A/N: The first part of this got very little reaction, and instead of being like "clearly no one is interested in this" my dumb brain is like "what if i write more." Turns out I really love this story, so I'm going to keep writing it.
In this chapter: Aviya returns from a mission, a little battered. Poe takes care of her. Pre-TFA, fluff.
Aviya slides the door open with a scan of her palm, shuffles into the dark quarters, puts her weapons down, flinching a little at the sound the metal makes against the table. Before she gets halfway across the room, BB-8 makes his way to her, chirping happily as he nudges her shin.
"Hey, buddy," she whispers, bending down to affectionately pet his head. "Shhh."
The bedside light flicks on suddenly, and Poe is rubbing sleep from his eyes, sitting up to look at her.
"Welcome home," he greets—and it's him who is her home, the broadness of his bare chest, his curly hair, his brown eyes, the way he makes her feel brave and safe all at once.
"Hi," she sighs in an exhausted half-relief to see him.
She crosses the room to him, and he can see she's favoring her right leg, limping gingerly.
"You're hurt." It's a statement, not a question, the corners of his mouth turning down and his forehead creasing between his brows.
She waves him off, sitting on the bed next to him. "I just twisted my knee."
"Your face—" he gently takes her chin, turning her to look at the angry red scrape across her cheek.
"I'm okay," she reassures. "I just need a shower, and some sleep. And I missed you."
She leans forward to kiss him, his lips soft and hot and familiar on hers, her right hand curling around the back of his neck, his warm skin an anchor. Something hot and comforting pools low in her belly and she could kiss him just like this, slow and steady, all night.
He pulls back, looking at her disapprovingly. "Don't think I can't tell you haven't moved your left arm. Ribs?"
He sits all the way up, unfastening her jacket, watching her wince as he peels it off of her. He pulls her shirt out of her pants and lifts it up.
"Fuck," he hisses at the large purple and blue bruises winding themselves around her side. "Did you get these checked out? Are they broken? Any internal injuries?"
"Poe." She touches his bare shoulder, her face soft. "Just bruises and soreness. I promise."
"Someone beat the shit out of you? What happened?"
"Unfortunate fall."
"Aviya."
I've had worse, she almost wants to say, but that is never, never the right thing—not with the helpless way Poe is looking at her now, not when she will never forget the look on his face when she woke up in a hospital bed after, she was told, days of a machine breathing for her.
"I will tell you everything, I swear."
It was three days of the usual hell—cooped up on a small ship and trying to go undetected and the predictable misery of running into the First Order. It's a long story and it's not, but she's too exhausted to tell it now, to answer his questions, to watch him pretend to be unshakable and not scared to death, the same way she is when he tells her about any of his missions. War is monotonous even in all of its near-cataclysmic events.
She stretches her neck with a sigh. "I'm just so tired." So tired she feels it in her bones, even as her skin begs her to touch his.
"Okay," he acquiesces, climbing off of the bed to kneel in front of her. "Let's get you out of these boots."
He unfastens them, pulling them off slowly, pressing a kiss to the inside of each calf. She knows she smells, but she's met Poe fresh out of a full day in a cockpit and he's kissed her after she's spent hours in combat training and they're used to each other by now. She runs her fingers through his hair, down his cheek, glides her thumb over his lips.
"I'm going to go take a shower," she says, because if she stays where she is, she'll either fall asleep or fall into him—and she's too dirty for the former, too tired for the latter. She grimaces as she stands, limping a few difficult steps before Poe stands up.
"Come here," he says, and easily sweeps her into his arms, carrying her to the refresher.
He sets her down on the lid of the sani and turns the water on.
When he turns back around, her eyes are closed, her chin dipping toward her chest.
"Aves? You still with me?"
"Yeah," she says quietly, opening her eyes and reaching for the hem of her shirt.
"Let me," he whispers, crouching in front of her, lifting her shirt up and over her arms and then her head, tossing it to the floor. He reaches behind her to unfasten her thick black compression bra, pressing a kiss to her collarbone in wordless apology as she inhales sharply at the pain it causes in her ribs.
"Did you sleep at all in the last three days?" he asks, looking at the purple half-moons under her dark eyes.
"It was a mission. How much sleep do you usually get?"
He shakes his head, taking her hands. "Up," he commands, pulling her to her feet. He unfastens her belt and her pants, pushes them down so that she's naked in front of him, and scans her closely for any injuries he hasn't noted yet.
He pushes his own pants down then, wrapping an arm around her waist for the few steps into the 'fresher.
"I don't want you to overcompensate for that knee and slip and fall," he explains, following her into the water.
"Poe," she says quietly, as much as she doesn't want to, and he shakes his head.
"I know. It's just a shower." He smiles, softly, and she could melt. "I know how much you like it when I wash your hair."
He moves behind her, pulling the band off of the bottom of her braid and putting it around his wrist, untangling the braid with his fingers. His hands ghost over the smaller braids and their metal rings and she shakes her head.
"You can leave them for now."
Under the water, with Poe's large hands weaving through her hair and over her skin, massaging her scalp and shoulders, the tension she's held in her muscles for the last three days starts to fade. Her eyes closing, she sways against him, and Poe holds her steady against the solidness of his chest.
"Don't fall asleep yet," he says. "I promise we're almost done."
He turns the water off, helping her out and onto the mat, and grabs two towels. He wraps one loosely around his waist, handing her the other.
"Here." He sits her back down on the sani, rummaging in the cabinet for a moment. "Let me put some pain cream on your ribs and knee. And I'll wrap that knee."
He does so while she wrings some of the water out of her long hair with the towel.
"Okay." He sits back, assessing his handiwork. "Let's go to bed."
"Oh, thank gods."
He chuckles, lifting her easily again, carrying her into the next room, sitting her on the bed. He throws one of his worn t-shirts and a pair of underwear at her, stepping back into the bathroom to pull his pants back on. When he comes back, she's laying on her back, and she stares at him, his naked chest and stomach and arms, his pants slung low on his hips, his damp hair clinging to him, and hums appreciatively.
"What?" he asks.
"I am admiring the view."
He chuckles. "I thought you were too tired."
"Never too tired to look."
"Hmm."
He crawls in bed next to her, pulling the blanket over them both. On his side, he hovers over her, pushing some of her hair out of her face.
"I missed you," she slurs in a whisper, already slipping into the edges of sleep.
He plants kisses along her hairline, smiling. "I love you," he whispers, and turns out the light.