"You're in love with an Icarus.
He has flown too close to the sun."
She did not leave Bonadan for this. Of course, technically, she did leave Bonadan for this. It did not take much for The Resistance to call to her, and when they did, she answered without delay. After all, the planet she called home her entire life offered her less than nothing.
Slavery is an ugly thing. And Astrid Bast lived under its cold stare her entire life.
Bonadan, under First Order control, was a planet of slaves, and Astrid was no different. She cannot remember when a still-faced droid branded the scanner code onto her breast, all she knows is that every time she looks in the mirror, she can see the angry red marks and feel the ghostly sting of burning flesh. She can remember the acrid, destroyed planet surface and the corrosive heat that sank through the very walls of her sweatshop. Her days were spent beneath a sewing machine, performing the complicated stitches that droid's metallic fingers could not manage, and the few hours she was given every night to sleep- no less than three- were spent dreaming of a day when she would see the Stars with her own eyes, without the barrier of electrified bars ruining her view of them.
The tale of her escape became the stuff of legend, and the details became mixed and fuzzy, though a few staples (the few bits of truth) remained: the Resistance officer who snuck undercover to tell the slaves of possible liberation, the slave who ratted her out, turning the other slaves against her, and Astrid and the officer's wild but successful attempt to run away with The First Order hot on their heels. The once slave would never return to hear the often exaggerated but no less delightful tales of her own exploits, but some nights, she lies awake in her own bed, remembering the look on her foreman's face when she and Officer Talel were hoisted into the Resistance fighter.
She remembers the first time she saw the stars with her own eyes, remembers the first thought that popped into her head when the blazing candles of light broke the blackness of space: There are as many stars in the sky as there are chances for me to be something special. The thought was so beautiful, so innocent, that she could not help the tears that fell down her cheeks.
The Resistance welcomed her with open arms, and though Officer Talel's mission was technically a failure- after all, she was meant to liberate all of the slaves, not just one lowly seamstress- Astrid became a curiosity on base, a celebrity in her own right as aliens of all species asked her flurries of questions about The First Order.
Everyday, she began her morning with a prayer of thanks. Immeasurable thanks for freedom.
But if she had known that she would be sequestered in the Quartermaster's office night and day, sewing buttons and repairing flight suits, she would have just stayed in the sweatshop back home. At least there she didn't have to smell the stench of Star Pilot sweat. No matter how grateful she is to be away from the stare of the foreman and the wills of The First Order, she cannot help the itch of impatience that runs through her blood. She did not leave Bonadan to do nothing. She joined the Resistance to do something. Anything. Well, anything but laundry and stitching.
Spending her days in the laundry isn't awful. It certainly isn't a sweatshop. But, still, she feels dissatisfied, spends her days with autopilot hands and a wandering mind. While her fingers operate with thread and washing powder, her imagination takes her to the front lines, painting portraits of herself as a great infantry woman, a brilliant military mastermind, a rousing speech maker.
The Resistance might have saved her, but it is her daydreams that sustain her.
Her days are, also, made brighter still when he appears. All of The Resistance is- to some extent- polite. They treat her with dignity, with respect, when they come to the laundry window with bags of clothes or articles for altering. Astrid is treated to smiles and thanks, to small talk and pleasantries.
When Poe Dameron comes by, though? She feels special. For a while, she convinced herself that he was inventing reasons to see her, but eventually dismissed it. Anyone could lose a button, break a zipper, rip a sleeve, need a shirt pressed and the sole of a shoe fixed in one week, couldn't they? After all, what would he, the famous pilot, want with her, the escaped slave with no past?
"Astrid!" He greets her one morning.
Her name. Can anyone ever measure the value of a name? An identity? Any time she hears those two little syllables from him, an avalanche of feeling fills her chest. Not just because it's Poe saying it, no, he does not have quite that effect on her, but because for so long she was nothing but the brand on her chest. When he says her name, she remembers why she fought for her freedom. To have an identity.
"'Morning, Poe," she replies, unable to stop the contagious smile that he wears from affecting her, "Flying out this morning?"
Him flying out means that she will not see him for at least another day; she tries to hide her disappointment, masking it instead with feigned excitement for him.
"Yeah. Jakku," he says, ever modest about his missions. Well, modest or following secrecy protocol, Astrid thinks. Poe looks over the laundry counter, searching for something at Astrid's feet, "How's that droid of yours?"
Ah, the droid. When Astrid arrived on base, she had... A hard time adjusting. After a lifetime of slavery, the taste of free air often disturbed and confused her. What did they mean she could just have as much food as she wanted? They were just going to give her clothes? She could walk anywhere she wanted on base? Free life bewildered her.
More than that, though, she found it hard to be alone. Every machine groan and airlock hiss made her jump, her mind conjuring up dark fantasies of torture and pain at every sound. In an attempt to guide her new life, to assimilate her to freedom, Officer Talel gave her a gift: the small orange and white droid that helped fly the plane that saved Astrid from Bonadan.
It was a happy ending for them both, truth be told. The flight was to be BB-8's last mission- the droid was to be retired and dismantled after being deemed too wily and quirky for active combat- and Astrid needed a companion. From then on, the droid was not ever more than an arm's length away.
Astrid looks down at BB-8, who returns her gaze with his one large eye.
"Good. Will be happier when we aren't stuck back here."
BB-8 chirps confusion. He doesn't mind working in the laundry. Astrid shoots him a sidelong glare; she is trying to drop hints, hints that perhaps her friend will mention to General Organa. BB-8 whistles in confirmation. Assessing her, Poe's gaze focuses in on the face of the woman before him.
"Really? I thought you liked the laundry."
She turns away and walks into the labyrinth of clothing racks and machines to retrieve the flight suit she handled with extra care the night before, trying not to let his words sting. Walking through the aisles of fabric stacks, searching, she shrugs. Is that why she can't get promoted out of the laundry? People think she likes it here?
"I don't mind it," she says with a resigned sigh, "I'm good at it."
Of course she's good at it. She was not allowed to do anything else her entire life. Perhaps that is the real reason she wants to be out. Perhaps leaving the laundry would make her finally feel free of her past.
"What would you want to do? If you weren't here?" He calls; she can almost hear the smile on his face.
That's the thing that sets Poe apart, and that's why she talks to him more than anyone else on base. He doesn't ask because it's polite. He asks because he wants to know. It doesn't take long for Astrid to flip through the pages of her mind for her most vivid daydream.
"Infantry," she replies, almost thoughtlessly as she pulls his flight suit off of the rack.
Force, how she would love to shoot out line after line of Storm Troopers. She knows they couldn't all be held responsible for her life enslaved, but she just doesn't care. After a moment of considerable silence, a thoughtful peace, Poe replies.
"I can see that," he says, "You'd be good at it."
Astrid's lips curl into a quiet, secret smile as she hugs the flight suit to her chest, happy that he cannot see her through the shelves and clothing racks between them. Warmth spreads in her chest, a small flame inside her that is fanned by his words; the best pilot in the galaxy believes in her. BB-8 clucks at her, clearly catching her in the moment of hidden joy.
"Oh, hush," she scolds, looking down at the small figure.
BB-8 chirps once: "Whatever you say". Get it together, Astrid commands herself before coughing away her smile and walking back to Poe, the droid tagging along at her heels. Laying the suit down on her counter, she braves a look in those warm, dark eyes.
"Your lucky suit," she says with a sigh.
Poe's lips quirk upward in a half-smile, raising an eyebrow.
"Extra lucky?" He questions, a joking lilt to his tone.
In her entire life, Astrid can think of only a handful of times when she made a true, honest joke. So, perhaps, she is not as practiced as Poe, perhaps she is not as polished. But, unable to help herself, she tries as best as she can.
"Couldn't send you out there without extra luck."
She winces as soon as the words come out, knowing how stupid she must sound to him. Then, to her immense surprise, the pilot laughs. He takes the flight suit from her, throwing it over his shoulder.
"Thanks," he says, but does not move.
Instead, he looks down at his hand, currently resting on her counter, as if it holds the secrets to the galaxy. Eyebrows furrowing, he seems lost in thought, caught in the recesses of his own mind.
"Anything else I can do for you?" Astrid prompts.
At first, Poe shakes his head, a weak, supposedly reassuring wince on his face as he tries to turn away. He gets almost three whole steps away from her before turning back around.
"You know, I feel..."
Again, he trails off.
"What?" Astrid asks.
A deep breath fills his lungs, as if he's about to make some grand confession. Astrid could not imagine why she of all people would be someone in which he would want to confide; all she knows is that she's leaning over the counter that divides them, hanging on his every move, his every word. He has always spoken to her with such familiarity, such kindness, that she cannot help but to wish for a chance to repay the favor. Something grave crosses his face, darkening the handsome features.
"Look, this mission is... It's big," he looks up from his hands, his wide eyes focusing on her, reasserting just how important his words are, "Big. And I can't help but feel..."
Astrid has seen this look before, often in herself; she knows exactly what he is feeling.
"Scared?" She asks, her voice gentle, soft.
Poe barks out a sharp laugh of overcompensation, clearly confirming exactly the thing he is trying to deny.
"Look, I don't get scared. But…" He sighs and talks almost as if he is revealing to her his greatest, most secret weakness, "Anything could happen. And I'm alone out there."
Alone. The weight of that word beats Astrid squarely in the center of her chest, over and over again like the repetition of a slaver's whip. Alone, alone, alone, alone, alone… If anyone knows what it is to be alone, it is Astrid. Unable to help herself, she is confronted with memories of her own emptiness, forgetting for a moment that this man is standing before her.
"I'm sorry," Poe says after a moment of the young woman's silence, "This is stupid," he breaks out into a large smile, but his eyes are more sad than Astrid has ever seen, "You don't need to care, don't worry about it."
She watches him walk away with brave shoulders and sad eyes, and it occurs to her that he looks like a martyr.
Does she want him to be a martyr?
"Poe!" The word comes out of her mouth before she realizes what it is that she's doing.
As soon as she speaks, she knows in her heart that what she's doing is right. There is no other alternative; she must do what it is that she can.
"Hm?" Poe mumbles, turning toward her.
In one move, she bends over and scoops BB-8 into her arms, ignoring his mechanical protestations as she sweeps under the laundry counter and enters the blindingly bright hallway. For the first time, she and Poe Dameron stand without any barrier between them; they are face-to-face. She drinks him in, memorizing every detail of him that she possibly can.
What happens next is, in Astrid's life, her greatest sacrifice.
"Take him," she says, extending BB-8 in Poe's direction.
What? BB-8 chirps, his head swiveling around to stare up at his caretaker, his single eye somehow looking wider than ever.
Ignoring her droid and doing ignoring the way her hands are violently shaking, she takes a step forward. Courage, she reminds herself, courage. Her chest is heaving and her heart is running laps, but she does not falter. Instead, she doubles down.
"He's a good flight droid. You won't be alone," she assures him.
Poe's face is ashen, his eyes disbelieving. Everyone on the base knows the story of her little companion droid; BB-8's presence at her side is as common a sight in The Resistance as General Leia and C-3PO. Part of him screams that he could not possibly take the droid. How could he? It's hers. Another part of him, however, cannot deny the sweet peace that he feels at her words. You won't be alone. If he left now, without the BB unit, he would take some other droid in his ship. But if he left now with the BB unit, he wouldn't be leaving with just a droid; he would be leaving with a piece of Astrid. A piece of his friend.
It's odd, he thinks, how he came to think of her as a friend. At first, he spoke to her because he thought it would be good for her. Everyone on base whispered about the sad slave girl behind the laundry counter, and he thought perhaps someone taking an interest would make her smile. He couldn't bear the wide, empty look in her eyes that never escaped during her first few weeks on planet. But now, he talks to her because he cannot help it. He finds himself making excuses to come to her counter, purposefully fiddling with a button or dirtying up his pants so he can spend a few extra minutes in her presence.
He looks at her warily.
"Are you sure?" He asks.
Her response is immediate; Astrid is afraid that if she hesitates, that she will retreat.
"Yes," she says, bending down so that BB-8 might roll the remaining distance between her and the pilot.
The little droid lands on the floor, turning his eye up to Astrid. You want me to go? He squawks. Braving a smile, she fights back the tears in her eyes, nodding. Emitting a sound that felt, to Astrid, almost like a sigh, BB-8 spins and crosses to Poe.
"Hey, buddy," the pilot says, looking down at his new companion, "You ready?"
As ready as I'll ever be, BB-8 chirps, prompting Poe's laughter.
"Go on to the ship, then," he says with a nod of his head.
Poe has never known droids to be sentimental, but he does not miss the way that BB-8 turns back to look at Astrid one more time, as if sad to be parted from her.
"Do what he says, BB-8. And take care of him," Astrid says, adding a final thought in case Poe thinks she has gotten too attached, "Don't let his shirts get dirty."
The droid departs, leaving Poe and Astrid alone in the hallway. A silence stretches between them, a silence like the cold, dead vastness of space. Neither knows quite what to say, neither knows if they can actually comprehend the truth of the moment that just passed between them.
"Thank you," Poe finally says.
Astrid can almost feel the emptiness of BB-8's place at her side, but she puts on a brave face and reminds herself why it's worth it.
"Well. Wouldn't want you to be alone."
Another moment of vast silence. What can he say to that? Scraping his mind, Poe thinks of something, anything he can do to repay her. Then, reaching into his pocket, he pulls out something that has not been out of his possession since his mother died: a small metallic piece of his mother's A-Wing Fighter. To anyone else, it may have been insignificant, but to Poe, it is the whole world. He extends it to her. It is his hand's turn to shake.
"What's this?" Astrid asks, taking the piece hesitantly.
Poe shrugs.
"Collateral. So you know you'll get BB-8 back," he explains easily.
It isn't much, but it's something for him to hold onto. If this mission goes topside, he'll remember that he has something to come back for. Poe's heart grows as he watches Astrid take in the small metal piece with interest, how carefully she handles it. Without his having to say anything, she knows exactly how important it is to him.
"I…" Astrid has so much to say, but stops herself, instead choosing to say something safe, "I have to get back to work."
Poe does not miss how her hand tightens around his collateral, nor how she takes a few steps backward.
"BB-8 and I will see you soon," he promises.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I know."
Later that afternoon, Astrid hears the alarm for outgoing ships and rushes to the impossibly small laundry window. Balancing atop a highly unstable stack of boxes, she peeks out of the glass, and watches Poe Dameron's X-Wing take to the sky, accompanied by her BB-8.
Her entire body tingles at the sight, and she feels freedom even as she's surrounded by the dirty walls of the laundry. Her BB-8 blasting off in an X-Wing! At least…Even if she can't see the galaxy, save the day, at least a part of her could.
So, there it is! Chapter one! I'll be completely honest, I haven't read any other Poe/OC fics, so I have no idea if the BB-8 idea is a common one, and maybe somewhere in canon they say where BB-8 came from, but I was really inspired by Carrie Fisher's service dog Gary, and I wanted to pay tribute to that and how much it meant to me in this story. I hope you all like it, and please, please, please review! It means so much to me and I love hear thoughts from you all!