Chapter 2
The sun was high in the sky, and Poe found himself sitting beneath the wing of an old, downed rebel X-Wing, making use of what little shade it provided. It was the first shelter the young pilot had come across, and Poe had stumbled his way over and collapsed in the shadow of the wing.
After a few minutes he had gathered himself into a seated position, sand now caked further into his hair, and let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle. This was kind of ironic. There he was, a downed Resistance pilot, seeking refuge from a crippled Rebel X-wing – his choice ship. He could fly anything, right? Clearly, not anything. He patted the hull gratefully, thankful for the shade at least, but quickly pulled back his hand in a wince, the conductive metal burning his skin. For a moment he closed his eyes, and let his mind drift to an impossible scenario where the great pilot – Poe Dameron – got this sorry piece of junk to fly. Returning home in the ship that had meant the end of the Empire, metaphorically stating that the Resistance could come up from the ashes of the Rebellion, just as the First Order had from the Empire.
When he opened his eyes again he was startled by the sight of a young boy, probably around the age of fifteen, hesitantly taking in his seated form. Half turned away, and one leg already positioned ready to run in the opposite direction, Poe could make out a makeshift pack draped over the kid's back. It was an old Rebel helmet, rigged up with ropes and netting, providing a nice protective pouch for a few small essentials. He had another sack slung across his shoulder, which looked to be filled.
By the dirty face, hunched shoulders, slender yet strong features, and the packs weighing him down, Poe could infer the kid was a scavenger. This wasn't the first scavenger Poe had come across since he had started his trek through these god-awful sands. He had actually come across a few. And at first, he had thought he was saved. Other life forms! Helping hands! But he quickly found that these desert people were hardened and worked for every scrap they got. Kindness wasn't something given out freely here on Jakku, and charity was even harder to come by. And seeing how he was a beat-up man with nothing to trade, the scavengers were not willing to help. At all. Not even a nudge in the proper direction would be given unless Poe had something to give himself. He had considered offering up his clothes, but they were more tattered than what these people wore, and his thin t-shirt was the only form of protection from the harsh sun. Once, he was even threatened with a blaster when he thought maybe he could follow a group of scavengers at a distance, in the hopes they were headed toward town.
Poe managed to recover quickly before the boy could sprint away, "I was just leaving," he said as he pushed himself to his feet and grimaced as his sore body protested. The boy didn't respond, continuing to look him up and down and access his level of threat.
Poe knew he looked anything but friendly. His face was cut, bruised, and swollen. A swirl of yellow and purple bruising, and the deep red of dried blood caked all over his naturally tan face. He knew his lips were now peeling from the unrelenting sun and parts of his exposed skin where beginning to blister. And his clothes were in no better state than his body. He usually considered himself a handsome man. But his current state was a little too rugged to be considered rugged charm.
He made sure his hands were visible and didn't make any fast movements as he stepped out from under the shade, away from the X-wing. "Do you live here?" he said in what he hoped was a friendly voice, but he knew it came out scratchy and faint from his dried throat.
Still no response. "I like that pack you rigged up. I'm a pilot myself actually."
At those words, the kid's eyes lit up a bit. "What do you fly?" He inquired, his child-like curiosity making an appearance.
"I could fly anything. But," he chuckled and gestured to the ship behind him, "I actually prefer X-wings."
The boy went back to his silence and Poe gave a shrug as he began to walk away. He was through trying to barter and beg with these desert people. He couldn't blame them really, he had nothing to trade, no able body to offer. "Well I'm off. I didn't mean to trespass, but thanks for the shade. You take care of that ship."
His back turned, a few steps into his journey, he heard the boy call out to him, "Sand storm will be here within the hour."
Poe stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes, almost falling to his knees in defeat. Instead he let out a humorless laugh. "Of course there will be," he mumbled to himself. "Thanks for the heads up, kid."
He took two more steps before the boy's voice followed him again. "You're welcome to stay here until it passes. You'll likely die out there with no shelter."
Likely. Possibly. Probably. Most definitely.
Poe turned around slowly, the prideful man inside of him wanted to respond with, "I have nothing to trade with you." But all he could get out was a faint, "Thank you."
A few minutes later he found himself sitting under the trusty X-wing's wing once again, out of the sun's blistering rays. The boy had gone around to the hull where he was unloading the spoils of his morning's work. As Poe's mind drifted in a daze that was probably the result of his mind probing (that's what Poe had now taken to calling it. Better to keep a bit of humor in the situation) and the un-helmeted crash, his vision was suddenly overtaken by a small cup being thrust in front of him. His eyes followed the cup, up the extended arm, to the boy's face. When Poe didn't make a move to grab the cup, the boy shook it a little and said, "Here. Water."
All Poe could do was take it numbly and mumble, "Thank you." Those seemed to be the only words that he could compute since the boy offered his home up as shelter. The young scavenger settled in the shade beside the pilot, his own glass of water much fuller than his guest's. Poe took the water in two small sips, letting it sit in his mouth before greedily swallowing. He closed his eyes in relief for a moment before licking the cup clean of any remaining drops, thinking of his mother yelling at him for a lack of manners and the thought bringing a small smile to his face that hurt his cheeks.
"So what happened to you?" The boy beside him inquired, gesturing to the pilot's tattered clothes and mess of a face.
Poe decided to go with a shortened story, "Crashed." He stated simply, looking off into the distance for any signs of this upcoming storm. Suddenly, he voiced a question without thinking, "Hey, kid. You seen any downed TIE fighters around here?"
"There's a lot of downed TIE fighters around here," was his cool response – a scavenger never revealing his secret junkyards.
Poe gave a small laugh, "No, I mean…Like a…a...a fresh TIE fighter."
Suddenly the kid jumped to his feet and looked at him wearily, and it dawned on Poe how that sounded. He had just revealed he'd crashed and was now inquiring about a freshly downed TIE fighter. First Order members weren't known for being warm and fuzzy, especially on outlying planets such as this one.
"Oh, no! No!" He stuttered, "No. I'm not First Order. That's not what I meant. I stole the TIE fighter actually." He wanted to finish with, "I'm with the Resistance," but he was on a secret mission after all.
The boy, still giving him a semi-reluctant look, settled down again beside him. "And then you crashed it?"
Poe nodded once, not wanting to give details and relive his near-death experience. Especially when he was relatively sure he had killed his gunner.
"You must not be a very good pilot then."
The comment made Poe laugh. Actually laugh – for the first time since before he had left on this top-secret mission. "No. I guess not," he responded.
At that, the kid took both their cups, got up, and returned to his hull. He came back with a large piece of plastic resembling a tarp and dropped it at Poe's feet, "Tuck yourself under that as best you can, storm should hit soon." As he said these words, the still, almost stale air suddenly stirred and a gust of wind sent coarse sand flying into Poe's face. Looking up and squinting his eyes against the elements, he nodded once, "Thanks-…." He trailed off.
"Jos." The boy responded.
"Thanks again, Jos. I'm Poe."
"Tuck in, Poe. Good luck." And with those words he walked over to the X-wing cockpit and climbed in, pulling the latch down and comfortably settling in.
"Luck?" he mumbled, looking around him and addressing the figment like it was a person, "You hear that? How about cutting me a little break?" The wind just seemed to pick up, and Poe scrambled to get the tarp around him.
For what felt like many hours, but was probably only two, Poe sat with his back up against the X-wing, the tarp around him like a bubble and tucked beneath his sitting form. He tried his best not to move as the trap rippled around him, taking a beating from the gusting winds and whipping sands – giving its best fight to break free and fly with the squalls of the storm. Poe closed his eyes against the violent sounds, trying to think of anything other than the storm, his crash, the masked man's mind probe, the pang of hunger in his stomach, or his dry throat asking for water. He settled on recounting his squadron's maneuvers from when he was in the Academy. He had spent many long nights going over those until they were beaten into his brain. At the time, he had hated them with every fiber of his being. But on more than one occasion Poe's mind had settled back into the safe pocket of information, and it now acted as a soothing numbness.
The winds eventually settled and not long after he heard the creak of the old X-wing cockpit being opened. He removed the tarp from his face, taking in a breath of sand filled air that he immediately started coughing back up.
Jos headed over and handed him a cup filled with one mouth full of water as Poe unsteadily made his way to his feet. He could feel the sharp pains that indicated blood flow returning to his legs that he had kept tensed in a folded position throughout the storm, tarp tucked underneath them.
"Thank you again, Jos," he said accepting the water. He really couldn't thank the kid enough. After gulping it down Poe handed him the cup and reached down to fold the tarp – stalling. He wanted to promise the kid payment from the Resistance. That he would return and provide the kid with a better life. But he knew the chances of him ever finding Jos again were pretty slim. Becoming even slimmer when Poe realized it depended on him returning to the Resistance base alive. He didn't want to make an empty promise. Not after promising Finn he could fly anything – insinuating that they would escape the First Order's clutches alive. "You're a good man," he simply said, handing him back the tarp, "I wish I could repay you."
The boy shrugged, accepting the thick plastic. "You're welcome," he responded.
Not wanting to overstay his welcome, or ask for any more charity from a young boy who had little to give, Poe nodded and turned back towards the never ending sands of Jakku. Before he could take a step, the boy spoke one more time.
"A few TIEs went down yesterday. Town's that way," he pointed, "It's pretty torn up now, though." And he walked back to his X-wing.
Poe began in the direction Jos had pointed and pondered the kid's words. A few downed TIEs? Town was torn up? His beat-up mind slowly processed the new information. It took much longer than it should have to dawn on him, but – hey – he had been through a lot in the last few days.
The First Order had been here. Maybe still was here. Well, Shit.
Author's note: Forgot to say, I own/disclaim the star wars universe.
Well, decided to write another chapter because this part of the story won't stop floating in my brain. I think this may end up being a four chapter fic. We'll see. All mistakes are mine and I apologize. Reviews please!
