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chapter thirteen: ungrounded
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     THE AIR IS WARM and balmy when Poe steps outside, even though the sun has long since set — one of the many perks of having their base set on a jungle planet like D'Qar. As a child, he had heard stories from his mother and father about their time on the rebel base on the icy planet of Hoth during the days of the Alliance. He shudders to think of just how cold it must have been for them and thanks his lucky stars for his good fortune.

     From a distance, he can see a group huddled around a bonfire drinking and exchanging stories in loud, unabashed voices. The sound of their laughter warms the part of his heart that had gone a little cold ever since he learned about L'ulo's death. He watches as Snap regales the crowd with a retelling of one of their first missions as Black Squadron, imitating L'ulo through peals of laughter.

     "My finger slipped!" Wexley shouts, voice slurred as a result of having had a tad bit too much of the alcohol that the general had provided them with. "That's what L'ulo said. The man opens fire on a bunch of First Order assholes and he says my finger slipped; can you believe that? Like we all didn't know exactly what he did. What a legend. That lunatic saved our asses so many times. Gods, I'm gonna miss the crazy bastard. To L'ulo!"

     "To L'ulo!"

     The cry echoes around the gathered troops as they all lift their flasks and take a sip. Poe spots Jess and Karé amongst the crowd, mouth turning upwards when he sees the smile on Jess's face. Out of all of his team members, she had taken the loss the hardest — a testament to her youth. Karé and Snap had lost people before. Hell, Poe lost his own mother when he was only eight years old. Grief isn't a stranger to him, but Jess is younger and doesn't have as many years under her belt. To see her now with a smile on her face after so many tears helps to ease his guilty conscience and silence the part of his mind that keeps on telling him it's your fault.

      As if sensing his thoughts, Jessika meets his gaze and waves him over quickly. Not wanting the spotlight, Poe shakes his head and hangs back in the darkness. With a sigh, the younger girl hands her drink off to Karé before making her way over to where Poe is standing.

     "What are you doing hiding over here in the dark?" She teases, poking his arm.

      Poe shrugs her off. "I just needed a minute, Jess."

     Her brow furrows with concern; all teasing gone. "You okay?"

     His smile is pained. "I'm good."

     She seems to sense that part of him is lying, but doesn't press it. "Listen, Poe, what you said, about L'ulo ... thank you," she tells him earnestly, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "I was ... I could feel myself going dark after he died, but what you said ... it really helped."

     Ducking his head, Poe looks at his feet and shakes his head. "I was just trying to do the crazy old guy justice."

      "You did more than that," Jess replies warmly, pulling him into a tight hug. "Thank you."

      Poe wraps his arms around her, holding her close for a moment. His team is his family. It's his responsibility to lead, guide, and protect them — and he can't do that if he's too busy focusing on being the best version of himself. Time to look at the big picture, Dameron, he tells himself, pulling back from Jess and surveying his group of friends once more. All of this is a hell of a lot bigger than just you.

     "Now," Jess says with a wicked grin, "there's still half a bottle of that Corellian Reserve left and I'm not letting you leave until you're at least a little tipsy. C'mon, Commander. Show us how it's done."

     Poe tries to protest, shaking his head even as she drags him out of the shadows towards the group. When Snap catches sight of him, he pulls Poe under his arm and rubs his knuckles on top of his hair, ruffling it in a way that he knows Poe can't stand.

     "Snap, please," he complains, ducking out from under his drunken teammate's arm. "No touching the hair, buddy."

      "Sorry," Snap slurs with a goofy grin, raising his flask up high. "To Poe's hair!"

      "To Poe's hair!" A significant number of other drunk rebels cheer along with him, raising their respective drinks. Poe notes with amusement that Kali is amongst them — obviously very drunk, though the pilot's close companion is nowhere to be found. Jess shoves a drink into his hand and he downs it quickly, nose wrinkling slightly at the strong taste. Wherever the general's estranged husband had gotten his hands on this stuff, it is strong.

     "Kriff, Testor," he gripes, looking at Jessika with wide eyes. "How much of this stuff has Snap had to drink already?"

     "Uh," Jess pauses, glancing over at the male pilot who had started humming the anthem of the New Republic. "Too much."

     A laugh of disbelief escapes Poe's lips. "He's gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow," he predicts, shaking his head knowingly before offering his cup for a refill. Jess obliges him, pouring him another glass before setting the large bottle down.

      "Early morning patrol should be tons of fun then," she replies brightly and Poe winces because he's gonna have to be the person stuck on comms listening to Snap gripe and groan about his hangover.

      "Force have mercy," he mutters, downing the rest of his cup and shaking his head rapidly to chase away the strong aftertaste.

     Poe sets the cup down before taking a seat on one of the makeshift benches in front of the bonfire, warming his hands slightly. The brandy had given him a pleasant sort of buzz that made his head feel light and airy. Karé takes a seat next to him on his left side and Jess squeezes in on his right. All three of them listen as Snap begins another rowdy tale about L'ulo's spectacular life — this time about the Battle of Jakku that brought about the end of the Galactic Civil War — and acts out the story with great detail; even adding in sound effects and different voices. Poe finds himself laughing often; so much so that his belly aches and tears well up in his eyes. Sometimes, it's difficult for him to tell whether they are tears of sorrow or tears of joy, but he lets them fall without embarrassment.

     L'ulo had been with him his entire life. He had chased Poe around his backyard on Yavin IV as a kid, held him when he cried at his mother's funeral, took him up flying in a B-wing ship after his mother passed, and done him countless other kindnesses over the years. He had been a captain of Green Squadron during the Galactic Civil War against the Empire and a member of Black Squadron during the Cold War against the First Order. He had fought against oppressors of every kind, charging into battle with unreserved energy for more than thirty years of service. L'ulo had left behind one hell of a legacy and today, Poe would weep for him with no shame.

     Without L'ulo, he would have died on that mission. Agent Terex would have killed him if not for Black Squadron's interference. If L'ulo hadn't been there, the First Order would have stolen the information about Lor San Tekka and would have found the map to Luke Skywalker. Poe would have lost his life and failed his general — along with the rest of the Resistance — in a single blow. Because of L'ulo's sacrifice, the Resistance would live to see another day. Poe would never be able to express his gratitude for that.

     The wake lasts all night, stretching on until the first rays of a new dawn start to creep across the horizon. He isn't sure when it happened during the night, but Poe finds himself softly strumming a tune on a quetarra as the sun rises, humming some song that his parents used to play when he was a kid; something about a Mid-Rim girl, living in her Mid-Rim world. A few people who know the words sing along with him — especially Snap, who is notorious for singing loudly when drunk. Still, others are starting to fade off one by one. Jess crashes on his shoulder; sound asleep as she drools onto his jacket. Across from them, the Tico sisters — Paige and Rose — are curled up against one another; both snoring peacefully. Kali is also starting to fade; eyes drooping and head bobbing as she watches the burning embers of the fire grow darker and darker.

     He almost thinks of sending her to bed, but he doesn't have to. Whatever psychic senses that she seems to have, Indira Beren comes to collect her friend around sunrise and escort her back to their room. Poe meets her gaze for a moment and she smiles, actually smiles, at him before waving and leading Kali away. The sunrise that follows her departure is almost as beautiful as the smile she'd given him. It leaves his heart feeling warm for the rest of the day.

      Part of him feels a little stupid for crushing so hard on this girl. He'd had plenty of crushes before — on girls and boys and plenty of others — yet there was something about Indira that keeps drawing him back to her; as if he is a moon trapped in her orbit, helpless to do anything but run in endless circles around her. Still, she doesn't seem to hate him as much as she used to — a definite improvement in his book. Maybe there's no future for them, maybe he's way outta his depth with her. But, he hasn't given up hope; not yet.

      As soon as the hour hits o'six-hundred, Poe sets his instrument down and goes about rousing the sleeping troops and sending them off to their actual beds. Most of them have the day off — a kindness granted to them by General Organa — but a few unlucky souls like Snap have patrols to run. However, he's pretty sure that Karé will have to cover for her boyfriend's shift, seeing as he is far too inebriated to get behind the controls of a ship.

      Once all the people have cleared out, Poe finishes up with cleanup on his own and bags up all the garbage left behind, dumping it in an empty sanitation bin on his way back into the base. BB-8 is waiting for him when he steps in the doors, chattering excitedly about whatever he had been up to the night before; something about a coding game played with several other astromech droids. BB-8 had won, of course, which fills Poe with a sense of pride because yeah, his droid is the fucking best — and that's not even bragging; it's the truth.

     "I'm proud of you, buddy," he says, scratching the droid's head as he walks down the hallways towards General Organa's private office. The General had instructed him to come speak with her once he understood her reprimand from the day before and Poe is pretty sure he gets it now — at least, he hopes he does.

      He doesn't even have to knock when he reaches her office. The doors open before he can even raise a hand. Taking a deep breath, Poe steps into the room and finds the general at her desk, typing away on a datapad. He waits patiently for her to finish, standing silently with his hands folded behind his back until she sets the tablet aside and looks up at him with a wry expression.

      "So?" She prompts, surveying him with her scrutinizing stare. "You figure it out yet, Commander Dameron?"

       Sheepishly, Poe nods. "I think so, General Organa," he says, taking a seat in the chair across from her. Somehow, it makes him feel small in comparison, even though he stands a good several inches taller than her on any given day. Though, he supposes, sitting in the presence of a legend could make any person feel small. "This isn't my fight."

      "Very good, Poe. I knew you had a brain up there somewhere," she says with an appraising smile and he grins back, hanging his head slightly in embarrassment.

      "The truth is," she continues, more somber now, "I can't let all of this rest on my shoulders forever. I honestly don't know how long we'll have to... well, resist. The Rebellion went on for decades. And, I'm sorry to say, probably sooner than we'd like," she pauses and gives him a sad smile; eyes twinkling in spite of her sorrow, "I'll be luminous."

       He wants to protest that statement, but there is a degree of undeniable truth to it that Poe cannot contest, so he keeps his mouth shut and chooses to listen instead. Death is the only inevitable fact of life. No one can escape it; not him, not L'ulo, not General Organa or anyone else. Sure, they could run from it for a while, but eventually it would come for each and every one of them. How much time they have left is not a guarantee.

       "Maybe you are the best pilot in the galaxy, but that's not all I see in you," Leia says, reaching across the table to take his hand. "I think you're one of those rare beings who help other people fight. A person who will inspire and give hope when all seems lost — and, if needed, convince our people to keep going when they don't think they can. No one person can win a war, Poe. It's not about you and it's not about me."

      He gets that now. It was never about him being a great pilot. In that respect, he's just a grain of sand in the midst of an endless desert; small and insignificant. To win this war, he would need to be better and that means setting aside his own ego and pride for a greater cause. 

      "No," he agrees, meeting her gaze without hesitation. "It's not about us. It's about everyone else."

      "Exactly," she finishes, squeezing his hand before pulling back. "Now, I've got a mission for you. Consider yourself ungrounded, Commander."

      Poe can't help the smile that spreads across his face at that as he claps and rubs his hands together. "Fantastic," he replies enthusiastically. "How can I help? I was starting to get a little twitchy."

     THE WORD ON the base is that Poe Dameron is leaving again and, for some reason, this bothers Indira Beren more than she'd like to admit. It's a nagging presence in the back of her head; one that constantly looms over her thoughts without ceasing. It keeps her fully distracted, making it impossible for her to focus on anything else. She'd missed every target that morning at target practice, put her shirt on backwards after getting dressed until Kali pointed it out, and tried eating her soup with a fork in the mess hall. Plainly speaking, she is an utter disaster and it is entirely Poe Dameron's fault.

     "I'm upset with you," she informs him when he drops by the hangar to check on her progress with Black One.

      An exasperated sigh leaves his lips and he sets his hands on his hips, squinting up at where she is perched on the ship's wing. "What'd I do now?"

      "You're leaving," she says, gritting her teeth to focus on the dilapidated engine before her. The turbines had been shot to hell, which requires lots of melding work to fix — and melding is one of Indira's least favorite types of repair work; second only to threading power cables by hand. She's been working with the metal all day, coaxing it back into shape with the aid of a hand-torch until it begins to somewhat resemble its former shape, but she knows that she is still nowhere near completion.

     Currently, repairing the damaged X-wings is the main priority of all the techs on base. The Resistance already runs low on the number of ships in their fleet and the loss of L'ulo left them one ship shorter. That meant that it was crucial for the remaining vessels to be fully prepared for combat. Both Poe and Karé's ships had sustained significant damage during the mission, so Indira and a few other upper-division technicians had picked up extra shifts to work on the repairs needed. It's slow and tedious work that will take time — something that they don't have.

     "Oh," he says plaintively before a goofy smile covers his face. "Wait a minute. I know what this is. You're saying that you'll miss me."

       Indira looks up at him sharply through her safety goggles. "I said no such thing."

       "Ah, ah, ah," he replies, shaking his head with that annoyingly handsome grin. He holds up a finger and points it at her. "Admit it: you'll miss me."

      "Dameron, I have at least seven hundred other things I need to do today. None of them include having this conversation with you," she says, returning her focus to the engine she'd been fixing. "All I'm trying to say is that I think it's a little soon for you to be going out on another mission — especially since you've barely recovered from your last one."

       Hardly a week has passed since L'ulo's death. Indira knows that General Organa is eager to find her brother before the First Order can and she even though she respects her judgement, she also can't help but worry for Poe's safety. No matter how much the fighter pilot irritates her at times, she still ... cares for him, in spite of her better instincts.

      What if something goes terribly wrong? She worries, stomach twisting in an unpleasant way. What if this time, he doesn't come back at all?

      "I'm fine!" He insists. "Doc Kalonia cleared me for combat three days ago. And besides — this isn't even a combat mission! Lor San Tekka isn't a man of violence. I'll be back with the map to Skywalker in no time. Easy peasy."

      "You don't know that, Poe," Indira replies, stubborn and exasperated. She sets the hand torch down before slipping her goggles off so that she can glare at him in a way that she hopes is more intimidating. "We just lost L'ulo. We can't lose you, too."

      "We?" Poe asks, eyes glinting with some sort of mischief as he steps closer to where she's working. "Who's we?"

      "Everyone," Indira says, glaring at him even as he offers her a hand down from the ship. Begrudgingly, she allows him to take her hand and pull her down from the wing. "General Organa, your squadron, the Resistance —"

      "You?" He adds hopefully, steadying her by placing his hands on her hips once her feet touch the ground.

       Her breath hitches for a moment before she slowly extricates herself from his grasp. Me, she wants to agree, but instead she chooses to turn away. "How I feel is irrelevant."

     He catches her off guard when he grabs her wrist, tugging gently so that she's standing face to face with him. Her heart pounds rapidly in her chest as she stares at him, eyes wide and unblinking. "You're not going to lose me," he promises, cupping her cheek with one hand. "I'll be back before you know it."

       Their sudden close proximity is something Indira cannot ignore. She swallows harshly, hoping that her voice will be steady when she speaks. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

       Poe leans in slowly, giving her the chance to pull back, but she doesn't. She couldn't move even if she wanted to — and she doesn't want to. His nose brushes against hers gently and she wonders if he can feel the way her breath trembles with each inhale. He's so close; just a hair's breadth away and if she leaned in even a fraction of an inch, his mouth would be on hers. She lets her eyes close, fully prepared to throw caution to the wind when —

       "Commander Dameron, sir, General Organa requested that — oh my!"

       Indira rips herself out of Poe's grasp quickly; retreating as if she'd been burned. C-3PO stands a few feet away looking almost embarrassed — or as embarrassed as a droid is capable of looking. Running a hand through her hair, Indira tries to calm her erratically beating heart. Hopefully, her face isn't as red as it feels, though she senses her cheeks and ears burning.

      To his credit, Poe looks as embarrassed as she feels — though there's an underlying frustration there, too. He rubs the back of his neck before nodding warily at the droid. "It's alright, Threepio," he says, giving the droid a forced smile. "What's the general got for me?"

       "She sent me to fetch you, sir," the droid replies. "A new detail about your mission."

        "I'd better go then," he mutters, running a tired hand over his face.

      While he's distracted, Indira slips behind his ship and out of sight. She takes a moment to catch her breath before bolting for the hangar door, needing time to process what, exactly, had just happened. Because this time, she cannot lie to herself or anyone else: something happened. And she has no kriffing clue what she's going to do about it.

EDITED ON:
08.20.19