Sunlight peels through his vision. The grass is cool and slightly damp beneath his lying form. The scent of herbs wafts from the garden. The air feels slightly humid against his skin as it tousles his hair. It hums with the earliest forms of life to waken.
He hears the soft pitter-patter of small feet against soil. A shadow covers the light. Tiny fingers try to pry his eyes open.
He reaches for those hands, but they move off his face quickly. Bells of laughter fill his ears, and they wash his being in a blanket of warmth.
He peers one eye open.
The first thing he sees are two pairs of hazel eyes, crinkling as their owners giggle. Wide forehead and slim brows for the girl. Thick lashes for both. Straight noses. Square jaws. Proud chin and fuller cheeks for the younger boy. The girl covers her mouth when she meets his eyes.
Small hands pat his cheeks. He directs his gaze at the boy, who gives him a toothy grin.
A curtain of brown hovers over his face.
(He remembers the same gaze from a girl the first time he has set foot in Millennium Falcon. Rey. Rey. Rey.)
The girl drops a kiss on his forehead.
Relief washes him the moment the infamous Wookie has Millennium Falcon escaping the atmosphere of Crait.
Around him, people are rejoicing as they live to see another day. Finn sequesters Rose at the nearest bunk, laying her down and placing a blanket over her injured body. Leia launches herself to the Wookie's arms, the shaking of her shoulders almost hidden by his arm. He smiles and pats the shoulder of one of the mechanics as he receives his hug.
Everything is a whirlwind of chaos and euphoria, and they are dragging him on all sides. He wants to celebrate. He wants to mourn. He needs an anchor.
His eyes scan the crowd for a familiar face when his eyes zeroes on her.
BB-8 is sharing words with the woman, dipping his head to the side and charmingly asking if his antenna is crooked. She pats his droid's head, and shakes her head.
(Something draws him to her, like a compass pointing to true north.)
He takes a step forward.
Master! BB-8 beeps.
She turns her head and catches his eye.
Hazel eyes crinkle as it meets his face. He mirrors it with his own smile, his lips stretching wider than he can remember. Her skin is smooth with a smattering of freckles barely evident as they sprinkle her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.
(He doesn't understand why his heart clenches the longer he stares.)
He swallows, gathering his wits. "I'm Poe." He introduces himself, almost hitting himself for wording his name breathlessly.
"I'm Rey." Her voice is rich and velvety. Poe feels his hands perspiring.
"I know." His enthusiasm is more evident than he expects. He tips his head in embarrassment, then returns his gaze to her.
The thundering of his pulse drowns his ears.
The children pull him to his feet and motion to the direction of his parked X-wing. Someone tugs on the hem of his shirt. The young boy lifts his arms.
He carries him against his hip.
The girl has already climbed up the pilot's seat by the time they reach her. She wears his helmet, her head and face appearing comical beneath the equipment. She makes whooshes and zooooms. The younger boy claps in joy and laughs.
The girl sees them. She waves a hand, which he returns.
(He remembers another girl sitting in the kid's place. Rey. Rey wearing his ridiculously orange flight suit. Rey with the old helmet she salvaged. Rey's smile.
He wonders where she is, but the boy pats his cheek, garnering his attention.)
"Do you want to fly too, darling boy?" He croons, his nose brushing the child's neck. His powdery scent brings him a bit of calm, but something is niggling at the recesses of his mind.
The boy replies with his own whooshes and zooooms.
Poe keeps his distance with great difficulty.
He cannot help but be drawn to her. Living with a large group of people is new to her, and her discomfort is obvious by the way she keeps to herself. She mostly spends time with the General, Finn, and in connection Rose. He tries to reach out as well, staying at the sidelines and attempting to make the transition smoother for her. He urges his squadron and the mechanics to ask for her help, aware of her affinity to fixing just about anything within the base. She mostly talks to Rose, who has gushed endlessly about all the things she plans to do with Rey. (Finn is almost jealous, but the smile in his face whenever his favorite women interact is testament of his happiness for their budding friendship.
Finn sometimes teases him being jealous of Rose, too.)
Just like Finn who is very obvious in his efforts, Poe knows BB-8 is making a way for him and Rey to cross paths. The droid nudges his leg whenever she enters the room. It picks fights with the other droids (Droids are surprisingly hostile when triggered, mind you.), managing to bend its antenna and asking him to come along to visit Friend-Rey. The droid's maintenance check happens early in the morning, when Rey crosses the hangar on her way to her meditation spot.
Poe clonks BB-8's head as soon as he catches up with his resident droid. It barrels towards him forcefully, almost sending him to the floor, before hiding in the Millennium Falcon.
The next day, he shakes the nervousness off. He determinedly walks towards the antique hunk of metal – Finn's words, not his – and looks for Rey.
The Jedi-in-training is lying beneath one of its compartments, tinkering with an overheated component. Beside her, BB-8 sulks, swaying like a child throwing a tantrum.
He can just imagine what is going on with his droid.
Rey places the pliers down as he approaches. Both her and their metal friend watch him approach.
"BB-8 is mad at you," Rey remarks, controlling her laughter. She bites her lip to keep the smile off her face.
"We are both being stubborn, aren't we BB-8?" The droid hides behind Rey's legs. Poe wonders if his droid is aware that it is torturing him.
Poe cannot deny how attractive he finds the young woman. She is a mass of contradictions – strong but soft, wise yet innocent, alone but so full of love to give, sharp planes with gentle curves, a beauty amidst the ugliness of her circumstances. He cannot deny the visceral pull he attempts to assuage by long nights working on his X-wing or reviewing battle plans, but is dampened by the weight of their responsibilities that they strive so hard to actualize. He cannot keep her in a pedestal when she appears so humble, so unassuming, and so real.
"Beebee, come on now. Be a nice droid to your master." Rey pushes
Master doesn't listen. If droids can pout, Poe is sure BB-8 will be.
"Come on, buddy. I'll make it up to you now, I swear." Poe promises, motioning the droid to approach him.
BB-8 tilts its head.
"I assure you, I'm pulling my head off my ass, bud." Poe adds.
BB-8 sways again, as if pondering.
Okay, the bleep signals. Before he can blink, BB-8 has him flat on the floor, an incessant beeping of cheers accompanying its enthusiasm before rushing towards the Falcon. He presumes that R2-D2 will be in the know soon enough. Chewbacca, too.
(He will not be surprised if a murder of porgs finds its way to his chamber.)
"He's quite temperamental. I'm sorry you had take the brunt of his moods," Poe touches his nape, pushing himself off the floor.
Rey laughs, a tinkling of bells echoing the hangar. It is a beautiful sound. "BB-8 is very amusing, actually. Quite assertive for a droid, but very charming. I wonder where Beebee has got it from."
He bites his inner cheek to control the smile threatening to overcome his face.
"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," he replies, shrugging his shoulder with an air of confidence.
"You're incorrigible, Dameron." Rey scoffs teasingly, punching his shoulder. "You and BB-8 both."
(There is that look again. Poe feels his own walls crumbling.)
"But you like us that way, don't you?" He japes, quirking an eyebrow.
(A tug pulls something on his chest.)
Rey steps closer. She smells of desert sun and roaring seas. "More than I want to."
Her next step is tentative. A few fingerbreadths separate them, their breaths coiling together. Poe's eyes rovers on her face and stance. She eyes him, lashes fluttering the planes of her cheeks as her gaze lowers to his lips. She traces his flesh with the tip of her fingers.
"Good," he remarks, throwing caution to wind as he slips a hand to her waist and plants a searing kiss on her lips.
The image vanishes, and Poe tightens his hold on the boy.
The girl appears beside him, her waif form hiding behind his legs.
He hears saltwater ravaging land at a distance. The air is heavy with humidity and a power he cannot explain. A string seemingly wrapped on him pulls him forward. The children huddle closer to his warmth.
They reach a tree he remembers seeing from their backyard. He has heard his parents' stories about the bark of a Force tree that Luke Skywalker bestowed upon them. This tree, however, is larger. Parts of its barks are decaying, but its main trunk almost vibrates with the energy it contains.
The boy squirms from his grip. The girl lets go of his hand. He puts the boy on the ground, and he swiftly follows the girl towards the tree. He inserts himself to the hollow by its belly. Poe reaches forward.
The girl nimbly climbs one of the stronger branches. He calls her back, but his voice is being drowned by the sudden rumble from beneath the ground. She moves to a lower branch, one nearer to the ground. The younger boy moves out of his hiding place, crawling to the trunk nearest to the girl. The girl reaches for the boy's hand.
Hazel eyes gaze back at him. The girl's other hand stretches to his direction.
Against the howling of the wind, he hears the call of the little boy. "Papa."
He passes a bottle of moonshine to the General.
The roundabout journey to throw off their tail of First Order flyers brings them to the remnants of the Starkiller Base. The General has been pensive from the moment they have set course. The tension around her is almost palpable.
Leia Organa has always been beautiful, aging subtly with power cackling underneath her skin. After all, she is twin sister to the legendary Luke Skywalker. She harbors strength within her petite form, and has always carried the weight of their cause in her shoulders.
As her gaze remains in the destroyed planet, Leia Organa wears her grief on her face.
The older woman lips quirk in a smirk before taking a swig.
"I miss my husband," she whispers, her voice quaking. "We spent most of our marriage apart, always heading off to different directions, always bidding each other goodbye, and yet I miss him."
Poe does not understand why the General is telling him these things, but his heart breaks for the woman. She has stood as a mother figure to him from the moment he has embraced the Resistance, and has almost forgotten that she is but one person who has lost everything and is still fighting.
But her spark has begun diminishing, Poe has noticed. The spark is still in her eyes, but it has slowly been dimmed by her sorrows.
"Admiral Dameron has a nice ring to it, hasn't it?" She takes a swig, giving him a sideway glance. "Rey Dameron too."
He cannot control the laugh that bubbles from his lips at the no-nonsense act of his direct superior. His fingers brush his curly mane, smiling sardonically. "I'm a reckless, trigger-happy pilot who managed to lose our bomber ships singlehandedly and who almost sabotaged your orders by getting this batshit idea of going behind enemy lines. Rey managed to mend that with Chewbacca and a handful of feathery animals to boot."
He has not expected the knuckles of the General hitting the back of his head. He looks at her in disbelief.
"Are you through deprecating yourself?" The General bites back, daring him to admonish himself more.
He closes his eyes, remembering the screams of his fallen comrades. He remembers the humble grave of his mother in Yavin IV, between the garage that holds her rusting A-wing and the Force Tree she and his father has grown. Shame reverberates within him; he cannot not hate himself.
"We are the spark that will light the fire that will burn the First Order down. Isn't that what you said?" She retorts, facing him.
"Maybe I've lit the one under our asses. Maybe I will burn us down."
The General gives him a look that pins him to his seat. She has the same look as her brother, and the same look as another man whose memory unsettles him to the core. Her regard, however, is not crippling.
"You are a good man, Poe. You are full of light. You are every inch a leader of this ragtag fleet."
Tears blur his vision as Leia's conviction pierces through his self-doubt.
"Your failures won't make you any less of the man you've always been, so don't go running."
Poe nods, wiping the tears he unknowingly shed.
(Leia doesn't tell him that she sometimes reminds him of Han, and that she doesn't want his grievances to chase him away.
He shouldn't chase Rey away.)
Leia ruffles his messy hair, and Poe is reminded of his mother's hand toying with his locks as he perches himself on her thighs as they fly on an A-wing.
Leia Organa would have made a good mother.
Downpour blurs his vision.
He stands frozen at the foot of another Force tree. The young boy's call (Papa! Papa!) echoes louder. His head throbs, yet he urges himself to wade through his memory.
He is a father?
He follows the sound of their squeals as the downpour intensifies. They open the door of a familiar house – his childhood home – and leaves the door open for him. The girl stands by it, waiting for him to cross the threshold. She peers at him curiously, as if surprised by his own bafflement. From inside, he hears the cheerful calling of the young boy (His son, he cannot believe it.)
"Cassie, come now. Let your father in," a seemingly familiar voice beckons. His memory is warped by time, but he is certain that he knows the companion of the children.
His daughter?
(He once imagined Rey whispering "I'm pregnant" in the quiet of their room in the dead of night. He wonders if it is just part of his dreams, or if dreams keep on stealing him away from reality.)
He looks at the girl once more. The young boy turns his face to him before disappearing to the kitchen, where another person waits. Their features are telling of who their parents are.
"Rey?" He calls, eyes shifting back and forth as he enters the house.
"Mama is not here," the girl – Cassie – declares, a pout on her lips.
Rey. Rey is their mother. Mother of his children. He notes the absence of the necklace that used to hold his mother's own ring. A flash of dawn steals his vision, of him letting the sliver of metal slide to her open hands. The ring is cold to touch as he places it on her left hand.
He falls to his knees, clutching Cassie's shoulders. "Why is your mother not here? Where is she?"
Cassie covers his cheeks with her small hands. She shakes her head, fear reflecting in her eyes. She pats his left chest, and sharp pain follows the trail made by her fingers. He loses his grip on the girl, falling on his back on the hardwood floor. The smell of burnt flesh nauseates him. His lungs struggle with every breath. He coughs, the metal taste of blood filling his mouth.
"Papa!" Cassie yells, keeping her hands on his body. Poe looks down, his eyes widening at the growing stain of red on his shirt and his daughter's hand. He covers them with his own just as another bout of coughing ensues.
He hears a gasp just as the other person in the house kneels beside his daughter. His son crawls to his side, positioning himself by his shoulder. A smile graces his lips, but the child doesn't return the expression. Instead, his son rests his hand over his heart.
Slender fingers rake on his curly mane languidly, and the person motions closer just enough for him to recognize her.
He mouths, "Mom?" before he is pulled to darkness.
Poe throws his helmet on his seat at his X-Wing before storming to the makeshift gym. He cannot even bear to look at his injured squadron as they are wheeled towards the medical bay. He refuses the help of the other pilots, even shunning BB-8. They do not deserve to get a taste of his wrath.
He binds his hands quicker than he usually would have. Anger is the fuel in his blood as it steadily hums through his veins. He feels sinew coiling in anger, vibrating with the first few punches. He imagines the Supreme Commander – Kylo Ren, as he fashioned for himself – standing before him, his scarred face sneering as he directs his fleet to put his squadron down. He imagines punching his scarred face, beating it to a pulp like a savage avenger.
His punches bite on the material of the bag.
His fury consumes him for reasons unfathomable. Their previous travels have been close calls, and his frustrations are piling up. His muscles and bones groan with tiredness and bruises, but he doesn't care. If his rage were fire—
A different sort of fire burns him. He catches the punching bag just in time as it swings.
Rey meets his eyes with an intensity that rivals his, and the all-consuming fire that sings in his veins transform to a coiling in his navel. Anger clouds his judgment and overtakes his rationale, and the woman striding towards him has the ability to fuel it and assuage it at the same time.
She reaches for his wrists.
The overwhelming wrath within him hits a wall, and tears blur his vision because his emotions are on a haywire and all he wants is not to break for them.
Rey guides him as he slants his lips, touching hers.
Don't go running, he remembers the General's words.
Her kiss is both the balm and the spark.
He almost drags them to his room, sparing other of his lust as he ravishes the woman in his arms.
He traps her by the door, his hands encasing hers as their bodies caress against the wetness of his clothes. Without hesitation, Rey wraps herself within him, her strong legs anchoring her to his hips. He returns the favor, sucking on the soft patch of skin exposed as she rests her head against the metal door.
He carries her to the fresher, wanting to remove the slickness of sweat on his skin. It reminds him of their brush with death, making him feel ill. He wants cold water to rinse his skin, like how soft lips prepare his body for taking.
Nimble fingers trail on his hips as his shirt and bottoms are lifted off his person. Her pupils dilate as she takes the expanse of skin before her. His cock springs in attention. She kneels, her mouth velvety on him, and stars fill his vision. He groans as she bobs her head, muscles tightening against his manhood. He calls her name again and again breathlessly as a shiver runs down his spine, his seed spilling down her throat. She laps him all, and the growl from deep his chest threatens to come.
He slides a hand on her shoulder, garnering her attention. He thumbs his stain on the corner of her lip, amused by the hint of messiness that is natural to Rey.
Poe is a predator as lunges at her, almost ripping her shirt. Hungry lips feed on smooth, tanned skin. He praises her body from her face, the junction of her neck, her chest and breast, down the sloping valley of her abdomen to the tuft that guards her clit.
He lifts her to in his arms as she removes her underthings. Walking backward, he feels for the divider separating his shower as she comes to him. She touches her sex on his thigh as she inserts a leg between his strong legs, and he returns the favor by continually ravishing her. He sucks on her breast like a hungry babe. He grazes his teeth on her most sensitive spots. Her nipples perk, and he licks them like a thirsty man.
He lifts her against the wall, managing to turn the knob for the shower. She is a goddess incarnate with her wet body. Poe enters her folds, warm silk enveloping iron. He pumps on her as he guides her hips into letting her spiral on his cock. She lets him lead, hitting her in different angles that sends her moaning his name. She tightens the grip of her legs on his waist, just as her folds tighten their hold on him, leaving him groaning his praises.
They come, almost at the same time, letting pain and pleasure flood their war-bred bodies.
Her head drops on his shoulder for a moment.
She pulls back, staring at him. Her eyes remind him of the foliage of his hometown.
He kisses her gently.
The first thing he notices are the small bodies anchoring him in bed.
Warm lips brush the back of his calloused hand.
"My dear boy."
Shara Bey hasn't aged a day from the time Poe saw her last. She basks in healthy glow, and he almost tears. His eyes, his hair, his coloring – they are all hers.
She hasn't stopped touching his face since he has woken. "Let me look at you just for it a bit longer," she adds.
His arms itch to hug her, the way he used to engulf her waist in his childhood. He wants to bury his face on her hair, the scent of oil and herbs dancing with her curls whenever she brings him to the sky. He wants the feel of worn leather and soft cotton from the clothes she used to wear.
"Why are you here, Mom?" His voice shakes with emotion.
"Because I am watching over you. You've been so brave." Her hands leave his skin, and he almost envies the children by his arms as she brushes the hair off their faces. "And I am watching over them. Beautiful children, aren't they?"
"They told me they're mine," he cannot hide the disbelief in his voice. "How…there's a war. We're fighting a war, and I can't remember. Why am I in Yavin IV, Mom? Why can't I remember? Cassie told me there is Rey. Why isn't she here? I gave her your ring, and she isn't here."
The swelling on his chest is panic, and it feeds his fire. His mother remains tight-lipped. He tries to move, but pain pierces his left side. Cassie mutters against his arm. His shirt is missing, and fresh skin covers the site of injury. He remembers how his ribs broke, how drowning feels with blood filling his lungs. He recalls the heat against his skin, how his bones tremble, how he wants to scream but has no energy left.
(Death has him in his claws.)
"They patched you up well," his mother loosens the hold of the children on him. He sits slowly, but a wave of dizziness still follows.
"Who—"
"Them," Shara motions to the sleeping forms of the children. "No wonder they are exhausted."
Cassie has buried her face on the former spot of his head, and his heart aches as her riot of curls cover her features. (Rey buries herself on his sheets too.) The boy's face scrunches in the absence of his warmth. Poe takes him to his arms. The boy rests against his chest, his ear against his heart.
"Leo has always been a worrier." Her mother remarks, smoothing the creases on his little man's forehead. "The Force must be telling him something."
The idea of Jedis in his family fascinates and scares him.
"And Cassie?"
"The healer." His mother's eyes glint at the surprise in his face. "But they like fixing things. Takes after their mother, I guess. You prefer blowing things up."
Regret fills him unknowingly. He remembers the dreadnought, the ambush, the last night he spent with Rey.
"This is one of the many I did," he walks towards the window, admiring the Force tree on his backyard. It stands intimidatingly against the setting of the sun.
(He feels a tug, followed by a warmth that overflows. He craves it. He wants his soul to mold with it.)
"It isn't." His mother stands by his side. "She's waiting for you, and you have to be there for her…for them."
He bites his lip, the way that he would have in the face of uncertainty.
Movement from the bed urges him and his mother to direct their gaze at the waking child. Cassie rises in alertness and climbs down the bed fluidly. She walks to him and gives his hand a tug.
(The tug he feels is stronger, and he catches on its familiarity.)
As if hearing his thoughts, Cassie gives him a smile.
"Let's go, Papa."
His eyes shift to the boy in his arms.
"He will come soon enough," the glint of amusement in his mother's eyes is unmistakable. His daughter laughs as his cheek reddens.
He passes the boy to his mother's waiting arms. Cassie pulls him towards the door.
He gives his mother one last look. "I love you," she mouths.
"I love you too."
He shuts the door close.
The smell of smoke and the touch of heat burns through his nostrils. His X-wing has landed somewhere, and he is unsure of the degree of fixing it will require to have it running again. Or if he will get the chance to. He remembers hollering at BB-8 to watch his back as he directs the blaster to the nearest enemy, huffing as every step rattles his ribs. He loses BB-8 as he chases after stormtroopers.
He recalls a man in black robes – Kylo Ren, he recognizes, a fiery red saber clutched on his side as he felled one of his Poe's comrades. He presses on the blaster, but the man diverts his hit. Their eyes meet, and an invisible force suspends him mid-air. He struggles, and the grip tightens on his chest. The crunch of his bone breaking is sickening to hear, but he would rather bite his lip than giving the bastard the satisfaction of seeing him in pain.
Then her voice. She calls Kylo Ren by another name – Ben. He hears a confession and the rejection that follows. Gravity pulls him, leading him to a hand that clutches him by the collar. It rattles his broken body, magnifying the pain he is experiencing. His head is left spinning by the movement, threatening to overturn his stomach. The metallic taste of blood is sharp on his tongue.
He sees the conflict in Rey's eyes. She is not a soldier, and they have no time. He has to decide for them.
(A small nudge touches the edges of his consciousness. Warmth floods him, building his resolve.)
"Don't save me, Rey," he almost chokes on his words. He hopes she hears the apology he wants to convey. (Apology for standing his ground and deciding for her, for not knowing if they will have more time –)
Rey bites the sob bubbling from her chest, shaking her head as she brandishes her lightsaber.
She closes the distance between them as she pulls him through the Force, her saber directed to the man's chest. He knows she will hit bullseye.
The heat reaches him still.
His innards are melting and congealing as the saber cuts through skin and sinew like air. The pain blinds him.
In a flash, the red of the saber disappears.
His legs balks beneath him. Rey swiftly turns, catching him in her strong, slender arms with his head cradled against her bosom.
The sound of her heartbeat lulls him to nothingness.
Sterile air fills his lungs from the cannula looping his face.
The sleep in his eyes wears off slowly, adjusting to the dim light of the room. His blanket is soft against his skin. The bed is softer too, more comfortable than he expected. Pillows have elevated him from a lying position. The beeping of the monitoring machine coincides with his heartbeat. Poe heaves a sigh of relief.
A movement on his right side distracts him.
Rey is looking up at him from her folded arms. Red-rimmed hazel eyes mirror sadness, and it crashes on him in waves. A tear trickles down her temple, and his thumb wipes it away. She catches his hand, sitting up and keeping his palm against her cheek. A soft sob escapes her lips.
She breaks her silence. "This is just another dream, isn't it?"
He tries to tell her no, but finds no words at his disposal. Instead, he glides warm hands down her neck to the curve of her shoulders, beckoning her to sit closer. She transfers to his bed, fitting herself in the narrow space. His own tears sting his eyes as he takes her image in, his sleep shirt hanging loosely on her frame. He is certain there is a bump, albeit indiscernible. His hand touches the side of her belly, flattening his palm as it follows the curve to her middle.
Her face freezes in realization.
(A tug follows.)
"Oh Force," Rey cries. She lifts his hand, placing a kiss on his knuckles, his open palm. She holds it against her chest as relief overcomes her, tears coming like a broken dam.
His muscles protest as he moves, pulling her against him. His left side throbs, but his arms still reach to hold the lean form of his lover. He hears her mumbling, "You came back," and his own relief washes them both. He kisses her forehead, burying his nose to her hair.
There will be no abandoning her…abandoning them. He will never let the fight leave him come hell or high water.
(The tug comes again, then the warmth. Poe opens his arms, embracing them both.)
May the days stay sweet
May your steady heartbeat
Be the good in me
The good in me
(The Loved Ones – Sander Bolhke)