It is, of course, a trap. They find far fewer enemy fighters than expected, and no sign at all of the First Order supply ship they'd been sent to intercept before it lands on Pelagros. As soon as the last TIE fighter explodes in a bright supernova of spacedust, Poe directs his squadrons to return to the base. As usual, Red Squadron is the first to make the jump to hyperspace, followed closely by Blue Squadron, followed in turn by Poe. Both of his squadrons are therefore already in the commlink silence of hyperspace when the explosion echoes through mission control. "Black Leader? Black Leader!" Admiral Ackbar shouts. "Black Leader, do you copy?"
Silence. Far worse than the buzzing crackle of an open commlink when no one is speaking, worse still than the muted hum of a commlink whose owner is currently in hyperspace: the complete silence of a commlink that no longer exists. A horrified stillness spreads through the control center. "Poe," Leia whispers. "No. Oh, no, Poe."
Red Squadron bursts through the atmosphere at that point. They settle in for a quick landing, touching down in a roar of exhaust with Blue Squadron on their heels. The pilots tumble out of their cockpits, shouting to each other. "What happened to Poe?" Jess yells to Snap over the din. "He didn't respond when we got out of hyper. Is he here?"
"For the last time, I don't know!" Snap shouts back. Face gray with tension, Finn echoes Snap's answer when Pava asks him.
The ground officers are already out on the landing bay. The pilots converge on them in a rush, clamoring to know what had happened to Poe.
The officers' faces tell them the answer.
"No," Jess whispers. "What? How is that even possible? We got them all, the site was clear, there were no hostiles left!"
"They must have come out of hyper right as Blue went into it. He hadn't even finished announcing his jump." Ackbar looks around at their stricken faces. "I'm so sorry to bring you this news."
"We will hold a memorial service at dawn." Leia's eyes are empty.
Finn falls to his knees on the tarmac.
Snap, now promoted to Commander Snap, activates Black One's trackers. He finds the ship at the bottom of a new crater on Pelagros. Crumpled doesn't even begin to describe the cockpit— the back of the seat is flush with the tip of the nose. Heat has welded the layers together. If there was a body inside, it's long since been cremated. The ejector seat is disabled; there would have been no chance of escape. The trackers on Poe's dogtags emit a faint but clear signal from inside the cockpit. Snap hides his face in his hands, presses his forehead to the side of his friend's former ship, and allows himself one moment of keening grief.
It's only by chance that he finds BB-8's broken exterior, flung far from the crash site. Snap brings the droid back to the base on his lap. There's not really room for the two of them in his cramped X-wing cockpit, but there's no way he's leaving Poe's beloved astro behind.
They place the battered droid in front of Poe's memorial. It's possible that with some tinkering, someone could revive the unresponsive unit, but no one would dream of touching the little astro without Poe's permission. And anyway, what would BB-8 be without Poe? Finn drapes its body with a ring of flowers. After the memorial service, he sits before Poe's shrine and bows his head. His eyes burn. He cannot cry.
Grief is not kind to Finn. He sleeps outside, most nights, unable to face their empty bunk. He visits the room only in the dark hours of the night, when sleep evades him, to talk to Poe's holo glimmering above the small shrine he built on their desk. He knows that he does not want to die, but he's not quite sure what he's living for now. Rey tries to talk him out of it, but her flickering blue holotransmission is no match for a warm hug. And even her warm hug would not be enough if he still has to live the rest of his life without a heartfelt kiss, a loving whisper, a mischievous smile, an encouraging shout. Dark hooded eyes, muscles and scars, laughing eyes, love. Poe.
He doesn't really hope for a rescue— at least, not in his rational mind. Commander or no, he is still only one fighter. And they must think him dead. He still can't believe the speed of those TIEs, coming out of hyper to blast him before he could make the jump. Carefully controlled blasts, aiming to disable but not destroy his ship, or its occupant. Black One… He spares a moment of grief for his beloved ship, yet again. He can grieve for the ship. For BB-8.
He can't grieve for Finn. Finn is alive, out there. Somewhere. He must be. Poe closes his eyes and dreams of Finn, warm hands, broad chest, laughing eyes. Dreams of Yavin, of Black One, of cool dark space and gleaming stars, of a Resistance rescue, of getting his hands on a blaster and taking out as many Stormtroopers as he can on his way down in one last glorious firestorm of death.
What are they keeping him for? They haven't even asked him any questions. Kylo is not here. It's been a month— he thinks? He can't really remember. He stopped trying to talk the Stormtrooper guards into freeing him or escaping with him after the third week. They do not even respond to him when he talks. It's a good thing he practiced so long with the handcuffs. They don't even bother him now— compared to the rest of this nightmare, a single pair of shackles doesn't even rate.
He paces. He thinks. He paces. He shouts. Nothing changes. This cell, this cell, four walls, dim lights, four guards, dark blast doors, excruciating headaches, locked shackles on his wrists, this cell. Helmets, armors, always helmets and armor and masks. He's starting to forget what real human faces look like.
He's forgetting a lot of things, honestly. He has no memory of ever shaving, showering, even seeing a fresher, but his chin remains clean-shaven. He wakes up in strange positions with sore muscles, random bruises, unexpected blisters. For a week now it's always been the same set of blisters on his fingers, slowly wearing down into a new pattern of calluses. But he can't touch anything when he's shackled in the cell. How did he get those blisters? What are they doing to him? What is he forgetting?
It's another week later (he thinks) when he finally realizes it. He's closed his eyes, pretending he's back in the holosim, taking out his own record on the canyon run. He makes it in Black One, no problem— ok, so it's in his own head, but still, it ought to count for something— decides to switch to other ships to shake things up. Millennium Falcon— wow, does she handle well. A bit tricky to navigate without a copilot, but the flying's nothing fancy, really, no need for shields on a simple reflex test like the canyon. A-wing, B-wing, Y-wing, landskiff, Lambda, Upsilon, TIE—
His fingers freeze on the imaginary controls.
Slowly he opens his eyes. Looks at the new calluses on his fingers.
And screams.
