a quick glance with him, you’d unpacked some of it, but this was much bigger than either of you had thought.

Finn breaks the tense silence. “What is it?”

“Look.” You zoom in, pointing out a name to Finn. His face is blank, he makes no connection. “Look.” You tell him again, but he still doesn’t understand.

“What am I looking at?” he asks.

“A First Order sympathiser—I’ve seen this name before on a file that Poe had,” you explain and Finn doesn’t need to say it because you know that information is strictly above your clearance level. You quickly continue before he can point that out to you. “What would a sympathiser want with that mining company?”

“That’s a good question…” There’s a frown that accompanies the tone of concern in Finn’s words as he continues to look at the screen. “Let me see if I can reach Poe before he leaves.”

Usually, the thought of contacting Poe while with Finn was something you enjoyed: your interactions were always filled with witty remarks and conversations that were unnecessarily long and off-track… but not today. Today, there was a strange feeling settling in the pit of your stomach now that you were going to face Poe again. Nothing had changed since your conversation with him earlier: he hadn’t treated you any differently, he had still been Poe about the whole situation and had stood far too close to you… But why did it feel like something had changed? This was a mind-fuck, but requesting not to be part of the communication would look both suspicious and ridiculous, so with a small sigh, you simply nod and watch Finn set up the handheld holoprojector.

Within seconds, Poe appears before you in full colour but on a much smaller scale. It’s clear that he has been for his daily jog: his hair sticks to his temples just as his shirt clings to his body from the humidity of the jungle. Stars, even scaled down, he still looks gorgeous.

“Stitch, Finn.” There’s no need for formalities now that it’s just the three of you. He nods to you both in turn and then runs a hand through his hair, making some attempt at fixing it. “What did you find?”

Taking it in turns to pitch in together, you and Finn explain everything to Poe.

“Tell me about the investments.”

“Okay, so…” you start and then glance down at the datapad still clutched tightly in your hand. “This company seemed legitimate, wouldn’t have taken a second glance at it, but then I noticed something with the name and cross referenced it to another file I’d read before.” You continue to explain, filling Poe in on all the details of your findings.

It’s not until you look up again that you realise he’s wearing one of those smiles: it’s the way he always looks at you when you’re getting sucked into something, completely lost in your element. You’re good at this, and Poe knows it just as well as you do.

“And you think this company has links to a First Order officer?”

“I don’t think,” you clarify. “I know.”

“And you think it’s worth checking out?” he asks.

Again, you clarify, “I know.”

Poe is thoughtful for a moment, allowing for another silence to fall between the three of you. With a small frown, he reaches up to scratch his jaw: those blunt nails catch on the bristles and create the most wonderful sound.

“Do you have a dress?” Poe’s sudden question catches you by surprise as he tilts his head a little, regarding your confused expression. “Here. Do you have a dress here, on base with you? I’m attending that event, but I’m thinking it would be possible to make a stop afterwards and find out a little more about this company.”

There’s that excitement again, Poe’s natural, chaotic nature peeking through as his eyes light up at just the thought of jumping into something. But the confusion continues to sit with you.

“And what does that have to do with me owning a dress?” you ask.

Poe frowns, as though he’s made it obvious enough already. “Because… you’re coming with us? I mean, I’m asking you to come with me?”

“Yes,” you answer, almost instantly and with far too much excitement. The speed of your reply has the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, the sight of it encouraging a full one to curl over your own. “I… What I meant to say was, sure, I’d like to come with you.”

At this, Poe’s lips press tightly together in an attempt to stifle the vulgar comment that is desperately trying to escape.

“Don’t,” you warn him.

“Yeah, I bet you’d like to come with him.” Finn pipes up in a tone that voices exactly what Poe was implying.

Maker, these two.

--------

All concepts of night and day became nonexistent while in hyperspace. It was easy to lose track of time: routines could slip and sleeping patterns ceased to exist—traveling in space was difficult and nobody ever really took the time to talk about that. Many new recruits struggled with it, and right now, it seems that you are too.

Had you still been on base, you would have been tucked up in your bed: your body knew this. It knew that it was time to sleep. But there was that niggling sensation in the pit of your stomach that kept you awake.

The niggling sensation was Poe. It was always Poe.

How long had he known that you were sleeping with Nic? And why hadn’t he said anything? It bothered you, more than you were able to explain to yourself: Poe didn’t keep things from you—he always told you a little too much but not this time. This time, he kept his cards close to his chest.

Why were you so concerned? The fact that you were having sex with Nic made no difference to your friendship with Poe… did it? No, of course it didn’t. He would have been the first to bring it up if it did because that’s how things worked between you two. You never kept things from each other… right?

Maybe he hadn’t said anything because he was waiting for you to tell him first. Should you have told him first?

With a heavy sigh, you throw off the blankets and climb out of your bunk. Sleep wasn’t going to offer you any answers, but you know someone who could. So after pulling on some warmer layers and locating both boots, you finally leave the sleeping quarters and search for Poe.

For such a small vessel, he is a hard man to find. The ship is one of the newer additions to the fleet: it could comfortably sleep around twenty crew, which made it perfect for the journey to the celebratory dinner and then onwards to the Veron system.

Poe had insisted on taking minimal security: not only did he hate the fuss of it all, but he also didn’t want to make the wrong impression when turning up with an army in tow. If it wasn’t something he could handle himself, he usually delegated tasks to Finn or one of his other trusted personnel. And no matter how many times he was advised to take security with him, Poe found it hard to break the habit of… well, being Poe.

Eventually, you find him, and thankfully, he’s alone. It’s the sound of the door opening that catches his attention from where he’s slouched beside the viewport, his feet up on the bench, looking far too casual for his own good. The issue with being the General is exactly that. No matter what hour it is, he is still the General, and the look on his face says it all: he’d found this spot in hope of having some time to himself, but when he sees that it’s you stepping in to join him, his expression softens.

“I thought you were sleeping?” he asks and makes room for you on the bench beside him. Now that he has his feet lowered, you see that his jacket is open and his shirt is untucked: he looks exhausted and there’s no doubt a whole list of things that he still needs to do before getting some rest.

“I tried,” you shrug and take a seat beside him with one leg tucked under yourself so that you can face him comfortably. “This is a nice little spot.”

Poe nods in agreement and briefly looks back out of the viewport to where the shades of blue and flickers of white bathe him in a soft glow. “I don’t think many people come this far back,” he says and turns his attention to you again. “Is this a social visit… or do you need something?” He’s clearly hoping for the first.

“Can it be both?” you question a little cautiously.

“For you?” he asks and rests his hand against the back of the bench, extended just enough so that his fingers can brush your arm. “I’ll allow it.”

An easy silence falls between you while you look out of the viewport, allowing yourself to become distracted by the copious amounts of questions still swimming around in your head. Where do you even begin with asking them all?

“What is it?” Poe’s soft voice pulls you back to him, along with the gentle stroke of his thumb against your arm. With a small sigh, you drop your gaze while you prepare yourself for the conversation that’s about to come. It doesn’t have to be awkward. You don’t owe him anything: Poe is your friend, nothing more, nothing less. But something about initiating this still feels somewhat off. You can’t avoid it any longer, though. So you finally lift your eyes to meet the depths of the ones already watching you.

“I think we need to talk about Nic,” you admit. There’s a moment in which you think Poe is going to play dumb, and you watch the thought cross his mind before he thinks better of it. There’s no point, not when you’re fully aware of him knowing. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Poe is quick to counter. He’s not harsh with his words, but they still find you at a loss for a reply. He makes a good point, and you hate that about him. You could have told him, just as much as he could have asked.

Poe doesn’t leave you to flounder for long. He throws you a line to keep you afloat. “Is it serious?”

“What?” Honestly, you’re not sure if you should laugh or not—is that a serious question? “No, Poe… it’s not like that. It’s just sex.”

“Does he know that?” he asks.

“Yes,” you reply, almost certainly. But then you consider it again. Nic did know that, right? He understood. You’d told him on many occasions when leaving afterwards or turning down his offer of doing something that could be confused as being more than casual sex.

It seems that Poe has just as many questions as you do, because he’s lining up another now that he finally has the chance: “Did you not want me to know?”

Of course you wanted to tell him, but finding the right time, the right words… it had been difficult, so stalling was the easier option. With another small sigh, you reach for Poe’s hand from the back of the bench and pull it down into your lap so that you can close both of your own around it.

“I did want to tell you,” you admit, “but I didn’t want you to think it was unprofessional of me because he’s my commander. And I… I didn’t want you to think…” You trail off when your words suddenly fail you—how should you word it without dragging up your history with Poe?

“You didn’t want me to think it was the same as what we had?” He gets it in one. It’s a soft but sad smile that settles onto your lips as you watch him for a moment and then nod to confirm that he’s right. Even after all this time, Poe still knows you better than anyone: he reads you like his favourite book and sometimes, you’re certain that he knows the next line before you’ve spoken it.

Poe’s poignant smile mirrors yours. He understands.

“I didn’t… I didn't want you to think that I was willing to make it work with someone else, or that I somehow had more to give to make it work with someone else… Because that’s not true. I couldn’t… I don’t...”

“Stitch,” Poe finally sighs and cuts you off before you can allow yourself to venture down a road that neither of you want to revisit the memories of. “It doesn’t matter what I think. What matters to me is that you’re happy.”

His words cause your heart to simultaneously swell and ache: his main concern will always be your happiness and safety. That’s all Poe has ever wanted for you. And that’s all you’ve ever wanted for him—even if you were unable to be the one to make him happy. At least you’d had a taste of that for a short time: you knew the absolute joy of being the reason this man laughed loudly and smiled in such a way that his nose and eyes crinkled. But most importantly, you knew how to make him feel safe too.

“Come here,” you murmur as you lean back into the corner of the bench and tug on his hand to pull him with you. There’s no protest as Poe leans in against you and let’s his arm drape around you. “You’re still my best friend, Poe. Your opinion is the only one that matters to me.”

“I’m going to remind you that you said that the next time you’re telling me that my opinion is wrong.” You don’t need to see Poe’s face to hear the smile in his words as you begin to stroke your fingers gently through his hair. His body unintentionally grows a little heavier against you as the tension slowly starts to ease from his muscles, allowing him to relax in your arms.

“It matters to me when it’s right… I should have specified.” You laugh quietly, not wanting to break the soft moment between the two of you.

There’s a small chuckle in reply before a silence falls between you. It’s comfortable and settling now that questions have been answered. This is all that you had needed to quiet the noise in your head, and you find yourself stifling a yawn while you turn your attention back to the lights of hyperspace outside.

You’re not sure how long you sit there, allowing your fingers to continue their steady, repetitive stroking through Poe’s thick hair, but at some point you feel your eyes growing heavy, and you know it’s time to go back to bed.

“Hey…” you murmur quietly, “I think it’s time you got some rest.” But there’s no reply. Poe is a deadweight against you, his breathing steady and relaxed. He had been so desperate for sleep that the moment you’d started stroking his hair, he was gone. Out like a light.

There’s a twinge of painful familiarity to the whole situation: there had been many nights when Poe had returned back to base and crawled into bed with you, aching for the comfort and safety of your body. On those nights, he’d held you close and buried himself deeply inside of you to give you both what you needed after time spent apart. And in the moments that followed, usually with him collapsed against you, you had always stroked his hair while his head lay against your chest: sometimes he’d fallen straight to sleep, other times he’d shared his confessions with you—his feelings, his fears, his love.

With a small sigh, you close your eyes and lean your head back against the durasteel of the wall behind you. You know you should wake him and leave, but there was a small part of you that wasn’t ready to give up the comforting familiarity of having him in your arms. It was risky, anyone could walk in and see the two of you looking far too cosy and cuddled up like this. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You’d deal with that in a few hours time because right now, you were exactly where you wanted to be. With Poe.

———

but poe’s favourite way of kissing you is right after your laughter, at that point of the steady come-down when your smile still lingers on your lips and the happiness is written all over your face. he loves the way it always draws him in and embraces him with a warmth he’ll always crave. it’s that moment when he reaches for you and settles a hand against the side of your neck, right beneath your ear. and no matter how many times this has happened during your time together, the excitement of what’s coming is like the first time all over again. his eyes make their routine checks, first meeting yours and then dropping to your lips - by now, poe has every part of those lips stored to memory, but that doesn’t stop him from taking a moment to study their beauty before kissing you.