A/N: Day six. Afternoon.

"Okay. Let's get settled in." Poe adjusted his seat. Hux scooted back to better share the blanket. Poe shut his eyes and breathed deeply, relaxing. After a moment of watching him, Hux followed suit with his breathing. He kept his eyes open as he reached out with his mind, slowly joining them. Once he had a good feel for Poe's awareness, Hux let his eyes slide shut.

He sensed for Poe's intentions, which turned out to be genuine enough. Having determined that Hux was upset by being exposed, Poe was deliberately taking a different tack. It wasn't out of pity, but a simple desire to find a way to make this work for both of them. Poe had been taking a largely passive role so far, but he was starting to see how he could act to help. And so he did.

Poe began with setting the stage. From about the time I was ten to when I was sixteen, seventeen, I was on the hop-race circuit every summer. That was my big hobby. By the end, I had a pod racer, an a-wing, and a bunch of old ships I'd cobbled together. The obstacle races were the best – what we had local to the Yavin system was a combination of swoop racing and podracing. We usually had human pilots and usually, I could beat them. I was young enough to have lightning fast reflexes and yet unlike everyone else my age, I'd been flying for more than a decade. Both of those tended to matter more than your engines.

The scene unfolded in a disjointed, unpracticed manner in Poe's head. Hux resisted the impulse to do as Snoke had done with him and grab at the memories and images he wanted to look more at. He just let them pass by, absorbing what he could from the glimpses of races and forests, hops between the three inhabited moons of the gas giant and occasional races across tumultuous terrain of the uninhabited moons. Poe had covered a lot of territory, literally, but a geographical tour or chronological retelling of his race days wasn't his goal.

Poe went on. L'ulo went with me most of the time. To keep me safe. To keep an eye on me. He was a great guy. I've mentioned before he was like a father to me. Kes stayed here on the farm. He's … after my mom died, my dad was strange for a long time. Years. Everything weighed down on him. He did his best, but it was like he was half-checked-out most of the time. That's where L'ulo stepped in and a few others, but mostly him.

Poe had initially thought L'ulo was siding with him against his depressive, restrictive father – that L'ulo saw the truth and was his personal friend, his ally. He later realized L'ulo was equally his father's friend, going with his adventurous, extroverted son so that Kes could be assured Poe was safe. And to make sure Poe always made it home. L'ulo was the best wingman and taught Poe a lot about teamwork without making a big deal of it. He modeled it. He wasn't just Poe's partner, but Kes' as well. They were a team, which was practice at working with others that stood Poe in good stead as a squad leader later in the military.

And it's kind of where I started stepping out. Once I was old enough. I guess it started innocently, with L'ulo taking me out to events because dad just couldn't do it. He couldn't do public. That's why this senate thing's a big deal, but that's not what this story's about.

Poe's protective concern about his father was palpable. His father's withdrawal after Shara's death had sent Poe on a trajectory that included actively looking out for others, seeing himself as the one who had to 'do', to accomplish, to get out there and make a difference. He wasn't sure how to navigate their currently shifting roles, especially with Hux in the mix. Hux noted the uncertainty and let it pass without further scrutiny. It was somewhat soothing to know Poe knew they were flying by the seat of their pants. Also, that Poe was less stressed by it because he'd done this before, or a variation of it.

Anyway. I'd souped up the pod-racer, best it had ever been, and we went out to this Podunk Nowhere track where I expected a bunch of local yokels screaming on the sidelines. It was just what I loved – a run through the swamps, up and down through trees, had some nets, some swinging logs, a couple acceleration pads, and a few pyrotechnics to keep you guessing. All that to maneuver around at the best speed you could manage, then at the end you had to be steady enough to put your racer right through three successive auto-sizing rings that were only inches bigger than your profile.

The course as advertised in the holos ran through Poe's mind, mixed in with the details he recalled from the race itself. The images were sharp and layered with his expectations of what came next and how he should maneuver to account for it. His spatial memory was incredible. For Hux, it was like hearing a different language and somehow understanding it at the same time. Poe's instructions for flying the speeder and the aircar suddenly took on other meanings. It snapped into place in Hux's head as though he'd actually learned something merely by seeing it through Poe's eyes.

It was a tough course, Poe continued. I got there, expecting I'd win this handily and saw everyone else who was any good in the sector had the same damn plan. There were three non-humans and a droid in the running, along with one of the best human pilots on the circuit. Then there were a few also-rans, but it was stupid well-attended. All the brass. High marks. Championship races weren't as tough.

Poe gave a mental rundown of his competitors. He'd raced against many of them before and he knew they were good. The ones he was less familiar with were dangerous wildcards, but probably irrelevant.

They disqualified the droid and the rest of us got underway. We all did our separate runs, because Yavin hop-racing isn't some Boonta Eve podracing massacre where you try to knock each other off. We go separate and get rated by points and time. I did good, real good, better than every human there and one of the not. But I came in third. Disappointing, but there was still a nice pot for third. It was still worth some points and I was trying to rack up as many as possible to qualify for some of the big invitational races.

Poe skimmed through the rules and scoring, as well as his own performance. He'd flown a tight race, probably his best up to that point in his life. He'd been proud of it and rightfully so.

What happens after the race is kind of interesting. The crowds leave, but all the serious folks are still there. They're looking at racers or talking to pilots or just sitting around remembering the old days. They're serious folks. You'd love them. Fit right in. Anyway, L'ulo and I are having a lemon drink or something, waiting for the head box to call us in to get our winnings. And it's taking forever. We can see there's people up there in the box. We can see they're not happy. Something's up.

Poe's thoughts went through the usual post-race wind-down for competitors, after the general public and bettors went home. It was usually one of his favorite times, because he enjoyed the accolades of the other teams. He nearly always did well. He also loved checking out other people's racers. Before the race, no one wanted you anywhere near their racer, but afterward you could talk and share tips.

L'ulo kept telling me to cool my jets, that we didn't want any part of that. Let them get it sorted, they'd call us when they were ready. But I was like, sixteen. And I was still steaming, even after a full day, from having showed up thinking I had it in the bag and ending up getting third kriffing place after one of the best races I'd ever flown. I wanted my money. I wanted my score numbers. And I wanted to go home.

The emotions were still there after nearly two decades. Disappointment, mainly. It wasn't something Poe had been familiar with at that stage of his life. He had won more races than he lost from the very start. To come in third while knowing he'd done his best was humiliating. He didn't know how to deal with it. Humility was a stranger to him at that age.

Finally, I saw Gelthar come out. I knew him. I trusted him. I waved him over to the table and he told me there was this long argument going on about the calibration of the timer. Turns out, Podunk Nowhere hadn't kept their equipment up to date and although the margin of error meant guy #1 was still first, me and guy #2 were in dispute.

Gelthar was a Dug mechanic who had helped Poe tighten up the linkage for the power couplings on his pod-racers. It had seemed like a counter-intuitive modification, but it worked and Poe was grateful.

I got lit up. Just imagine. I was all over L'ulo. We needed to go in there and make our case, tie for second. L'ulo wasn't having any of it. He made me stay there with Gelthar, went up to the head box and came right back. He got my arm and said we're leaving. I was all, 'What happened? What's going on? Am I second or third?' He wouldn't answer until we were on our way back and then he let me know he'd withdrawn me altogether.

The frustration, outrage, and a simmering sense of betrayal at L'ulo ran through Poe's mind.

If you thought I was upset before, when I found out he'd withdrawn me, I hit the roof. He didn't care about my temper. He said things were going bad and we didn't want or need to be part of it. Third place or even tying for second in some bush race wasn't worth it. I didn't agree. I've never liked to lose.

The long ride back home was one of the more awkward Poe had ever had. Poe had all the emotional volatility of sixteen and the letdown of a stressful day. L'ulo was largely quiet, letting Poe rant to the point of tears before calmly telling him it was his job to make sure Poe would make it to the next race, even if it meant throwing the towel in on this one.

Next morning, I found out that just minutes after we left there was a fight and a shooting at the race site. L'ulo was right. He didn't say anything to me. He didn't have to. But in retrospect, I wish he had. I wish I'd been at a place in my life where I would have listened, because I'm not sure I would have. You see, the lesson I took from that was that I needed to be better at picking my battles, and that sometimes doing what seemed wrong in the moment might work out for you later. Because since we'd withdrawn and they'd actually processed it, when the whole race was disqualified a few days later, it wasn't on my record.

There were a lot of things Poe wished, looking back, he'd been mature enough to talk to L'ulo about. He'd thought, more than once since returning home, that he ought to have those discussions with Kes now that Poe had a different point of view on things. They'd talked a little the night before the wedding. It was enough to let Poe know that Kes was open to a discussion as a pair of adults, rather than as a parent to a child.

Disqualifications counted against you in the scoring system. I thought the lesson was that when you stick to being professional and don't get involved in petty stuff, that you come out on top anyway.

That's the lesson I took from that until I met you. Until I got to know you. It's why I've been thinking about that whole incident again. It was the wrong lesson. What I should have learned was that status, rank, points, whether people saw me as a winner – weren't good reasons to get shot over, to end people's lives. It wasn't that I needed to pick my battles better, but that it wasn't a battle I should have been fighting or even considering fighting, to start with. L'ulo helped me dodge a bolt that night, because otherwise I'd have been in there arguing just like the rest of them when everything went down.

There was the briefest glimpse of Poe watching as the First Order fleet had shot transports around him. Poe knowing he had dodged a bolt there, too, and wishing he hadn't. He wished he'd died that day instead of everyone else and if there was any justice in the galaxy, then he would have. But he hadn't. Which meant he had to make justice himself. Which meant he had to find the right path. After what Holdo did, after Leia's words to him, Poe had come to realize that sometimes it wasn't a matter of finding the right battle – sometimes it was about not fighting the war at all.

So that's the story. How did that work for you?

Very well. Hux took stock of himself. He was calm. His attention had stayed focused throughout. He'd felt through the layers of Poe's meaning, seeing the memories and getting Poe's narration at the same time. And all without any intrusive thoughts or Snoke-induced tension. That worked fine. It's a richer form of storytelling. I liked it. Also, it is humbling to see that after my thirty years of leading people, you are so much better socialized than I am. These experiences you've had, the mentors, the lessons – they're very different from mine.

I know.

Poe gave him a calm, entirely non-judgmental acceptance of their difference. Hux savored it for several long moments. Something deep inside his soul eased. He thought back to Poe's memories of the race itself and how natural the controls had felt to him. Hux looked down at his hands and flexed them. There was a feeling in his mind like muscle memory, like he'd been given something else in addition to acceptance.

What's that? Poe asked.

It's like I could fly a pod-racer if I wanted to.

They're really hard to fly. Probably the toughest thing I've ever flown. A lot of humans can't handle them at all. I'm not sure I still can at this age. Poe felt through the surface of Hux's mind, sensing the same thing he was. Hey, maybe you'd do okay with one? He smiled. Let me know if you want to join the hop-racing circuit someday.

Hux grinned back at him, ending the mental connection. "No, I think I'm fine as is."

"You definitely are." Poe came forward to kiss Hux a light kiss on the cheek, despite the bristle. "And you know I think so, right?"

Hux nodded.

"You see how well that worked between us?"

"Yes, I do." Hux kissed him back. "You're very clever at some of these things. I love you so much."