It was time. The bay was empty. BB-8 and I approached Black One from the front. Turning to the droid, I explained the process. "You should start recording now. I'm going to get a feel of the fighter first, then I'm going to check all the usual things to make sure she's in good shape. After that I'm going to remove the firing mechanism assembly and take it back to the shop to tear apart." She beeped understanding, and backed up to get a good view. That had to be the furthest she'd been from my side since Poe left. He wasn't kidding about her being a handful. She had shown up at my door in the middle of what should be my 'night' because I work such a late shift, although it was actually morning on D'qar. Luckily she was patient enough to let me go back to sleep, but the next 8 or so hours she was against my leg, questioning every move I made, why was I doing that, can I help… it was maddening.

I stood at the tip of the T-70. Stretching my arms up, I touched the point and began walking along the fuselage toward the wing, lovingly dragging my fingertips along the seams, stopping every so often to rub an area that was scratched or dented. I still wore plastic gloves so I wouldn't leave oils on the special ferrosphere paint that she used to confuse her attackers. But I could still feel heat in a few areas where she was vulnerable. All this is in my own mind I'm sure, but this process has helped me find problems that no one knew existed.

As my hands caressed the leading edge of the wing, I let out an appreciative moan. It was perfect, so smooth and no dents. Staying on track, my hands finished the wing and its laser cannons, and moved all the way to the rear to do the same greeting on her other side, finishing back at the front tip. I climbed into the cockpit and opened the wings so I could inspect the inner walls. The older x-wings didn't split the engine like this, and it added more maintenance for us grunts. Everything was looking great so far, Poe had taken exquisite care of her.

I moved to just below the cockpit where the panel covering her electronics was secured. It felt smooth, but there was a slight discoloring along the edge and a faint smell. Pulling off the panel, I could see instantly she had a problem here. Something had overheated and a large section of the wires had melted. This fighter shouldn't have been able to function. I called to BB-8.

"Did you know about this?"

She sadly beeped back, "yes, I knew something wasn't connecting anymore. I rerouted power and control through different systems to maintain control."

"You saved all of your lives. Good job." I couldn't smile at her because I was pretty upset at the amount of damage. It was time for the toolbox to come out, I had a long night of just removing the damaged section. It was clear BB-8 knew what was wrong, and I suspected that meant Poe did too. I was being tested. Considering how paranoid he was about anyone working on the T-70, I shouldn't be surprised.

As the days went on, so did the repairs. It was a huge job, and now I knew what Poe meant when he said he didn't have time to do it. But, with BB-8's help, I finished a day earlier than planned. I placed the panel back on, but not before drawing my smiley face on the inside cover. The last part was personal-I placed a long kiss on the panel, and told her to take care of her passengers.

I strolled into the cantina again that night, droid at my side. Rogg placed a large glass on the bar and proceeded to mix a bunch of liquids together into it. When it was done, it was a deep blue, and had an umbrella on top. This guy was amazing. How did he know what I needed?

"I hear you've finished Black One. A celebratory drink is in order, I believe." He slid the glass in front of me with a flourish you wouldn't think a being of his size could pull off.

"Word gets around fast I see." I closed my eyes and groaned a little as I sipped the drink. "Excellent, Rogg, as always."

"And how do you feel this time?" He asked.

I looked down at the droid. "You aren't recording anymore BB-8. Right?" After a positive beep, I turned back to Rogg. "I'm fluttery, loopy, my stomach is doing flip flops. I had to really get into this repair, and it took everything I had to stay focused. Black One is such an extension of him that it's hard to feel where he ends and the plane begins. I can still feel his essence in my fingers. I don't know how I'm going to be able to interact with him when he comes back. It doesn't help that he's just so… hot. And justifiably confident."

Rogg leaned forward. "Whatever you end up doing, don't be casual about it. He's not that kind of guy." He walked away to the other end of the bar to finish cleaning up.

Don't be casual. Weird advice from a bartender. I was going to be lucky if I could get a sentence out to Dameron without a quiver in my voice. I could hear his voice in my head, I woke to night sweats thinking about his touch, but essence in my fingers, what a lie. The essence was through every cell in my body.