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chapter thirty-three: unraveling
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     "THE NEW PILOTS ARE hopeless," Poe announces, dropping himself onto the hull of his beloved X-wing Black One and sliding down the surface into a slouched seated position next to BB-8 and EV-1, who had been keeping Indira company while she made some improvements to the T-70's design. Indira pauses her welding to shoot Poe a dirty look from behind her goggles, setting down the torch in her hand so she can shush him.

"They might be nearby!" Indira scolds. "What if they heard you? You can't hurt their feelings like that; they're only just starting out. This is all brand new to them!"

"I know, I know," Poe says hastily, lowering his voice. "But I'm worried, Indira. Seriously! Half of my pilots were taken out on Starkiller and the other half were sent out by the General on recon missions, which has left me with a bunch of junior pilots who have absolutely no clue what they're doing! A majority of them haven't even seen combat before — gods forbid they get into any dogfights with the First Order anytime soon — and I just ..." he heaves a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. "I miss my team. I miss my friends. I want Black Squadron back."

BB-8 affectionately bumps against his master's knee, letting out a trill of very thoughtful beeps. "Thanks, Bee," Poe says half-heartedly, though his expression stays miserable. "You are my friend and I'm glad you're still with me, buddy. I just miss my other friends, too. Yeah — like how you had fun when you were with Finn and Rey while we were separated, but still missed me. It just doesn't feel right."

"I know," Indira agrees, fidgeting with a loose bolt. "Things have felt off ever since they left."

     Although that in itself could be entirely Indira's own fault, seeing as she had been the one who had gotten herself onto Leia's bad side by being a loudmouthed hothead. It was entirely possible that her sense of unease could have nothing to do with the absences of her friends and everything to do with her own unremarkable yet uncanny ability to fuck shit up.

"It's because there's a fight coming," Poe says grimly. "I don't know when, but I can feel it in the air. And, quite frankly, I'm afraid we're not going to be ready when it hits."

     His tone is so dismal and defeated that it makes Indira's shoulders slump. She hates to see Poe Dameron — ever the optimist in the face of terrible shit — look like this. Still, she thinks she has a surprise that just might be able to cheer him up, even if it isn't quite finished yet.

     After some silent deliberation, she hops down from her perch on the wing of Poe's ship and wipes her grimy hands on her pants before picking up her tablet. "I have something to show you," Indira says, tapping on the screen of the device before handing it to him. "It's not much, but it's something Tico and I have been working on for the past couple of weeks."

     "Tico?" Poe asks, brow furrowed as he studies the screen. "Which Tico?"

      "Rose. The little one," Indira supplies. She had bonded with the younger girl in the absence of her other friends and found that Rose was a genuine delight; witty, passionate, and very, very clever. "Short, dark hair — shy at first, but super spunky once you get to know her. She's one of the techs for Cobalt Squadron."

     "Holy sith," he says, eyes widening as he realizes what kind of blueprints he's staring at. "This booster is insane! Tico came up with this?"

     Indira nods, feeling both amused and secretly proud of herself and Rose's hard work. "It's a prototype that I helped her design based off another booster model. We made some modifications that — when properly utilized — should give your engine one hell of a kick."

     Poe grins and shakes his head in disbelief. "What, best pilot in the Resistance wasn't enough?" He teases. "You had to make me the fastest pilot in the Resistance, too?"

     "Like I said," Indira repeats, snatching the datapad away from him. "It's just a prototype, so it's not done yet. But, I could see about hooking it up to your engine soon so you could take it for a test run."

     "Wait, this thing has already been made?" He demands. "Where the hell have you been keeping it and how have I not seen it?"

     "Rose and I have been working on it in my room," Indira confesses. "We wanted to keep it a secret. Since I don't actually have a roommate and I don't really sleep in my quarters anymore—" she shoots him a meaningful look, "— we decided to use the space as a workshop. The model we built is just a prototype, so we didn't want anyone else getting their hands on it. If this thing works, though, it could revolutionize all of the Resistance's X-wings; not just Black One."

     "Wow," Poe says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. His hands settle over her hips, pulling her flush against him before he leans down to kiss her. "I'll have to think of a way to thank you for it —"

     "Not here," Indira laughs, pushing him away. "Anyone could walk in!"

He shoots her a hopeful look. "Later, then?"

"Kriff, Poe," she mutters, shaking her head with fond exasperation. "We'll see."

     "Oh, we will," he promises before growing a little more serious. "You, uh, talk to Leia at all?"

     Indira scowls. "No," she grumbles, still feeling very sulky about her falling-out with her aunt.

     It's been a few weeks since Indira has spoken to Leia. She's certain that, between the two of them, Leia isn't the one avoiding confrontation. But Indira has had nothing positive to say to her aunt since their disagreement about Raena Nhagy — the First Order assassin who had infiltrated their base. She was still far too angry about the ordeal to approach the topic in a respectful manner. Thus, the distance between aunt and niece continued to grow wider and wider, leaving them nearly estranged.

     "I still don't get it," Indira confesses, looking to Poe for some sort of answer. "I know that she doesn't have to explain everything that she does, but why would Leia just let Nhagy go?"

     Poe's face darkens. "I don't know," he admits slowly. "Rumor has it that Raena Nhagy ran away from the First Order just after her release from our base — at least, that's the official story that's been circulating through Threepio's spy network."

     "But you don't believe it?" Indira guesses, knowing that something is amiss from his grim expression.

     His lips curl downwards. "I think she's dead," Poe says bluntly. "Ren sent her here to kill General Organa. Obviously, she failed. If she was stupid enough to go back to the First Order and think they would tolerate that level of incompetence, then she probably learned the hard way that they don't accept failure in their ranks."

     "And how do you know so much about the ranks of the First Order?" Indira challenges, wanting to believe for some reason that he's wrong — that Raena Nhagy isn't dead. The thought makes her feel sick, even though she'd once considered killing the assassin herself.

     "I don't know much," Poe concedes. "But Finn does. And so does Captain Nakada. The First Order doesn't tolerate failure or weakness. If Nhagy's not dead, then she's probably imprisoned on a ship wishing that she is." His face grows darker. "Believe me, I've been there, Indira. I know what it's like to be in that situation and it ain't pretty."

      His voice has a hard edge to it that makes both of them grow quiet, noting how the atmosphere has shifted in an instant. Seeming regretful of his confession, Poe scratches his head and clears his throat uncomfortably, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Unsure of what to say, Indira bites her lip in an attempt to chase away her own discomfort.

It doesn't help.

     "Do you want to talk about it?" She finally asks, breaking the painful silence.

They haven't discussed Poe's time as a captive with Kylo Ren — not since his escape all those months ago — and neither of them had been particularly eager to revisit that chapter of history. However, the bantha in the room is too large for Indira to ignore. She has to say something even if he won't.

"We can. I know I never really asked you about it afterwards, but that was only because I didn't want to pressure you into talking if you weren't ready. But, if you want to talk about it now, we can —"

     "No," Poe says sharply, rubbing hand over his unshaven face. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that — it just slipped out. I'm fine, Indira. Just tired."

      She frowns at his unconvincing answer and realizes that maybe he isn't as fine as he wants her to believe. That maybe he hasn't been fine for a long time, but she's been too concerned with herself and her own problems to notice. "Are you sure, Poe?" She asks hesitantly. "It's okay if you're not fine, you know. I'm not going to —"

     "I said I'm fine," he growls, gritting his teeth so he can force the words out. "But I have to go. I'll see you around."

     He leaves in a hurry, leaving Indira behind in stunned silence. He'd never spoken to her like that before — not really — and she hates the empty feeling she has in her chest now that he's gone; like there's a big, gaping hole where her heart should be.

     "Gods," she mutters to no one in particular, pressing her hands to her temples. "Why is everything falling apart?"

      EV-1 makes soft, comforting beeping sounds, but they aren't enough to soothe Indira's troubles. Instead, she focuses on the feeling in her gut that seems to be warning her that things were about to get much, much worse.

     THERE ARE TOO MANY people crowded at the edge of the forest just outside the base on D'Qar. Cramped in a tight semi-circle with hardly any room to breathe, the majority of the Resistance is gathered around a small, empty clearing. There's an air of solemnity to the soldiers, but also a sense of foreboding tension. Something doesn't feel right. Everyone knows it, but no one is willing to say it.

Not now. Not today.

"Han would hate this ceremony," Leia Organa finally says, breaking the silence that has settled over her ranks. All eyes fall on her, casting aside the graves that had been dedicated to the general's late husband and those of the Resistance who had fallen at Starkiller. Small trinkets decorate the soil in place of their missing bodies. "He had no patience for speeches or memorials. Which was to be expected, from a man who was allergic to politics and suspicious of all causes."

Indira looks up from the long strip of wire she had been nervously coiling and uncoiling around her fingers at the sound of her aunt's voice. They still hadn't spoken since their disagreement, but hearing Leia's voice was more comforting than Indira was willing to admit. She'd missed her aunt terribly.

      Something of a silent truce has been drawn between them today. There was no place for petty squabbles at a funeral. When the entirety of the Resistance had gathered outside at Leia's request, Indira had made sure to seek out her aunt's gaze and the two of them shared a moment of understanding with just a single look. Neither of them spoke a word, but they both knew that, if needed, they would be there to support each other.

"I told Han that it was tiresome watching him do the right thing only after he'd exhausted every alternative," Leia continues, the ghost of a smile quirking at the corners of her lips. "But sooner or later, he'd get there. Because Han hated bullies, and injustice, and cruelty — and when he was confronted with them, he could never stand down. Not in his youth on Corellia, not above Yavin, not on Endor, and not at Starkiller base."

Indira swallows thickly, feeling a familiar ache in the back of her throat for the uncle she'd hardly gotten to the chance to know before he'd been killed. Han Solo had lived a good life and fought the good fight. He'd helped defeat one great evil in the galaxy and lived to tell the tale. He was a hero in every sense of the word — one of the best the Rebellion had to offer — yet his story had a tragic ending: death, at the hands of his only son; a vicious boy who hardly hesitated before stabbing his father through the heart.

"Han fancied himself a scoundrel," the general tells the crowd in a tone that almost sounds conspiratorial; as if she is sharing a secret with all of them. Her eyes twinkle as she smiles. "But he wasn't. He loved freedom — for himself, certainly, but for everybody else in the galaxy, too. And time after time, he was willing to fight for that freedom. He didn't want to know the odds in that fight — because he'd already made up his mind that he'd prevail. And time after time, somehow, he did."

But not every time, Indira can't help thinking. Her fingers spasm as she tightens the coil of wire she'd been holding, pulling it taut around the knuckle of her thumb until the metal bites into her skin. It stings, but not enough to make her stop, and she finds that the slight bit of pain is a welcome distraction from her thoughts. We all know how Han's story ends.

      A large hand covers her own, causing her fidgeting to stop as she relaxes her grip on the wire coil. She glances over at the figure next to her and sees that Poe is watching her with a concerned expression; brow furrowed and forehead creased as he closes his hand around hers. They hadn't spoken much either since the pilot had left the hangar in a hurry earlier that afternoon, but his familiar presence is comforting in spite of that.

     Out of reflex, Indira releases the coil and lets the wire fall to the ground with an inaudible thump before Poe twines their fingers together; sweaty palm pressed against sweaty palm as they stand side by side. His thumb traces over the indentation on her knuckle where she'd pulled the wire too tight. She finds it easier to breathe and focus on her aunt's waning speech after that; as if the burden she'd been trying to bear on her shoulders alone was only half as heavy with Poe at her side.

"Han didn't want to know the odds when he and Chewie flew back to the Death Star in time to save my brother Luke — and the last hope for our Alliance," Leia presses on. "He didn't ask about them when he accepted a general's rank for a ground assault at Endor. He didn't want them calculated when he fought for freedom at Kashyyyk. And he refused to think about them when he saw a way to fly through the First Order's shields and infiltrate Starkiller base."

     Despite her bravado, Leia's lower lip begins to tremble and her eyes grow misty. Indira knows then that she must be thinking of her son — of Kylo Ren — who she had once loved dearly before he'd become a monster. Still, the general manages to keep her mask of composure and steels her face back into a calm expression of grief.

     "So many of you have offered me your sympathy, and I thank you for your kindness," the former princess finishes, drawing her speech to a close. "But now I ask for you to focus once again on the cause we all serve. We face long odds in the war to come. The New Republic is leaderless and the First Order is on the march. I can't tell you what our odds are — and I don't want to know them. Because nothing could change my mind about what we have to do now."

     Beside Indira, Poe nods enthusiastically in agreement with the general, intently focused on the words his mentor is speaking; as if she is talking directly to him. When he gets like this, all wide-eyed and wonderstruck, Indira can imagine how he must have looked as a little boy; long before the heavy toll of war had stripped away his youth. She pictures him as a child — all gleaming eyes and mischievous smiles, with a determined set to his brow — deciding that he will become the best pilot the galaxy has ever seen, motivated by his hero-worship for the Rebel fighters that his mother and father told him bedtime stories about.

     The fact that he has managed to hold on to some part of that childlike innocence despite everything he has faced makes her heart ache. Indira hopes that Poe never loses that spark — that he will always keep that light — yet she worries that there is darkness in him that she has yet to uncover. That his carefree nature is nothing more than a facade. She worries that deep down, he too is a victim of this war that is nowhere near over. And, most of all, she is terrified that he will not live to see the end of that fight.

     "We must return to the fight," Leia announces, drawing Indira out of her introspection. A flicker of anger, hidden deep beneath the general's sorrow, colors her tone. "We do so because, like Han, we believe in justice and freedom. And because we will not accept a galaxy ruled by cruelty. We'll fight for those ideals. We'll fight for each other, and the sacred bonds we've forged serving side by side. And we'll fight for all the people in the galaxy who want to fight but can't — who need a champion. They're calling to us, in terror and in grief, and it is our duty to answer that call."

     For the first time since the beginning of her speech, Leia's gaze locks with Indira's. "We all have our own sorrows," she says, nodding towards her niece. "And we will never forget them, or those we have lost. In time, we will honor them more fully and properly. But we must save our sorrow for after the fight. Because right now, we all have work to do."

     A breeze fills the forest again, washing over the small band of fighters. It ruffles their hair and chills the sweat that has gathered on their necks and backs in the humid air. But there's something on the wind that feels like trouble. Indira doesn't understand it yet — she's not sure that she even wants to — but she knows that something is coming. Something big. Something bad.

     All she can do is hope that they will be ready when the time comes — to hope that they are strong enough not to break — even though everything around her seems to be slowly unraveling at the seams.

a/n: disclaimer — the dialogue leia speaks during han's funeral comes from TLJ novelization!

EDITED ON:
03.09.20