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chapter fifty-five: let you go
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THE FALCON ASCENDS into hyperspace without issue. Before the First Order can react, the battered freighter clears Crait's surface and disappears in a brilliant flash of blue light. For the time being, they are safe. This time, no one will be able to follow them. This time, the Resistance will truly escape. But other than that, there is little reason for anyone to celebrate.

      It's quiet on the ship. Less than twenty people survived the First Order's assault against the Resistance. Cargo storage compartments are turned into makeshift barracks. People crowd the rooms of the freighter and stake claims for themselves on any open space they can find. Many of them fall asleep on the hard floor of the Falcon without any bedding, bone weary and exhausted from days spent running and fighting for their lives. Their sleep is dreamless. Nothing disturbs them. They just drift, lost in oblivion as they rest.

      Indira envies them. She can't sleep.

It isn't because the floors of the Falcon are hard. It isn't because of the incessant cooing of the round-shaped avians that Rey brought back with her from Ahch-To. It isn't because of turbulence or pain or any other discomfort — she's just sad.

And she can't sleep.

Even so, there's a certain safety in pretending. If people think she's asleep, they won't bother her with questions. If people think she's asleep, they won't ask her about what happened outside of the Falcon on Crait. If people think she's asleep, they won't expect her to hold herself together when she feels like she's falling apart. So, Indira curls up on the floor in the Falcon's forward hold. She closes her eyes and pulls her knees up to her chest, turning her back to the rest of the room.

She doesn't sleep. She just pretends.

Leia knows. So does Rey. So does everyone, really, but no one calls her bluff. Even so, Leia stops by to stroke her hair occasionally. Rey drapes a blanket over her and touches her shoulder gently. They know she isn't really sleeping, but for her sake, they pretend, too.

     Poe checks in on her. He knows how she looks when she sleeps better than anyone else — the pattern of her breathing, the way she sounds when she snores, how she twitches sometimes without meaning to; all the little intimate details you learn about a person when you share a bed with them for nights on end. He knows that she's faking right from the start, but gives her the space she needs after Leia breaks the news about Skywalker to him.

       Losing a parent is hard; Poe knows this firsthand. He cried himself to sleep every night for a month after his mother died and it still wasn't enough to express his grief. Often times, he would find the nearest friendly face and throw himself into their arms so they would hold him. At eight years old, he wanted to be held more than anything else; to know that, despite his mother's passing, he wasn't alone.

     But, different people grieve in different ways. Poe prefers to grieve in the company of others. Indira prefers to grieve alone.

Still, he makes sure to let her know that he's there. He sits with his back against the wall on the floor next to her, often in silence. Every once in a while, he'll smooth her hair back from her face or gently stroke his fingers up and down her arm. When he leaves, he makes sure to press a kiss to the top of her head.

      "Whenever you're ready," he murmurs before he goes, a promise that he'll be waiting when she decides to open her eyes.

      She doesn't.

Outside of the hold, Indira can hear soft voices. Leia and Rey speak in hushed tones. How do we build a rebellion from this? Rey whispers. Leia doesn't falter in her response. We have everything we need. Finn and Stefan fret over Rose, who is tucked inside of a relief bunk. Vital scans are holding steady, Stefan reports and it's good news for everyone to hear. She's going to pull through. Lando Calrissian awakens at some point and when he sees Leia, they both cry. I'm sorry, Lando says earnestly about Han and Luke and everything else. I'm so, so sorry, he repeats until Chewie encompasses them both in a massive hug.

       It's beautiful — all of it — in the same way that sunrises are beautiful after the darkest nights. Part of Indira wants to go to them. She wants to pick herself up from the ground and leave her grief behind, but she can't. Her heart feels heavy. Her body feels sluggish. It's easier for her to stay down on the ground.

        Her father is gone. He's never coming back. Not this time.

        It feels stupid. Indira barely knew him and even though he was her father, Luke Skywalker was always more myth than man to her. None of it had felt real to her — not on Starkiller, when she first learned the truth; not on D'Qar, when her mother confirmed Ren's hateful revelation — but then he'd been there on Crait. For the first time in almost twenty years, her father held her in his arms. He wiped her tears from her face. He pressed a kiss to her head. He told her he loved her and that he was proud of her.

      And then he died.

      Death is the only inevitable fact of life. No one can escape it; not Indira, not her father, not Leia or anyone else. Sure, death can be cheated. It can be evaded or delayed for a certain amount of time, but eventually it comes for everyone and it doesn't discriminate between Dark and Light; good or bad; First Order or Resistance. It just takes and takes and takes.

Indira Beren knows this. She has always known this.

But the reminder of just how painful it is to lose someone feels very much like the sharp edge of a familiar knife. Old wounds she'd thought were healed are torn open once more and she only knows one way to stitch herself back together. Part of that means cutting her losses and letting go. Part of that means hurting herself more so that she can heal. Part of that means saying goodbye. She knows this, but it doesn't make it any easier for her to admit.

     Hot tears run down her face, dripping down her cheeks onto the cold floor. Indira raises a hand to swipe them away before settling back down and hugging her arms around herself. She knows there is no shortage of people who would be willing to hold her just outside the door, but she won't let them. Every pair of arms that would hold her represents more people that she will have to forfeit to death someday. She can't let them hold her again; not when she knows that eventually she will lose them, too.

Holding herself together is something she has to do on her own.

     She isn't sure how much time passes before she feels a small jolt that signals the Falcon's descent from hyperspace. It could have been hours — could have been days — but it makes her open her eyes with surprise.

     Someone knocks softly on the frame of the door. "We'll be touching down on Yavin Four soon," Rey says softly. "I thought you should know."

As soon as Rey slips away, Indira sits up abruptly. Her heart begins beating wildly in her chest. Yavin Four. They'd come back to Yavin Four. It's the obvious choice, yet Indira hadn't even considered it to be a possibility until now. Yavin Four was once the location of a former Alliance base. It was also Poe's home planet, where his father Kes still lived. And, most importantly, it was the planet that Indira's mother had been living on since she first left D'Qar.

Yavin Four. Indira exhales sharply. She would be seeing her mother again soon.

It takes roughly an hour for the ship to reach the blue little moon's surface. As soon as the Falcon touches down on solid ground, Indira stands. Her legs are cramped and tingling after lying down on a hard surface for so long, but it doesn't stop her from moving quickly. When the doors to the ship finally open, Indira practically sprints down the runway into the fresh air. She doesn't say a word to anyone; she just runs as fast as she can.

In the tall grass a few feet away from the Falcon, two familiar figures are standing. One is an older man with graying hair and tan skin. The other is a woman with dark hair, face covered in wrinkles that crease her forehead and draw her mouth tight. Immediately, tears fill Indira's eyes when she sees her mother and she can't hold herself back.

"Mama!" She shouts, running to close the distance between them. "Mama!"

Her mother's face turns in her direction, brow furrowed. "Indira?"

They collide in a fierce embrace as mother and daughter are reunited at last. Jana Beren holds her little girl close and tucks her daughter's head under her chin as tears run down her cheeks. One of her hands comes up to stroke Indira's hair, pushing the tangled mess of curls away from her tear-streaked face.

"Oh, my sweet girl," she whispers. "I missed you so much."

"It all went wrong," Indira sobs into her mother's shoulder. "It all went so, so wrong."

She wants to encompass it in words, but Indira can't. The evacuation from D'Qar, the attack on the Raddus, the massacre of their troops, Holdo's sacrifice, her father's sudden return and unexpected death — it feels impossible for Indira to even try to explain. All she can do is cry like a baby in her mother's arms.

"It's alright," Jana murmurs into her daughter's hair. She kisses the top of her head and holds her tight. "I'm here; I've got you. It's all over now."

In the distance, the rest of the Resistance members exit the Falcon. Kes Dameron lets out a sharp breath when he sees his son still standing amongst the scarce number of remaining troops. Poe waves to his father wearily before he trudges over to greet him.

     "My gods," Kes mutters quietly, pulling his son into an embrace. "This is all that's left?"

Poe nods solemnly. "Yeah, Papa," he says. The weight of what remains of the Resistance rests heavily on his shoulders. "This is all that's left."

POE'S BEDROOM IS EXACTLY the same as he remembers it being the last time he came home — if not a bit dustier now than it was then. For all the chaos he has endured in the time that has passed since his last visit, the small four-wall space hasn't changed a bit. The sheets on his bed are still a rumpled mess. The blinds are drawn halfway to let some natural light in. Everything is exactly the way he left it. There's something reassuring about that. It makes him feel like, despite the hell they went through in their corner of the galaxy, there's still a lot of good left. Poe still believes that. He has to believe that.

His father's house has been turned into a miniature military base. Beds are made up from couch cushions and spare blankets and sleeping bags that are piled onto the floors wherever there is room. One of the guest bedrooms becomes a makeshift medical wing. A few people choose to stay aboard the Falcon and bunk there — Chewie, Lando, and a couple other pilots — but the rest of the house is filled to the brim with people. For this reason, Poe is surprised to see that his room has been left untouched.

He kicks off his shoes before flopping down on the mattress. Poe's back aches as the tension leaves his spine and he groans into his hands. Obviously, he won't be staying in his room; not while other people are sleeping on the floor. He'll bully someone else into taking his bed — Finn, maybe — and then Poe will find the hardest spot of floor and park himself right there so that no one else will be forced to sleep there.

But for now, he just needs a minute to breathe. Deep inhales and exhales leave his lungs as he rests his palms over his eyes and presses down until he starts to see spots dancing across his vision. A sudden knock on the door interrupts him and the pilot sits up abruptly, making his head to spin. "Yeah?"

The door swings open and Indira pokes her head inside. "Hey," she says hesitantly. "Can we talk?"

His eyes widen with surprise. "Yeah," Poe replies hastily, scooting over on the bed to make room for her. "Yeah, of course."

She closes the door behind herself and approaches his bed, taking a seat on the edge of it. Poe can hardly believe his eyes. He had hardly seen Indira since they left Crait, aside from the time he spent sitting next to her on the Falcon. She'd needed her space — something he understood — but the sight of her choosing to willingly seek him out is a very welcome surprise.

Still, there's a look on her face that makes him feel a little unsure. He knows that expression well — the scrunched forehead and pursed lips and determined look in her eyes. It all spells trouble for him and he starts to think that he might not like the conversation that is about to come his way.

       They sit in silence.

       Poe keeps waiting for her to say something first, but she doesn't. Indira keeps her eyes trained on her hands, curling and uncurling her fingers around empty air. He watches for several minutes before finally reaching out and slipping his hand into hers. Indira goes still for a moment, fingers rigid and stiff, before her hand goes lax.

     She doesn't hold his hand back.

     "So," Poe finally says, dread making his stomach clench, "you wanted to talk?"

      "Yeah," Indira agrees. "I did."

     He frowns at her brevity. "Do you still want to talk?"

     "My father died," she blurts out. "I barely knew him, but he was still my father."

     Poe swallows thickly. "I know."

"And I shouldn't be surprised," she says, the words sticking in her throat. Tears pool at the corners of her eyes, but she looks up stubbornly at the ceiling to keep them from falling. "Everyone dies. That's just ... the natural order of the universe, right? You're born, you live, and someday, you die."

     "You're right," he replies softly. "But just because we know it will happen doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt."

      "No, it doesn't," Indira agrees. "In our fight — in this fight — people die all the time. Friends, family, the ones we love — they die and there's nothing that we can do to stop it." She inhales abruptly, sucking in a harsh breath to keep her voice from breaking. "We give our hearts away to them, piece by piece, and then suddenly they're gone. They take those pieces with them and it hurts. Don't you get tired of that?"

Poe frowns.

He thinks of his mother and of L'ulo; of Paige Tico and Tallie and all the other pilots that died under his command. Each loss had hurt like hell, but the alternative to feeling pain was to feel nothing and he would rather have his heart broken a thousand times over than let himself become numb.

     "Don't you think that it's worth it?" He challenges, tracing a thumb over her hand. "Isn't it better to have felt something worth grieving for than nothing at all?"

     "Honestly?" She replies, not meeting his gaze as she looks down at their joined hands. "No. I can't say that it is right now."

     The breath leaves his lungs in a sharp exhale. "Oh."

     Indira looks up quickly. "I'm sorry," she says, her eyes glossy. "I just ... I can't risk letting myself feel this way again. I don't think my heart can take it. Not when ... when I don't know if any of us are going to make it out of this alive." She swallows past the lump in her throat before she pulls her hand free from his. "And this is quite possibly the hardest thing that I have ever had to do, but the only way that I can protect myself is —"

     "— by saying goodbye," Poe finishes as the realization dawns on him.

     "I'm sorry," she repeats, her chin quivering slightly.

     He wants to be upset. More than anything, Poe wants to argue with her — to tell her that she's wrong and that for all the pain it might cause, love is worth it. But, who is he to tell her how to grieve? Who is he to try and persuade her to go against her own heart? Who is he to deny her the time and space she needs to heal? He's no one.

      Poe swallows with difficulty before he forces himself to smile and brushes a thumb over her cheek. "You don't have anything to apologize for."

      "Yes, I do," Indira argues. "I'm being selfish —"

      "Indira," he interrupts, "it's okay."

      "No, it's not," she protests.

       "It is," he insists, even though his heart is breaking.

      She tries to laugh, but the noise that escapes her lips sounds more like a sob. "How?" She asks. "How is this okay?"

      "Because I love you," he tells her, sweet and sad and so very sincere. "And that means that if you need me to hold you, then I'll hold you. But if it means you need me to let you go, then I'll let you go."

     Her bottom lip trembles as tears pool in her eyes. Before she can stop herself, Indira leans in and presses her lips to his, soft and feather-light. It isn't a kiss born of desire or passion; it isn't a kiss for romance or future promises. It is simply a kiss goodbye.

      "Thank you," she says, pulling back from the kiss to whisper the words against his lips. Her cheeks are wet with tears. "And goodbye."

       It's wrong — it's all so wrong — but Poe Dameron can do nothing but watch as the love of his life leaves his room. The first time he saw Indira, Poe fell halfway in love with her as he watched her run down an empty tarmac with a droid buzzing around her head and a duffle bag slung over her shoulder. He's still in love with her now as he watches her leave, closing the door on his freshly broken heart.

       When the door clicks shut, Poe lets his head fall. He pulls the chain from around his neck over his head and holds it in his hand, running a thumb over the simple silver ring on the end of it — his mother's ring. With a heavy sigh, he closes his fist around the metal band that he had once intended to give to Indira Beren someday.

      "Goodbye."

THE STAIRS ARE HARD for Leia Organa to climb. Once, she had been the pinnacle of beauty and grace. In her youth, stairs never would have phased her. She thinks her younger self would laugh at her now, watching her hobble up the steps of Kes Dameron's house with a cane. But her bones are old and her body is tired. Still, Leia continues to press onwards and upwards. She is many things — old, tired, weary — but she is not a quitter. One pesky flight of stairs won't change that.

Poe's door is closed when she reaches his room, so Leia knocks on the wooden surface and waits. Within seconds, she hears the sound of someone tripping over their feet before the door opens hastily. Poe is there — eyes bloodshot and hair bedraggled — but his expression is hopeful.

"Yeah?" He asks, breathless, before his eyes settle on Leia's form and his excitement fades. "Oh, General Organa. Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

"Expecting company?" Leia asks wryly.

Instead of getting embarrassed or bashful, his face falls even further. "No," Poe replies quiet and dejected, "not really. Just bein' stupid, I guess. Wishful thinking. What can I do for you, General?"

Leia sighs at the sight of her obviously depressed protégé. She doesn't need the Force to know that his sadness most likely stems from something involving her niece — Indira hadn't left her mother's bedroom since they'd first come to Kes's house, remaining curled up on her side in the bed.

If things were different and she had more time, Leia would sit them both down and have them tell her about it. She would offer them advice — solicited or unsolicited — and hope these foolish kids would have enough common sense to listen to her years of experience with love and war. But she doesn't have more time and there are other pressing matters at hand that take precedence.

"That depends on you, Commander," she replies, arching a brow at him.

His eyes widen. "Commander?"

Leia nods. "Just don't blow it this time."

"I won't," Poe promises, straightening his posture and squaring his jaw. "Now, tell me what I can do to help."

"I've got a mission for you," she replies. "It's about your old teammates — Threepio received a transmission from them."

        Poe's mouth drops open. "Black Squadron?" He gapes. "You mean —"

"It'll be dangerous," Leia interrupts. "I don't want to lie to you, Poe; your friends are in trouble. My better judgement told me not to tell you about this, but I couldn't keep it from you. And besides — this is the Resistance; no one gets left behind."

The pilot nods, dark eyes blazing with fierce determination. "When do I start?"

END OF ACT II

a/n: ... WELL!

before you all start to boo me: i'm SORRY to end act ii on a sad note and a cliffhanger! unlike act i, which ended on a hopeful note with everything packaged up nice and neat, act ii couldn't end quite the same way. i look forward to tying my loose ends up from act ii *cough* black squadron *cough* and also ,,, reconciling certain *ahem* relationships in act iii. thanks everyone for reading. you are all so very near and dear to my heart & writing this book has been an incredible journey that i have been able to share with you!!! i can't wait to see you all again soon. I LOVE YOU GUYS!!! ✨💞🥺💞😌💞✨💞☝️✨

EDITED ON:
11.15.19

STARDUST WILL RETURN IN DECEMBER 2019