[ audio / image ] un: wingingit

[volitaunt]

[ It starts with a blank screen and cheerful booping that anyone who has met BB-8 will recognize, with muffled conversation in the background.

BB-8 is working on something. The screen flickers from blackness to brief color, goes dark again, then abruptly displays the following image: ]



[ Yes, it is Poe Dameron, standing nobly above a motif of X-wings, over the word "RESISTANCE" and below the words "WATCHING OVER THE SKIES AND STARS."

The background conversation stops. Poe's voice comes through clearly: ] Bee, what are you--BB-8, take that down right now.

[ Annnnnd the image vanishes. ]

Comments

[volitaunt]

[ ...That's probably the biggest compliment Poe has ever received in his life, and he has no idea what to do with it. For a second, he feels the sharp prick of grateful tears threatening and clears his throat to banish the feeling.

It's the closest anyone has ever come to saying You remind me of your father.

He has to clear his throat again before he trusts himself to speak clearly. ]

Of course I do.

[bythehand]

[ Good. Good, he got his point across, at least. There's something to be said for gesturing vaguely and trying very hard. Finn watches Poe for a few seconds, searching, and seems satisfied with what he finds. ]

Okay.

[ That's good, too. He hesitates. Realizes for the millionth time in his life that he has no idea what he's doing or what he's supposed to say, which was at least partially what Poe was talking about him doing.

There are a lot of things he could say. That he's pretty sure real people don't have to think about being people. That real people don't feel like the galaxy is yawning open around them, expanding out to every side with more people, people who don't think about having to be people, so sudden that it feels like drowning.

That there's so much, sometimes, he almost wishes for a metal corridor just to orient himself.

There are too many things he could say.

Finn swallows. ]

I'm not good at saying things. I'm not used to having people I can afford to say things to.

[ Words will falter on the way to his mouth. He'll shut them down without a second thought, file them off as liabilities. Risks he can't take. Sometimes all it takes is one word out of line-- but that's the whole problem, now. Different lines. ]

And that's on me. Not you or Rey. I'm just. [ Finn thinks he doesn't want to sound like he's making excuses. It's not someone else's fault. He doesn't want to say he's broken, or there's something wrong with him. Instead, he huffs. ]

I might be worse at working on it than I am at doing it.

[volitaunt]

[ It's on the First Order, Poe thinks, but he keeps that thought to himself. Instead he just throws an arm around Finn's shoulders and draws him further into the room. ]

You've got time to practice here, y'know. Time to figure things out. [ Grudgingly, because he hates to admit there's any benefit to being trapped here, he goes on: ] It's one small moon, with one small city's worth of people. Good place to train yourself for when we go back.

[ A light squeeze. ] You can say anything to me, Finn. You can yell, you can... be frustrated, you can be scared. You can not know what you are. All right? There's never gonna be a reason you can't talk to me. Even if you don't mean to.

[bythehand]

[ People training. Maybe he'll just listen to Cassian and try things like "ask if they're okay first to control the conversation" or "jogging" instead.

Poe's seen him at about the worst his worst has gotten here already. He's seen him scared, and it always ties back to being scared; he's stood on the other end of stubborn, frustrated arguing. It's like dropping a stone into water-- there are ripples, maybe. The water is still there when they stop. On evidence alone, it's not like Finn thinks Poe's lying.

You can not know what you are.

He knew for twenty-three years. In the past couple of months, all he's figured out is what he's not. But it's good to hear it. Like a tether he can grab when he needs to. And at some point, surely, he'll need it. Back home, everything happened so fast: there was always something that needed focusing on. Here, there's been nothing but time to stop and have to think.

So, Finn thinks. He swallows. ]

I was always one of the best cadets in my cadre. Top performer. Give me something new, I'd pick it up. And I'd learn it fast. [ Finn offers this with the surety of any old-known fact, with nothing more than an idle tip of his head. One of those things that instructors made clear over time.

He flexes his jaw, hesitant. Doesn't turn to look at Poe. ]

I don't like... needing time. To figure something out. I don't like having to think so much about what I am and how to do it right.

[ It's less that all Poe's words, the gifts and the tethers he gives without even realizing it, don't get through. More that he doesn't know how to force things out. Even when he wants to. Even saying what he's said now feels like he's stepped wrong, for all its measured caution.

He can get better at that, maybe. Maybe, if he tries. ]

[volitaunt]

I started flying when I was three. I don't think I've mentioned that.

[ Poe gives Finn another little squeeze around the shoulders before he lets go, moving further into the room, putting on a kettle to boil. It's his father's action. Welcome someone in, make them something to drink. Cook for them, if they're staying long enough, but that doesn't fit this conversation. This is Finn's space, too. There's no reason to invite him into it with a meal when it already belongs to him.

There aren't any Yavini teas here but Poe still has several he's found that aren't too bad. He's noticed that Finn doesn't like sweets, not nearly as much as Rey at least, so he picks something minty instead. ]

I've been flying so long it's instinct. I just know. I know how the ship should feel, I know the angles I need, I know the math, I know.

[ He finishes preparing their cups and turns around to lean against the counter, facing Finn. ] Just knowing is great, but it doesn't do much for anyone else. After I made captain, I took a year of classes learning how to teach. Three years to work my way into being even decent at it, that's with the classes. Four more years to get really good. The Resistance has given me a lot of practice. A lot.

[ He crosses his arms. ] The point is, you can be good at something all your life, you can be the best, but there's going to come a point when you face something you can't just pick up. It won't just come easy. It'll take work, and that it needs work will feel like failure, but it's not. The stuff that takes work to learn is probably some of the most important you'll ever face. In this case, I know it is.

[ A small, small smile, one that's barely there then gone. ] I know this was never a priority before, but be kind to yourself, Finn. In this classroom, most of the galaxy has a leg up on you. You're doing amazing already.

meanwhile in Softer Emotions

[bythehand]

[ There are times when he thinks he's settling into this trend. Or, well, maybe not settled exactly. It's more that there are times when he thinks he's maybe finally getting used to Poe being Poe about everything. To the inherent humanity of the things that unfold around him, and all the concessions that he makes like they're just a given. The fact that he keeps giving without even half a thought of getting something back for it someday.

Once in a rare while, Finn will steel himself and he'll think, no, that's it, I think I'm used to that.

Then inevitably, something like this will happen and remind him that he's not used to it yet at all. It's uncalled for, honestly, he's already long been aware that he'd take a bullet for his friend, there's no need for life to keep throwing proof his way.

This is firm advice. It's kind, it's backed by experience that Poe didn't even have to share, he just chose to. It's perfectly sound and it makes sense and Finn listens, he does listen, he absorbs it. The tension in excess of what he usually carries starts draining out, a bit at a time.

The gesture of what Poe tells him in itself, he doesn't know what to do with. He just kind of looks at him, probably doing the emotional equivalent of eyeballing the paths in one of those mazes on the backs of cereal boxes, then: ]

Poe Dameron, I almost like it better when you don't make sense.

[ But you admit that he maybe does in fact make sense right now, since you can't come up with an argument against any of it. Point, match, Poe. ]

[volitaunt]

[ Poe sees Finn start to relax, and something in him unknots as well. He's getting good at tracking Finn's moods, sensing his levels of tension, seeing when they get too high. There are times, Poe's noticed, where saying or doing the right thing bleeds off some of that nervous energy like a ship's vent opening up, heat washing free. Can't fly well with your engine burning up.

Then Finn says that and Poe grins. ]

Don't worry. I don't make sense that often.

[bythehand]

[ Okay, good. Makes it easier to grin back. ]

I already knew that.