epidemiology | Blow a kiss, fire a gun

Entry tags:

Blow a kiss, fire a gun

CHARACTERS: Finn, Rey and Poe

DATE: just during/after the event!

WARNINGS: excess warmth and happiness

SUMMARY: obnoxious friends moving in together

It's easy, now that his wounds have all healed, to haul and shove whatever stock furniture ALASTAIR provides to its charges right out of the room he's claimed for himself. Most of it's good stuff (translation: most of it's good for Rey and her inhuman ability to see value in literally nothing) but the rest of it-- shelves and a nightside table and an armoire that he can't quite figure out (is it really supposed to be that big? does anyone have that much stuff in the first place?)-- is taking up room. Room that could be put to better use.

So out it goes.

Into the hallway, lining the space between his room and the others beside it, door propped open by the tattered leather coat he'd arrived in that's still too shredded to wear. The way he sees it, Rey can put it all to use, he can still use it if he has to, and it'll wind up giving them enough space for three-- possibly four people. At least by First Order standards. The hollowed-out belly of an AT-AT it is not.

So half a day of shoving and sweating over, sleeves rolled up high to his shoulders, he's done. It's not really beautiful, it's not even Resistance levels of ingenuity and design, but it's clean, and the bed's been given a nest of a twin made from drape fabric and spare cover sets and the siding from the table he managed to rip clean, scrubbing off any splinters with a snagged stone. A drape hangs over it, pinned to the wall and spattered with decorative stars - in the corner sits a heap of flowers Finn dragged up from the garden, varied and beautiful, and half of them left him bleeding from his palms up when he picked them, but that's fine, it was worth it. He's never really had free access to them before.

More importantly, neither has Rey.

When it's all said and done, he lifts the stamped metal at his wrist (he hates wearing it, feels tethered by it, but if it means talking to his friends, it'll do) sending out a quick call: Hey guys, show up when you're done with your assignments. I finished up with the room. Door's propped open.

And then he waits.

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It's hard to shake the feeling that he's got mud up to his knees after all that, even if he knows he doesn't. Still, he can't quite stop himself from walking like he's making a mess as he treads the stone hallways. He's already winding his way back to the barracks- or whatever they were, when he gets the message, the bracelet on his wrist registering the call and Finn's voice coming through clear as any communication device he knows.

"Finished up with the room? This should be interesting-" he says the words into the empty air but doesn't bother to reply to the message itself. He was nearly there anyway, and he's not sure that trying to get clarification will get him anywhere, anyway. It's not quite fair to say he's nervous about the message, not really, but he's also not really sure what Finn's getting at. He can't blame the guy for wanting to keep everyone close, he really can't, it's an urge he's having a hard time shaking himself, but he's not sure exactly what it's going to boil down to. He's seen the rooms. They weren't exactly the sort you'd call roomy, or customizable.

He's suspicions feel well founded when he comes up to the room Finn had claimed and sees what has to be almost an entire room full of furniture piled up against the walls of the corridor, door propped open by a familiar coat. He manages not to wince.

"Hey, buddy, what's going on?" There's a careful tone to his voice as he pushes the door open and is greeted by- well. A lot of work, at the very least. And one tired but pleased looking friend.

"Oh."

"Hey, you made it!" He's already up, hopping off the bed at the sound of footsteps closing in, bright-eyed and an eager grin that's just the sharp edges of his teeth. Poe looks-- well, he looks about as good as anyone could be expected to after a day of training exercises, uniform roughed up, but better than either the jacket at the door or his jumpsuit folded up underneath the bed behind Finn's heels.

"Alright so bear with me here: I've set us up with everything we need." One scored palm reaches back, slapped against the nearest bedpost. "This-- is yours. You've got all the room you want, I made some little...storage container things here for your clothes and supplies and I left the shelving up on the wall back here in case you want to keep anything out."

Everything pointed to in time with his explanation; everything within reach for good measure. He's clearly thought this one out.

If you asked most people they wouldn't say Poe was a slow person. Actually, he had kind of a rep for always running forward. Still, even he has a little trouble keeping up with what Finn's saying. Trying to pay attention to what he's saying- following every little gesture that encompasses, and also parse out the baseline of the whole situation, which is that, yeah. The room. Not your room. Not my room, and there's a bed for Poe and a pile of blankets on the floor and- Yeah. Those were flowers. That was a whole pile of flowers.

I've set us up with everything we need.

If he wasn't extremely good at standing in front of people saying things that didn't exactly sit right with him while smiling he'd probably be doing even worse than he was now, thin smile as he thought. Fast.

But the thing is that Finn's smile's broader than he's ever seen. Ever. And there's not a single part of Poe that wants to change that, right then. He'd saved his life and completed his mission and without him Poe doesn't know if they would have had a chance of taking down Starkiller. He deserved this. Even if it was- well. One bed and a stone floor covered in blankets.

"Wow, you've been busy," and that's not a lie, and it's easy to say, and it's even easy to smile, after he's already decided he could handle this if he needed to. It would be harder not to in the face of that much excitement.

"But if the bed's for me where are you going to sleep?"

"Mm?" His mind isn't racing, but he's enamored with it-- all of it-- and it's hard to let that focus slip long enough to circle back around to the subject of himself. Still, it clicks after a second, eyebrows raised, mouth halfway between forming the words. "Oh-- oh, I've got that worked out easy. Plenty of floor space for me to use. No problem."

Because he can't crack into another room without help, he realized somewhere around the middle point of the day. And Rey? Rey's a scavenger-- lived her whole life that way from everything he's seen and heard-- she'd feel more comfortable outside of a bed than in one. Poe needs it, Rey needs hers, and Finn--

"Can't tell you the number of times I had to sleep laid out in full armor. This is practically a vacation by comparison."

So he had thought about it. Somehow Poe's not surprised, even if it seemed like he'd made himself an afterthought. He is a good guy, something Poe already knows, but it's something he keeps reminding him of.

Still, good or not, and as much as he wants to indulge him he couldn't exactly let that fly.

"Finn, buddy, I'm not going to sleep on a bed while you're stuck on the floor."

He says it with a smile, tone tinged with a gentle sort of amusement, taking the few (very few) steps it takes to come up beside him, clasping his hand onto his shoulder and squeezing.

"I'd feel like a real jerk. Besides, you deserve a bed as much as I do."

It didn't matter how many times he hadn't had one. Not like the Resistance or the New Republic was always sunshine and rainbows, but he knows well enough Finn's stories could probably beat his. More reason that he deserved more now.

"We can figure something else out."

"I don't mind." Palest argument known to mankind (there's no helping it, Poe's got a charismatic spark that could put General Hux to shame) but he has to try, at least for a moment. Stops to roll down his sleeves and scrub the salt sweat from his arms, still wearing that stupid grin.

"Anyway if you can find a room to unlock, we can haul some of the spare furniture down here. Each of us have our own corner and all that."

The opposite of those barracks he'd left behind, even on Starkiller. Their rooms were their own: one of the only things they didn't have to share with their brothers and sisters. This he likes better.

Much better.

Poe's eyes drift, from the bed behind Finn to the carefully crafted star spattered collection of fabric and then to the only free space left. There's not much of it. A second bed would leave practically no room to walk. The two would butt up against each other.

But it wasn't as if he wasn't used to barracks, bunks stacked two or three high, the closeness of a cockpit or the miniscule berths provided on starship. He could handle it. And it was important. He has trouble saying no to most people. Saying no to Finn was even harder.

"Alright, you've got a deal."

Besides, they might be able to actually hide the extra furniture that way. Something about breaking regulation itches at the back of his mind. It was worth it though.

"Thanks, Finn. You clearly put a lot of hard work into this."

More than he should have, maybe, with the way it seemed like being away from this place was more common than being in it. But he wasn't going to tell him that.

"So,that's for Rey, huh?“

He doesn't know what it is, exactly, but it's pretty clear it had taken plenty of time and effort. That was sweet.

"Nah, it wasn't so bad." And honestly, he means that. Sure, effort went into pushing, pulling, sanding and gathering - but compared to running for his life at the mercy of the First Order? It's better than a vacation.

Hell, it's the life he's keen to live.

"Yep." He says, scrubbing his hands against the hemline of his own shirt, following the line of Poe's stare to the nest hidden away in the corner beneath one starry drape. "Jakku was...something. I figured I ought to try and get about as close to that as I could."

Which, without compressed rocks, sand, or a whole host of nasty locals, isn't close at all.

"You think she'll like it?"

It was hard to say if it would appeal to her. He didn't actually know Rey that well, the couple of days they spent together hadn't really changed that much. And when it came to sleeping situations he had given her her own space. The buildings in town were filled with empty rooms. The castle wasnt quite as open but he'd still set up so they had their own spaces. Her comfort more than his.

And still, he's pretty confident when he answers, "Yeah, I do."

Because he had done it, and he'd done it for her. He'd bet that would matter to her a lot more than how comfortable it was.

"So, you want to see what we can do about the furniture situation?"

"I'm gonna be honest, Poe." And it's a level stare that comes with that remark, all earnest, focused attention. The sort of look angled in when something entirely serious is on the line-- or about to be.

"I'm really tired."

So much for world-shattering revelations there. Finn pauses, drops his chin just slightly while he moves to lick his lips in thought. "And you look about the same. Maybe we should both take a break - sit for a few minutes. I brought up some food from the mess hall, if you're hungry. They didn't even notice me taking it."

The words level his expression instantly into something serious and intent. A look a mile away from the smile that had just been gracing his face and really close to Commander Dameron, Resistance squad leader.

It doesn't last. Finn's words have him laughing out, a short bright noise, and he loops an arm over his shoulder, patting his back- whole and healthy- before moving further into the room, turning on his heel and dropping onto the bed.

"That's fair, I had kind of a weird day."

The mess hall, open and accessible as it was, wasn't quite as much of a revelation to him, and more than part of him feels like taking food from Finn (and Rey by proxy) would make him some unique kind of sleemo.

He drops back after a moment, shoulders hitting the mattress, feet still on the floor and staring up at the ceiling before he glances back down at Finn, patting the bed beside him.

"Come on. It's more comfortable than the floor."

Edited 2016-03-11 03:27 (UTC)

"On it--"

Which, in spite of what he's saying, isn't his immediate response: Finn's going through the cabinet squared off next to Rey's nest, pulling out an entire wrapped bundle of food - (mostly meat and cheese to anyone familiar with more than the nutrient bricks back on Starkiller or the Finalizer itself) he wasn't certain what he'd been grabbing at the time. A few seconds later he's propped up on the bed beside Poe, spread set between them.

Doesn't matter what he says, if Poe's been working hard, he's probably hungry.

"So what's up? What'd they have you do, anyway?"

He watches Finn down the length of his nose, not surprised to see him pulling out food after all of that. He doesn't mention it, though, just waits for him to cover the short distance to the bed and start unpacking his little hoard between them.

He hums, quiet and thoughtful for a second, lacing his fingers together across his stomach.

"Kind of hard to explain. They showed off their simulation tech again. Made us a whole swamp to wade through. It was a locate and retrieve mission, mostly."

Mostly, except for the fact that the items they were retrieving were 'artifacts' and.. magic he supposed was the word for it. It was beyond what he was used to, but it was the way things were here. He'd have to get over it one way or another. And then there was the other complication. The reality it wouldn't help to hide from Finn. Shouldn't. They all needed to be on the same page, because they were all on the same team.

"And they thought trying to make Kylo Ren play nice with the group was a good idea."

Ugh. Sim tech. Reminds him too much of his old training-- a bad taste across the back of his tongue as he picks through the food, trying to make heads or tails of it and whether or not it's worth chancing-- in fact most of this sits wrong with him: buffered only by the fact that so far, he's been free to do exactly what he wants when he wants.

But it's the last part that has his fingers going still, eyes flicking upwards to meet Poe's beneath a furrowed brow.

"They what."

He's not joking, he's not smiling.

He's not even close.

"Easy pal," it's level, gentle, because there's nothing surprising about Finn's response, it's probably close to the one he'd have in return, but it wasn't- productive. They were going to have to figure out a solid plan, which meant they had to keep level heads. It wasn't easy. Most things weren't.

"He couldn't have hurt anyone even if he tried. They had it rigged up so no one could do any real damage."

It was actually a pretty impressive feat, when he thought about it. And he had. How it worked he didn't know, but it did work. It wasn't even like they'd just replaced their weapons, because there were people in there who didn't need weapons to kill people. Kylo Ren sure didn't.

"It had me thinking, they can probably handle him better than I was giving them credit for. And in that case he can't try anything. If he doesn't play nice he'll be stranded here."

He glances up at Finn, eyebrows high on his face, expression open, "Betting he doesn't want that."

"I don't like it." Which is so abrupt and honest, Finn barely registers the fact that it comes out of his mouth at all.

And it feels even stranger to realize that's how he feels when it should be a good thing that Kylo Ren is being held in check beyond the presence of Skywalker's kid. Is that crazy? It feels crazy - enough that he's settling back and abandoning the food he'd been mulling over, frown deep enough to be nearly permanent.

"We shouldn't be here, Poe."

Whatever good or bad that came of it, whether one thing outweighs the other, that's the only bottom line he keeps coming back around to.

He doesn't answer right away. What do you say to something like that? To someone like Finn? His expression shifts, lips thinning, watching Finn carefully.

He breaths out then, a soft sound as he pushes up onto his elbows, shifting back on the bed until he can prop himself up against the wall, careful not to upset Finn's dinner.

"I know. I know we shouldn't. But we are here. We're just going to have to make the best of it until we can figure out how to get back."

His gaze is steady on Finn, expression serious, but as he finishes the thought he glances off to the rest of the room. All of that work. Finn had a head start on making the best of it.

"And if we never get back?"

He hates saying it out loud - like it's the last thing they should have on the table - but pessimism was part of life under the First Order's heel: expecting the worst is only their baseline, and even if this ALASTAIR isn't anything like them, taking chances on blind faith isn't really in his nature after the fact.

They can control Kylo Ren, that means they can control pretty much anything.

"We're going to get back."

There's not an ounce of hesitation there. Not a pause, and his voice is as sure and steady as it ever has been. They are going to get back. One way or another. They knew it was possible, because it was possible to get here, so it would happen.

Poe would make sure of it. He'd never started something and not finished it. He wasn't about to start now.

He turns to Finn, expression set firm and serious, chin high and certain. It's only after a second the beginning of a smile edges onto his face as he reaches out to lightly tap Finn's shoulder with the Crest of his knuckles.

"Buddy, together there's nothing you and I can't do."

He means it. Since Finn had come into his life they'd done more things that should have been impossible than Poe could count. Someone was watching out for them- something, the force, maybe. It didn't matter. He didn't need to know why, he just knew that it worked. They were going to get this done because it couldnt be any more impossible than taking down Starkiller.

"How can you know that?"

His voice is low, careful: pinned between trust and hope and the nausea sitting heavy in his gut. All the odds they've beaten so far, all the insanity they've lived through and it's true there's more under their collective belts than anybody out there should have any right to, but that...that feels like luck. Or something like it. He isn't sure.

He wishes he was.

"I just do. You trust me, right?"

There wasn't another option. You could't go out thinking you'd fail, you couldn't spend all your time thinking about how bad it would hurt when you fell. He knows that things could go wrong, he knows that there were obstacles in there way he couldn't even predict, but they'd deal with them as they came. One step at a time.

"I'm not going to let you down Finn. You know, I'm pretty good at getting out of tight spots."

He rolls his shoulders forward then, breaks his gaze and fishes his hand down to snatch a bit of Finn's food, shrugging again, casually.

"So far I haven't found anyone whose been her longer than half a year. They've got to send people back at some point, right? So, we just have to wait it out."

"You know I do, Poe."

More than anyone after everything that's happened. It was Poe that got him to General Organa, vouched for him, knowing what he was-- who he was-- without a second thought and brought him back to Rey. Truth be told, he's tired. Tired of having to fight for every inch of gained ground, of minutes with the people that matter where they're not hurt or dying or in danger. Some part of him wishes this was easy.

That they could just sit down here, together, and call it quits.

"Yeah. Guess I'm just not really used to waiting, you know? Back on base-- even after I left-- it was always one thing right after another."

He remembers it clearly, the way Finn had said 'Because it's the right thing to do.' How easy it had been to see through him then. Easy to tell he'd been saying what he thought Poe wanted to hear. He's not doing that now. He means it, and Poe thinks that'd be terrifying if he hadn't had years to get used to having people rely on him. Trust him. If he hadn't felt that press of responsibility before.

He couldn't let him down. That's all there was to it.

"I know," he rests his cheek on his shoulder, looking over at Finn carefully. You were in the military long enough and you got used to a schedule that didn't give you time to wait. And that was just the New Republic. The Resistance. The First Order had to be even more regulated than that. And Finn had been living that life as long as he could remember, as far as Poe could tell. Hell, he'd barely been in three years before he got his first leave. One week, and he'd barely known what to do with himself by the time he was done.

"But you'll get used to it. That's life, right?"

She's cold. And wet. And muddy and sweaty. She leaves smudges of footprints behind her as she makes her way through the castle, though she'd done her best to scrape all the mud from the bottoms of her shoes before tracking it in. Still, the symptoms of her work in the stables follows her and she can't help but feel some shred of self consciousness over it. This place is nice now that it isn't being made to look gutted or flooded or on fire; she shouldn't be putting her dirty shoes all over it. She should've stood outside in the thin sunshine until all the mud dried and she could flake it off her shoes and her arms and finger comb it out of her hair.

And yet here she is, making her way quickly toward Finn's room in an effort not to be seen by anyone. But it's fine. If she does run into someone, she'll just treat them like one of Unkar's lackeys - give them a dirty look and keep going. Nothing to see here, nothing at all.

The door is open when she reaches it; she doesn't think twice about the furniture piled in the hallway (though gives it all a calculating look out of habit) or about pushing the door further open and walking straight in.

"Finn, I got your message--?"

"Hey-- hey!!" Nervous energy, springing up from his perch on the bed at the far corner of the room to rush over towards her: it hasn't been long since Poe left to help out, but it's been long enough that waiting's turned to wondering, and everything else that goes along with it. Finn stops short, fingers scrubbed behind him against the lines of his pockets, weight rocking back only slightly onto his heels. "Glad you made it."

Because he is-- glad, that is. Whatever messed up situation they've found themselves in again, this time he's making sure it goes right.

"I finished setting it up-- our room. Do you uh, what do you think? You like it?"

She's stopped just inside the doorway - planted, really. She doesn't know what she was expecting exactly - that he'd done something to the room he'd found was clear enough in the message, but the it wasn't in her to pick through the difference between 'the room' and 'my room' in a text transmission while trying not to get knocked to the ground for the sixth time by overgrown rodents. In any case, she's-- not really sure what she's looking at really. She flicks him a look of real confusion before she actually takes a moment to take in what he's done to the place.

Push all that furniture out into the hall for one, though he's replaced it with enough that the quarters still seem plenty close. The bed seems more or less the same, but it's cousin in the corner is clearly Finn's out design. Some kind of... bed-shaped box filled with blankets and draped with stars. It looks like an especially soft nest for a prized luggabeast - as if such a thing existed. But the flowers are nice. The furrowed set of her brow lifts faintly when she spots them.

"It's nice." She draws her staff from the mud crusted strap and leans it gingerly against the wall, trying not to flake mud as she goes. "What's it for?"

He'd expected more-- and less-- best and worst case scenarios there all played out in his head. This? This feels like a stuck blaster trigger: dangerous and loaded and capable of going off if he's not careful about approaching it the right way.

His arms fold. Then unfold. He's scratching at his chin and then rubbing at his face, eyes wide and hopeful when he angles them upwards to meet her stare.

"Uh...you?"

Oh.

She looks back to the heap of blankets, the re-purposed wood siding, the canopy of stars. That's-- she studies it with a flat expression for a number of seconds, unsure of what exactly she's supposed to feel and unthinking of the possibility that giving his handiwork a silent examination for a long, awkward stretch might not be entirely reassuring.

It's-- well, it's silly. Why bother with all the effort of fashioning it when there were plenty of beds to go around? But it's underlined by a surge of heat blooming in her chest too. That he'd made a place for her. That he wanted her in the same room as him. That he'd made something meant for her even if it was a stupid thing.

Her lips thin, involuntary. She opens and closes her hands at her sides. "Oh." That comes out crooked and she isn't sure why. "It's really nice." And that, she thinks, sounds less true than she really means. It is nice. It's incredibly, ridiculously, stunningly nice.

"I like the blanket with the stars on it."

"You're not into it." There's a note of disappointment there, but in all honesty, it isn't with her: all the things he could think of to gather up and make for her, and none of it could feasibly involve dirt, dust or actual desert grit.

All the things she said she wanted to go back to, time and time again. Whatever Jakku had (drugs, maybe-- lots and lots of drugs buried deep in the sand because nothing else there could have ever been worth it) kept people in love with the place like crazy.

"That's-- you know, that's okay. No big deal."

"I didn't say that," she snaps back quickly, sharper and more defensive than is really necessary given- well, everything. Her mouth snaps shut after with an audible click of teeth.

She wants to pause, to gather her thoughts and say something she actually means, but leave it longer than half a breath and she knows Finn will start to talk again to fill the silence. After a split second's pause, she's talking again: "I just don't see the point. There are beds in other rooms. Real ones, I mean. We could just take one from there and put it in here."

Simple.

"Sure."

It's a simple solution. He should have stuck to it, even if it meant waiting for Poe and Rey to come back around after their assignments instead of trying to surprise them (especially considering the fact that neither of them were into the setup he'd initially run with). His palm goes over his mouth, pressing flat, expression about as happy as you'd expect. "I mean I wasn't sure if you even wanted a bed, but--"

No. Nope, that wasn't the route he wanted to take.

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Blow a kiss, fire a gun

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