A/N: Oof, I'm nervous. So, I needed a break from some of my other WIPs and a oneshot written by a friend inspired an idea that led to…well…this. I'm still working on my other WIPs but this is meant to be a fun, somewhat light romance! I've always been intimidated by the Star Wars fandom but I'm going to give this a shot and hopefully you like it. TBH, I'm having so much fun writing it I have no intention to stop, lack of feedback be damned lol.

Extra love to my beta for her phenomenal skills and side-splitting draft comments!

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars.

Chapter One – Fissures and Cracks

A near-constant fog coated the surface of Waveren, a small moon orbiting a gas giant sitting on the edge between the outer rim and everything else. Thick and heavy, the fog obscured the towering mountains that jutted up from the moon's surface and wove between the thick blades of purple grass that grew well over eight feet in a sea that rolled in waves beneath the wind that blew sheets of drizzle over the grass, the mountains and the entrance to the Resistance base dug into a series of caverns and tunnels crawling along the front range. The weather was a plague, a dour mood to accompany the misery hanging heavy over the significantly smaller band of Resistance fighters hunkering down, still reeling from the Battle of Crait and the days that led up to it.

Poe Dameron couldn't stand the weather. The moisture wreaked havoc on all of the base's systems and permeated everything from the X-Wing hangar to his miniscule quarters tucked away in a far corner of the base. Even more than the damned fog, he hated feeling trapped in the base, where there were no windows, there was no clear sky or even a single sun to shine a light on what might have otherwise been a beautiful place.

Rationally speaking, he knew he was being an impatient idiot. But patience was not one of his virtues; it never had been. Even as a child, Poe couldn't stay still and he certainly hated being told to simply sit and wait. As an adult, his impatience only grew and with it a somewhat infamous reputation. He wanted what he wanted in the moment. If he wanted a mission to stave off boredom, he sought it out and plagued his commanding officers until he got one. Often his prerogative to hurry, hurry, hurry led him to bugging the mechanics assigned to working on whatever ship he flew at the time. And now here he was, trapped on a gloomy moon with no mission, no one to listen to his complaining, and worst of all, no damn ship to take out even if he did have a mission.

Maybe it was wrong but Poe found himself grieving the loss of Black One on top of the catastrophic losses to the Resistance. In a way he felt that losing his beloved starfighter was something of a just punishment, well-deserved for his attempted mutiny and all of the damage he caused as a direct result. The idea that he'd only been trying to help or that he was doing the best that he could given the circumstances only made the situation worse in his eyes. Anytime he considered the death toll, the roots of his guilt dug in a little deeper, choking off his usual ability to sweep under the rug all of the awful things that had happened in his life thus far. Normally, he'd hop in any ship available to him and get a few flight hours under his belt to blow off steam and despite the miserable conditions, Poe had to admit that Waveren would be an excellent place to sharpen his skills. He would have loved to let the belly of an X-Wing skim over the violet grass and feel the thrill in his stomach as he executed hairpin turns to avoid foothills and mountains that emerged suddenly out of the fog, sending him weaving through the perilous peaks.

Oh, what wouldn't he give to be in an orange jumpsuit, strapped into a cockpit right now?

But even though there were a handful of surviving ships, there was yet another problem keeping him grounded.

"This fog is truly awful," Rey commented from where she sat near him, legs folded atop a large supply crate.

"Tell me about it," he grumbled and looked back to the two neat rows of grounded T-70's. "The head mechanic says the moon's atmosphere is screwing with the life support and hyperdrive systems."

Rey frowned, following his gaze to the small group of mechanics scattered throughout the hangar, each one working diligently to address the problems caused by the weather. "I wonder how Chewy is doing with the Falcon."

Poe hadn't even considered the Falcon. That ship was even older than the remaining X-Wings and had endured significantly more trauma than any other ship he'd ever seen. For as much as he respected and admired the prowess of the Millennium Falcon, even he had to admit that poor ship had gone through so many hasty patch jobs, repairs, and overhauls that most of the ship's original innards were replaced by a hodgepodge of parts, such that the manufacturer probably wouldn't even recognize her. He couldn't imagine she was handling the oppressive atmosphere well at all.

They fell back into comfortable silence, both staring out into the swirling fog and contemplating their own issues. Poe didn't really talk much about his personal problems as a general rule and for someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, Rey was unusually standoffish. He supposed whatever happened to her on Ahch-To and the loss of Luke Skywalker had a lot to do with it but he couldn't say for certain. He didn't see much of a point in asking and, considering they were only just getting to know each other, it really wasn't his business anyway.

A long shadow fell across his face, distracting him from his thoughts. He started to get to his feet but General Organa waved him back down.

"General," he greeted her. "What can I do for you?"

"Have you heard any word on when the fleet will be up and running?"

"No, sir."

Leia pursed her lips in dissatisfaction, the lines at her weary eyes deepening. "Check in with the head mechanic and report back to me. A convoy is expected to arrive in the morning bringing supplies and fresh personnel. I'd like it to have an escort once it reaches the edges of this system."

Now Leia was talking. A mission, even a small one, was everything he needed to get out of his own head and do something productive with his time. Shooting to his feet, he nodded. "I'll get on it, sir."

"Good." She graced him with a knowing smile before turning her attention to Rey. "Come with me, I have some things we need to discuss."

Rey unfurled her limbs and slid off the edge of the crate, landing light on her feet. Few people exhibited the same level of grace that she did and Poe supposed that was just part of the whole Jedi thing. He never really understood the Force or the allure of the Jedi but then again, he had almost zero spiritual connection to the universe. Poe believed in the tangible, the solid ground beneath his boots, the wind on his cheeks and the thick air filling his lungs. The closest he ever got to feeling the Force was the way his body seemed to meld into a fighter, extended to become a single unit with it, but he was pretty sure that's not what Leia meant when she spoke of feeling one with the Force.

Hopping to his feet, he watched Rey trail after Leia until they disappeared through the door leading to the operations room. Turning away from there, he faced the bay and the meager fleet of X-Wings. The head technician was a Rodian by the name of Avik, a grouchy green-skinned fellow who loved machines, respected his fellow technicians, and despised just about everyone else. Usually Poe could track him down by the smell alone; it was hard to mistake Avik's pungent odor but as he wove between ships, the technician was nowhere to be found. Whirling around, he searched about until he saw a head capped with pale, shining blonde hair. His stomach sank a fraction. Avik wasn't his biggest fan but compared to his second-in-command, Alannah Corallay, the Rodian practically worshipped at his feet.

Poe's impatient streak and sharp tongue occasionally got him into trouble with other people and that was certainly the case with Alannah. Once, about a year earlier when she was a new recruit to the Resistance, she'd been assigned to work on Black One, replacing a length of tubing that ran coolant through the fuselage. Poe made the grave mistake of not only questioning her capabilities but accused her of being too slow and requesting the aid of a second technician to do the job. The withering look she'd given him in the face of his complete disrespect wasn't one he could easily forget. Ever since, she did her best to steer clear of him and almost never worked on Black One unless she absolutely had to, which turned out to be a crying shame because Poe came to learn from his fellow pilots that Alannah was one of the best starfighter technicians in the whole of the Resistance.

Steeling himself, he strode toward her. "Hey! Corallay!"

The owner of the blonde hair popped up, revealing a young woman with vivid hazel eyes, just a fraction larger than a normal human's, set above a straight, pert nose and a full mouth. She was pale like all Laryaians of her race, her skin dusted with freckles. A wide, forest green headband kept her hair from her face, the thick mass twisted into a braid and coiled atop her head. There was no denying that Alannah was particularly pretty. There was also no denying that she had an infamously cool, impenetrable exterior.

Poe tried his best not to smirk. Although she did her best not to let him see, she rolled her eyes as she ducked beneath the nose cone of the unit she was working on. Alannah was a funny ball of contradictions, including the fact that despite her distaste for him, she would never dare openly disrespect such a high-ranking member of the Resistance. "Commander?"

"Where's Avik? I need to speak to him."

"He's sick," she announced and spun on her heel and returned to the side of the nose cone where she'd removed the outer panel near the tip, revealing the wiring and circuitry beneath.

Poe's eyebrows flew up. "Sick? Avik's never sick."

"He claims something in the atmosphere is interfering with his temperature regulation."

"That sounds like code for he had one too many at the mess."

Alannah shrugged one shoulder, covered by her khaki-colored coveralls that he personally thought did an injustice to almost everyone who wore them. "Be that as it may, you're stuck with me." Poe started when she reached into the cone, wrapped her hand around an entire computer circuit and yanked hard, pulling it and the attached wires free. Without a second glance, she tossed the part into an open container containing a small pile of scrap. "So what can I do for you?"

Even as she spoke her slender, delicate fingers parsed several colored wires, isolating two additional green wires and she pulled those out too, tossing them in with the other parts. How she knew which wires did what without a detailed diagram eluded him. Poe knew a lot about the workings of X-Wings, more than most pilots, but when it came to the nitty gritty details, he was lost. He could do general repairs but couldn't touch the technicians for their acumen.

"General Organa wants to know how long it's going to take to finish repairs."

Alannah didn't answer him. Instead she turned from him and started walking away. Poe gaped after her, wondering if she had completely forgotten he was there or if she was just blatantly ignoring him. He grumbled under his breath and jogged to catch up with her. Avik might give him an earful for being a pushy bastard but at least he wouldn't just continue doing his job like Poe was nothing more than an irritating cloud of space dust that wouldn't disperse. As he followed her he tried, and failed, to keep his gaze from dropping once to admire her long legs and shapely backside that not even her coveralls could diminish. Swallowing hard, he forced himself back to the matter at hand, catching up to fall into step with her.

"Alann-"

"I heard you," she said, her voice taking on a familiar brusque tone. "I don't really have time to shoot the breeze so we can discuss the matter while I continue working."

Poe couldn't necessarily fault her for that. In fact, aside from seeing her with Rose Tico in the mess a handful of times, he wasn't sure he'd ever seen her not working. "This isn't what I'd call shooting the breeze, Corallay. If you do then you should probably work on your conversational skills."

"Touche," she remarked, though her voice sounded far away as she sifted through an open crate of parts until she identified an Incom box that satisfied her. She thrust her wrist into a separate box, looping a few coils of colored wire onto her arm. "To answer your question, I don't have a solid timeline. These units are in bad shape and I'm down a lot of staff."

Poe's stomach clenched. The Engineering Corps had taken significant losses during the escape from D'Qar, with several technicians killed after Kylo Ren fired shots directly into the hangar of the Raddus. He realized as he glanced back to the hangar that there were too many missing familiar faces.

Without bothering to wait for him, Alannah whirled around and began walking back to her repair.

"But we're working as fast as we can." She paused and shifted, frowning at him when he came around to face her again. A small line appeared between her eyebrows that made Poe uneasy. He didn't relish the notion of getting on Alannah's bad side yet again. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"

"A supply convoy is coming in tomorrow morning. General Organa wants an escort waiting when it comes out of hyperspace."

"You're kidding." Poe started to smile at the deadpan tone of Alannah's voice but pulled up short when she moved past him, shoulder just barely brushing his. "These units just came in from a long-range mission that saw plenty of combat. On top of that the atmosphere here is wreaking absolute havoc on just about every system and you want to take them out for a spin anyway?"

Poe scowled and pressed his shoulder against the side of the nose cone, facing Alannah where he could see her frown deepen. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger! I didn't order the mission but if you ask me, it's a pretty worthy use of our resources. So come on, Corallay, you've got to give me more than an 'I don't know.' General Organa is asking."

Dropping Leia's name was nothing short of a magic passcode with most Resistance members. If Poe said something needed to be done for Leia then come hell or high water it always got done, not for him but for the revered General. Alannah was no different but he could tell by her hesitance that the answer wasn't going to be that simple. Her eyes met his and shifted, flashing with uncertainty.

"Even if all of us work all night, there's no way I can have the entire fleet ready by morning."

Poe sighed. "Come on Alannah, we need this supply convoy to come in without a hitch."

"I know that you do but it's not like we're talking about simple cosmetic repairs or even secondary things like replacing emergency beacons or re-welding the storage compartments. We're talking about systems you can't get in the air without."

Poe crossed his arms over his chest. "Like what? Can't you prioritize the repairs?"

He knew the second the words left his lips that he'd said the way wrong thing. The small traces of sympathy softening Alannah's features vanished to be replaced with an unforgiving glare, the likes of which might have sent lesser men running. The ferocity of her disapproval was only magnified by the fact that she stood within two inches of his height and her large eyes could hold that much more vitriol.

"Commander, I mean this with all due respect." She definitely didn't mean it with due respect but Poe wisely chose to keep that thought to himself. "What do you think we do here all day? Roll dice to see what work we're going to bother with? Draw repair jobs from a hat?"

"Okay, point taken. You don't tell me how to fly, I don't tell you how to do your job." Her eyebrows rose in silent agreement. "But seriously, what kind of repairs are we talking? There are things we can live without for an escort mission, right?"

Alannah crossed her arms over her chest, wires still looped around her wrist and hand solder tool dangling from between two fingers. The corner of her mouth quirked.

"Well, that depends, Commander. Do you enjoy breathing oxygen?"

Poe shifted his weight and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'd say I'm a pretty big fan, yeah."

"The sensors that detect the correct amount of oxygen to pump into the cockpit have all been damaged by the moon's atmosphere. The fog exposed a flaw in the housing for the actual converter pump and we found mold growing on the surface of a handful of hoses. Because we're talking about the life support system that, you know, actually keeps you-" she jabbed a finger toward his chest "-alive, we have to address the issue for every fighter, not just the affected ones."

Poe rocked back on his heels. He could hear the exhaustion weighing in Alannah's tone. "That seems pretty important."

"It is," she admitted with a sigh. "And that's not even touching the issues we're having with the hyperdrive compressors and the normal damage we see after a fight."

"So, what you're saying is it's gonna be a while," he deadpanned, picking up on her not-so-subtle hinting.

"I'm saying that I doubt General Organa wants to send her remaining pilots into space in ships that can't even make the jump to lightspeed and even if they could, chances are the life support system would crap out and you'd suffocate before you even dropped back into real space."

"Well that sounds pretty bad," Poe reasoned and almost smirked when she glared at him, unamused by his candor.

"We're finished when we're finished, Commander Dameron."

"Corallay, you say that so often you should just get it tattooed, like-" he gestured a hand across his forehead "-right here. It'd save you a ton of trouble."

"I'm thinking about it," she groused as she turned back to the nose cone and resumed her work. "Or maybe I should have it tattooed on your hand because I say it to you the most."

He couldn't help himself; a laugh popped out of his lips before he could stop it. Alannah muttered something that sounded distinctly like 'please go away now' under her breath but he didn't quite catch it. Although they seldom spoke with each other, Poe did like the way Alannah could turn his words against him in an instant. He liked how she often slipped into total candor without realizing it, despite her every effort to respect rank - despite the decidedly casual air amongst the Resistance staff.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked up to the battered X-Wing, drinking in the blast marks and deep scratches in the hull, layers of battle scars that told a story not many people could read. But Poe could and so could Alannah and that was why, her blatant distaste for him aside, he respected the hell out of her. Still, Poe didn't relish taking that news to Leia but he realized that there wasn't much he could do about it.

"Well, do the best you can do and we'll just have to work with what we got."

"Unless," she began just as he started to leave, bound for the operations room to disappoint Leia. She passed a hand over her brow, doing her best to keep her look of long-suffering at bay. Poe perked up. 'Unless' was usually followed up by some offer for a compromise and although he wasn't the most compromising sort out there, at this point he was willing to listen to just about any idea.

"Unless what?"

"Unless you only need to take out a specific number of units. If that's the case, I can regroup the team and we can focus solely on those. If I do that, I can probably have about four up and running by morning. Maybe six."

Four wasn't a lot but Poe could work with four; he'd worked with far less before. "Let me check in with the General but I think that ought to do. Just start with the units that need the least amount of work, will you?"

Alannah crossed her arms over her chest and shot him a look that clearly said 'don't tell me how to do my job.' He realized a second too late that he was lingering unnecessarily long. Both of her eyebrows rose higher up her forehead, almost disappearing beneath her headband.

"Did you need anything else?"

"Nope, no I do not," Poe stated and tipped his head toward her. Spinning on his heel he made for the side door, waving a hand over his shoulder. "Always a pleasure, Corallay!" His voice was loud enough to echo through the hangar, something he knew would embarrass the daylights out of her. "Always a pleasure."

Neither Poe, nor anyone else working in the hangar for that matter, saw the discreet middle finger Alannah flashed at his retreating back.

X X X

Alannah had long since given up trying to keep her muttering to herself. The hangar housing the X-Wings on Waveren was little more than a large cave hewn into the rock and she felt claustrophobic within its confines. Every so often drops of water, mineral runoff from somewhere in the mountain, came down from the ceiling, plinking off the top of her head and dotting her coveralls. Her lower back ached from her position atop the fuselage, leaning over so she could see into the tight compartment containing the fighter's life support system.

The problem with the T-70 wasn't that it was a bad machine; quite the contrary. The problem was with these specific T-70's and the storm of abuse they'd endured over multiple starfights in a litany of systems. Housed in ancient or poorly ventilated hangars, the poor T-70s were at the mercy of a rag-tag band of technicians, many of them highly skilled but stuck using old tools and constantly strapped for adequate parts. No ship, not even a model as resilient and enduring as the X-Wing could take a perpetual beating forever. The fissures and cracks were starting to show, with vital systems succumbing to elements that they normally should withstand.

Alannah wondered if that was a metaphor for something deeper, a parallel to the struggling Resistance. She'd missed the battle on Crait, having been with a small Resistance team halfway across the galaxy, inspecting and bartering for a new medical frigate only to receive the coded transmission to bypass returning to D'Qar and head straight for Waveren instead. They only learned about the escape from D'Qar and Crait when they landed. What she and her team found on the gloomy moon was a dramatically reduced Resistance and a badly battered fleet. Every direction she looked, she saw faces shadowed with grief and the struggle to keep hopelessness at bay. Alannah tried not to think about the friends she'd lost but she felt their absence and echo all the same.

"Fissures and cracks everywhere," she murmured to herself.

She pulled her goggles down over her eyes and fired up her welding torch. The tell-tale crackling sound reached her ears and sparks flew up as she began the delicate process of re-welding the hatch covering the oxygen converter. With this repair complete, all she had to do was replace the hyperdrive motivators, run diagnostics and this unit would be good to go.

A loud bang and a puff of smoke across the hangar caught Alannah's attention. She raised her head and pulled her goggles up in time to see two younger technicians jump back in shock, waving away the smoke. Alannah swallowed a groan. So much for being almost finished. If Avik ever decided to crawl out of his bed, she was going to give him an earful so painful he'd need burn treatments by the time it was over. Leaving her high and dry with a band of untested, barely trained technicians set loose on the precious few X-Wings left wasn't just a recipe for disaster, it was a guarantee. She'd promised Commander Dameron four units and at the rate they were going, she wasn't going to be finished in time. The last thing she felt like doing was dealing with Dameron's infamously non-existent patience but even more than that, she didn't want to disappoint General Organa.

"Alannah!" One of the technicians, a man by the name of Sycheck, yelled for her.

Alannah looked down to the other technician working on the unit. "Hey, Ngala?"

"Yeah!"

"Can you finish welding this hatch shut? I've got to go see what Sycheck managed to break."

Ngala held a gloved hand to cover her smile, bright white teeth standing out against her dark skin. She nodded and waited for Alannah to climb off the top of the fuselage before taking her place. Alannah strode across the hangar to where Sycheck's companion, Herran, was using a wet rag to nurse a nasty cut that tore clean through his coveralls. Alannah bit back a sigh.

Planting her hands on her narrow hips, Alannah shook her head. "Herran, go to medical and get that sorted. Sycheck, care to explain what happened?"

The freckled kid dissolved into a semi-hysterical speech about how he'd been trying to replace one of the hyperdrive converters and managed to trip a sensor in the engine, causing a vicious backfire. Alannah pinched the bridge of her nose.

"It's okay," she promised, though it was far from okay. "Go see if Ngala needs help, I can handle this."

"Alannah, I can-"

"I'm not punishing you," she promised upon seeing his crestfallen face. "But these repairs are delicate and I'll work faster alone. When we slow down though, I promise I'll teach you how to do it, okay?" Sycheck's face rose and he offered her a bashful smile. His cheeks flushed pink when she grinned back at him and then waved him off to help Ngala.

She grabbed a rag and began to wipe the dust and smoke staining the metal so she could see what she had to work with. Upon the sight of the area mangled around the hyperdrive port, she dropped her head back and released a tiny groan toward the ceiling. This repair was going to take all night.

Minutes blended into hours. Eventually the light faded and soon it was just Alannah and a few of the senior mechanics left. She was sitting atop a stool, neck bent over her work, teasing her way through a grouping of wires when a friendly voice at her back perked her up.

"I think you work harder than anyone else here."

Spinning around, Alannah gave Rose Tico a tired smile. "Coming from you, that's a lot. I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted."

"How can I help?"

Alannah tilted her head toward the engine. "I need to replace all of this shot wiring and then I think I can finally install the new hyperdrive converter before moving onto the rest."

Rose, who had once been a fellow technician working side-by-side with her, retreated to the open crate of wires. These days her friend led the Resistance's Engineering Corps, which included the group of technicians responsible for the maintenance of the starfighters. Now Rose spent most of her time overseeing the general operations of the various groups of technicians or advising Leia on the state of all things tech. But, when she got the chance, Rose liked to wander back to her old stomping grounds, which included spending time with her friends, Alannah included.

"I heard you had a dust up with Poe this afternoon," Rose commented, far too casually to be innocent.

Whether she was fishing for gossip or just wanted to take a moment to enjoy teasing her friend about it, Alannah didn't care. "I think he might be the most impatient man I've ever met."

"He's a pilot," Rose observed. "All pilots are impatient - they want to get to the fight right away and like solving their problems with canons. But you can't really blame him for not wanting to hang around here. Not after everything that happened."

"I guess."

Alannah supposed that Rose was right. There wasn't much any of them could do except take a deep breath and wait for the next move. Despite their miraculous escape and chance to regroup, the First Order still held the upper hand and everyone knew it. And yet, Alannah had always preferred to keep her feet on solid ground. Despite her love for all things mechanical, especially starfighters and other ships, she had never been much for actually flying. Her mechanical acumen provided the basis for her knowledge of flight. In theory, she could fly any machine in the Resistance fleet but she'd never tried nor had the desire to. The thrill of flight was best left to others, people with an insatiable drive for adrenaline and adventure. People like Poe Dameron.

"You know he thinks you hate him."

Alannah rolled her eyes. "I don't hate Commander Dameron," she refuted. It was hard to hate anyone that charismatic and passionate, even if he drove her nuts. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. "Most of the time I don't particularly like him but hate is an awfully strong sentiment. Not that he actually cares about my opinion."

Rose held the terminal end of a wire for Alannah to solder in place.

"You're just all business," Rose suggested.

Alannah shut off her soldering tool and set it aside.

"Exactly." She did not see Rose roll her eyes and she didn't realize that she'd missed the sarcastic point of Rose's observation. The truth was Alannah was all business. Her sole purpose for being in the Resistance was to help keep its starfighters up and running. And if she wasn't working to serve that end then what was she doing? In her rare downtime she liked spending time with the ground crew, the grunts and low-levels who kept the Resistances chugging forward. Alannah didn't have a place with the high ranking Resistance leaders and she didn't want one. She fit where she was, better than she had anywhere else in her life.

"You know, you could probably delegate the rest of the work out to a couple of techs who've had a few hours of sleep so you can get some shut eye or, if you wanted, a group of us are getting together for a drink - Connix, Beaumont, Leets, and a few others."

Alannah would have liked to see her friends. It felt like ages since they'd been together but the thought of leaving the other technicians behind felt wrong. Just because she was in a position to delegate the work didn't mean that she should. That was something Avik would do, bug off to play dice and drink while everyone else did the tedious work and ran diagnostics. Alannah didn't want to be like that; she didn't want the others to think she wouldn't pull her weight when things came down to the wire. The answer painted itself across her face, a mixture between disappointment and a resigned smile.

"I'm sorry, Rose, I ought to stay here and make sure everything gets finished. Plus the others have all been working to the bone since we landed. They deserve a little rest."

Now Rose did frown. A kind sympathy swirled into her eyes as though she could read something Alannah was projecting that she couldn't even read herself. She felt oddly exposed under the force of Rose's understanding. Alannah wasn't accustomed to being so wholeheartedly welcomed by so many people or being treated like she had value beyond her skill as a mechanic. She almost flinched when Rose laid a hand so gentle on her forearm that Alannah almost didn't feel it through her coveralls.

"You deserve to take care of yourself, too. I don't want you getting burned out either."

"I don't know if I can. Working on these fighters is a dream come true, even if they are on the verge of falling apart."

Rose pursed her lips together and cast a look at the T-70. At almost twenty-five years old, this particular unit was really beginning to show its age. "I know. We're working on ways to get some fresh models in but working the back channels is getting tougher. The First Order's already choked off most of our resource streams."

"Yeah, it's just getting harder and harder, isn't it?"

A shadow passed Rose's face, reminding Alannah that she'd been in the full thick of Crait and saw the devastation first hand. Not only that but she'd lost her beloved sister, Paige, and barely had any time to grieve. And yet in spite of all of that, her face shone with hope and she gave Alannah an encouraging little nod of her head.

"We still have each other. That counts for a lot." Rose got to her feet and gave Alannah's arm one last friendly squeeze. "If you change your mind, we'll be in Connix and Mendela's quarters. But you should probably get some sleep as soon as you can, okay?"

"I will." Alannah promised.

She waited until Rose left her to blow out the sigh she didn't realize she'd been holding in. Reaching up, she rubbed a particularly sore spot at the back of her neck. The notion of falling onto her uncomfortable cot and sleeping for a decade sounded pretty good but there was still so much more work to be done. Alannah shelved the longing for now and bent her head over her work once more, determined to have six units up and running by dawn.

X X X

Eventually, shafts of watery light cut through the ever-present fog. Alannah liked the way the fog swirled in formless, unpredictable patterns as the spires passed through the bleak morning. Over the past hour she'd been so engrossed in running final diagnostic checks on the six ready fighters that she failed to notice the slow trickle of people into the hangar. As she unplugged her diagnostic pad from the port in the cockpit of the last fighter, she paused at the top of the ladder and looked around. The lead up to any mission, no matter the size, grew exponentially in chaos the closer it got. Ground crew infiltrated the hangar, weaving between technicians to load survival equipment in the storage compartments, ensure that every pilot's assigned unit was set up to their liking and be prepared to guide traffic so each fighter got out one at a time in a tight cluster. That wasn't accounting for the members of operations tracking people down, checking last minute details, altering any orders and generally getting under foot.

And then there were the pilots, usually the last to arrive from their final briefing but the most noticeable. Alannah herself was glad she didn't have to walk around the hangar dressed in that familiar, eye-watering shade of orange, sticking out like a sore thumb in the sea of muted colors. She liked her plain coveralls and the headband she used in part to try and keep part of her shockingly pale blonde hair hidden.

"Hey! Corallay, this one good to go?"

Alannah looked down at a member of the ground crew. Without thinking about it, she knocked two knuckles against the hull, a strange little superstitious quirk of hers, before climbing down the ladder. "I think there might be a slight hitch in the propulsion getting her off the ground but it shouldn't cause any problems," Alannah explained, hoping the crewman would relay that to whichever pilot was stuck with the fighter. "She's good to go."

She tucked her diagnostic pad beneath her arm and started to walk toward her next task only to realize she didn't have one. Sure the other fighters needed fixing but the next shift was due to start that. Her hard push was over now and if she wanted, she could escape to the quarters she shared with three other technicians. A hot shower was calling to her as was her cot because even though it was hard and truly uncomfortable, her exhausted body wouldn't know the difference.

Realizing she could slip out of the hangar entirely unnoticed, Alannah started to make her way to the large equipment station near the back to stash her pad with the rest of her tools. A voice rang out, stopping her in her tracks.

"Hey! Alannah!"

Whirling around, she watched as one of the six designated pilots jogged toward her, looking like a beacon in his orange jumpsuit. Dres Fitch was about ten years older than Alannah and was one of her favorite people in the whole of the Resistance for a litany of reasons, including the fact that he was one of the nicest men she'd ever met and he'd saved her from falling into the hands of the First Order.

"Hey, Fitch. You got wrangled into this one?"

"Yeah," Fitch rubbed the back of his neck with a large hand, looking toward an X-Wing where his usual ground complement was already hard at work. "To be honest, I'm itching to get off this rock. You look dead on your feet - I heard you were part of the crew that stayed up all night to make it happen."

Alannah frowned and raised her fingers to touch the slightly puffy circles beneath her eyes. She hadn't even bothered to check the time; how long had she been awake at this point?

"It was nothing," she started to wave him off but Fitch shook his head and gave her shoulder a little shake.

"Don't sell yourself short. You know us flyboys wouldn't be anywhere without you and your crew."

Regardless of whether or not that was true, Alannah certainly would never say it out loud. Still, his complement burrowed its way into her heart and she glowed in response. Even if she didn't need the praise to spur her on to do her job, it was nice to hear nonetheless. She didn't even bother to point out that technically this wasn't her crew. Considering Avik was still nowhere to be seen, she felt comfortable taking the credit for this particular job.

"Thanks. Is that your fighter?"

"Yep," he jerked his head toward it in a silent invitation for her to follow. "Got any pro tips?"

Alannah smiled now. Whether Fitch realized what he was doing or not, he always managed to find little ways to boost her confidence. "I think you got one of the better ones. You'll probably have to readjust the seat though; we had to move them to get to the life support systems. Might be a slight kick back when you reach your critical speed to leave the atmosphere."

"I hate it when my seat gets moved," he joked and clapped one of the crewmen on the back as he scuttled past.

Fitch moved one of his hands over his braids, gathering them up and using a leather tie to keep them at bay at the nape of his neck. He chatted with her idly while he sorted out his hair and checked his harness. As they talked, Alannah watched the comings and goings of the crew, moving like a strangely chaotic and yet totally ordered unit throughout the hangar.

Another flash of orange caught her eye. Her heart leapt into her throat not at the sight of Poe Dameron but at General Organa. Poe's dark eyes scanned the hangar until, to Alannah's shock, they landed on her and stayed. He leaned over to General Organa and muttered something in her ear. Fitch dug an elbow into her side when the pair changed course for them.

"Look sharp."

"Yeah, I know," Alannah muttered under her breath.

Her heart, still lodged in her throat, beat so hard she could feel it everywhere. Suddenly General Organa was standing directly in front of her. They'd never once spoken; Alannah was absolutely certain that the General had never even heard of her up until this moment. She had to swallow a squeak of surprise when the General bypassed any type of formality and reached for Alannah's battered, callused hands.

"Commander Dameron says that you spearheaded the effort to make this happen and I wanted to thank you personally, Miss Corallay. I feel so much better knowing this convoy will have an escort and we owe that entirely to the efforts of you and your team."

Alannah flushed bright red, cheeks so hot she could feel them beating. Not only was General Organa-the legendary Leia Organa-talking directly to Alannah but she knew her name? She was thanking her? Alannah felt slightly faint where she stood.

"It-" she swallowed a gulp of air and tried not to cough in her surprise. "It was nothing, General. I'm just happy we were able to help."

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Poe turn his face away and cover his mouth to muffle his snort of laughter. Her heart threatened to sink. Was he really laughing at her right now?

"Please pass my gratitude on to the other technicians when you get the chance, Miss Corallay," General Organa said but her eyes followed Alannah's to the direction of Poe who had only semi-recovered from his fit. "Commander, don't you have an X-Wing to be in?"

It was Alannah's turn to raise a hand to hide her smile. Poe blinked at General Organa like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the sweets jar. "Uh, yes, Sir."

"Then I suggest you get to it." General Organa said before giving Alannah's shoulder a squeeze. "Thank you again."

And then General Organa bade good luck to Fitch before she was gone. Poe shifted his weight and waggled his eyebrows at Alannah.

"And here you thought I didn't care."

She had to dig her fingernails into her palms to quell the urge to give his shin a swift kick. Pointing toward his designated fighter, she raised her chin in defiance. She was not going to let Poe Dameron and his shit-eating grin get the better of her. "Commander, didn't General Organa give you an order?"

Fitch barked out a laugh but Poe's grin just widened a tic and she could see the mischief shining in his brown eyes. Unknowingly, she'd caught his attention and now a silent challenge stood between them, a brand new war of wits that he was determined to win.

"Fitch, I'll see you up there. Alannah, I'll see you around. Here's hoping the life support systems actually work."

Without a further word he spun on booted heel and walked away, a definite swagger coloring his gait. Before she could stop herself, Alannah cupped her hands around her mouth and half-shouted. "Yeah, you're welcome!"

Poe didn't even bother turning around. He just waved a dismissive, arrogant hand over his shoulder. Alannah gaped at his retreating back in disbelief. How could he, how could anyone for that matter, do something so simultaneously sweet and obnoxious at the same time? She had a gut feeling that Poe went out of his way to ensure she got recognition for her work but he also took immense pleasure from her obvious embarrassment. And then, after making sure she was praised, he had the gall to take a jab at the efficacy of that work?

"What a piece of work!" She huffed.

Fitch chuckled. "That's Poe for you. You'd better watch yourself though. Now that he knows what you're capable of, he's never going to leave you alone."

"Well he'd better. I've got better things to do with my time than put up with cocky, arrogant flyboys who-"

"Hey now, you're hitting a little too close to home," Fitch ribbed her once more with a teasing finger into her side. "He likes getting a rise out of people and you're an easy target, that's all. Honestly, he's mostly just swagger. Remember that and you'll be fine."

Alannah frowned. Was there such a thing as just keeping your head down in a place like this? She was starting to think it was impossible. She waited long enough to see Fitch into his X-Wing and watched the six units depart, with Poe in the lead. Doing her best to ignore what happened, Alannah dragged herself to the back of the base where she at last stripped off and all but dove headfirst into her steaming hot shower. Afterward she pulled on a loose shirt and was asleep almost as soon as her head hit her pillow.

X X X

No matter how many times Poe climbed into the cockpit and got airborne, he still got the same rush like it was the first time. There was some intangible element to flying that would never get old. He didn't care if he was just logging flight hours, running a routine recon or escort mission, or taking on the whole First Order; he lived for the thrill of being airborne. And there was nothing quite like the rapid acceleration, the feel of his back pressed against his seat and the way the sky rapidly lightened as he shot up toward the clouds before the world darkened as the atmosphere fell away and he shot into space. It was a contradiction in terms but when he was off planet, he felt like he could breathe. Up there it was just him, BB-8, his fellow pilots, and the mission.

And that was all he needed.

As he careened out into open space he slowed down, waiting for the other five members of his skeleton crew to arrive. One by one they arrived, gliding easily into formation. Drawing in a deep breath, he steadied himself and glanced up through his transparisteel canopy at the nothing surrounding him.

"Alright folks, this is just a straight-forward escort mission. Your coordinates should be set for the rendezvous point. We'll meet the convoy and get back here no problems, right?" He flicked a couple of switches, preparing for the jump to lightspeed. "Right. Punch it!"

His field of vision blurred, going stark white as the fighter passed between the realm of real space, shooting into hyperspace with a sharp tug that he felt in the pit of his stomach. Sensors all over the canopy acted in real time, shielding him from the worst of the visual effects and he tried to relax for the short trip. Poe didn't know why but he felt uneasy. There were no reports of enemy movement in this desolate little pocket of the galaxy and if the convoy were under attack, they'd have heard by now. Poe figured that the First Order was, much like the Resistance, too busy licking its wounds to engage in a fight over a simple supply convoy.

Although he could handle himself in a fight in any condition, he didn't relish one right now. He'd lost enough friends in the past few weeks and he literally couldn't stomach the thought of losing any more. Finally, after years of others trying to hammer it into him, Poe finally understood what it meant to have and exercise restraint. The Dreadnaught and the Raddus and Crait proved to be three ruthless teachers and Poe felt the lessons practically seared into his mind and heart. So he silently prayed that the intel reports were true and they would drop out of lightspeed to greet the convoy cruising along.

At length they came to their coordinates and he dropped his fighter back into real space, opening the S-foils to slow to a cruising speed. Five more fighters appeared on either side of him and although he was aware of their reduced numbers, he still expected to see more. There were too many missing faces, too many silent voices over the comms and Poe could feel each lost friend like a hole bored into his heart.

"Looks like a nice cruise. You think there's a pool on the leisure deck?"

Poe heard a handful of snickers at Des Fitch's joke. "BB-8, open a channel to the lead cruiser."

Seconds later he heard a crackle before a clear voice came over. The communications officer for the Radiant came over, acknowledging their arrival and granted permission for them to join formation. Poe pulled out in a wide turn, sweeping around from beneath to come up next to the cruiser. He didn't need to look out of the canopy to ensure that the others followed his lead. Despite the varying skill and experience levels, every Resistance pilot knew what they were doing and this small group in particular was particularly high caliber. Poe's stomach clenched; they had to be high caliber; only the best and most resilient survived the things they had.

BB-8's beeping filled his ears and he sighed. Sometimes he swore someone covertly installed some kind of neurological scanner in his droid because somehow BB-8 always honed in on his moods when they shifted. In this instance, BB-8 picked up on the unusual amount of silence on the comms. "I know, buddy. I think it's weird too."

Poe wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to silence and unease. When you flew with the same squadron for mission after mission you eventually knew everyone's voice by heart, knew their call signs, knew their particular flying quirks and with a full squadron there was always chatter. Whether it was pilots calling out their position, alerting others to danger, or just cracking jokes on the flight home, Poe was accustomed to talking. The silence only reminded him that he would never hear some of his favorite voices again or hear the same tired lines over and over. He missed that now.

Blowing out a long sigh, he closed his eyes for one second to recollect himself. There wasn't a damn thing he could do about any of it now. The past was the past and there wasn't much of a point in dwelling too hard on it. If Poe allowed himself to dwell then he would surely fall into a well of misery he'd never crawl out of. Plus, he was just like every other sorry sack in the galaxy - damaged goods with enough baggage to fill a Death Star. Mulling too hard over that, thinking too hard over the tiny cracks littering the surface of his would-be carefree bravado just begged for trouble.

When he opened his eyes, it was to glance to the left and see Tyce cruising next to him. He could just make out her nod of encouragement.

"Chin up, Commander. Like you said - this is just a straight forward flight."

BB-8 beeped its resounding agreement.

And it truly was about as simple as missions got. In fact, the closer they got to Waveren the more bored Poe got. After weeks of non-stop action, he forgot how utterly boring basic missions like this could be. Although he still wasn't itching for a fight, he wouldn't have said no to even an unfamiliar, ultimately friendly craft entering their space. Nothing of the sort happened. Eventually they reached the rim of Waveren's miserable atmosphere and the X-Wings slowed their approach, allowing the convoy to land first. Poe guided his X-Wing back into its designated spot in the hangar, opting for the softer landing that set him gently back onto solid ground.

It wasn't until he disengaged the canopy that he realized he hadn't even once thought about whether or not the ship's life support system was functioning. He'd been breathing in the perfectly regulated oxygen without even thinking about it. Poe didn't know why but the thought hit him in a funny spot. Laughter rose up from his lungs and he was shaking his head when a ground attendant reached the top of the ladder to take his helmet.

"Is everything okay, Commander?" The attendant asked.

"Yeah," he waved the kid off. As he stood up to clamber out of the cockpit he searched the hangar for a flash of Alannah Corallay's hair but she was nowhere to be found, probably getting a few well-earned hours of sleep.

Mood instantly lightened, he was still chuckling to himself as he made for operations to debrief General Organa.

A/N: Next chapter picks up shortly after this! The story is fully outlined start to finish with a little bit of wiggle room for small plot bunnies that pop up.

Loved it? Liked it? Curious to know where it'll go? I'd love to know any and all thoughts! Much love – Kappa.