This is set post-TFA, but their evacuation of D'Qar did not happen.
Pre-TLJ.

Barely any references to cannon.

TOUCH DOWN

"MOVE, ALARA!"

If the small fleet of TIE fighters had not been enough to dispel the banter between the pilots, Poe's command was enough for them to sharpen their focus. Poe, Pava, and Wexley had all thought that three of their recruits were skilled enough to escape if anything happened during the supposedly routine recon mission, but Alara had frozen, her X-Wing hovering uncertainly as one of the TIE fighters locked its weapons on her and started firing.

"Training formation – Pava, Wexley, stick with Damien and Remley; I'm taking Alara!" Poe's authority rang in his voice, calm despite the anxiety and adrenaline coiling around his chest. While he could, usually, easily take down the three TIE fighters that had set their sights on him, he couldn't do that while covering Alara, who had only just recovered control of her X-Wing and was flying with no direction, halfway caught between staying and escaping.

If she escaped at this point, she'd be followed, and the First Order would discover the location of their base. If she attempted to start a landing cycle into the planet that they were right next to, she'd be blown out of the sky without a chance to survive. At the very least, she seemed to have realised that.

"Cadet Timbra, fire on the fighters. Don't veer away. We covered this. FOCUS!" Poe ordered, executing a complicated twist to avoid being hit on both sides and hitting one of the TIE fighters in turn. It veered. Recovered. A couple more blasts and it went down in a fiery explosion, the heat brushing against Black-One's cockpit canopy.

One down, two more to go.

Jess, Snap, and the recruits were handling seven TIE fighters and doing well. They could cope.

"Commander, sir-" Alara's voice was shaky in his ear, choked with sobs and the realisation that despite being positioned between Poe and Pava, both of them were too far away to help her.

He managed to take down another TIE fighter, circling it in a dizzying manner before blasting it into oblivion. Still not enough. The TIE fighters were gunning for the evident weak link: two of the TIE fighters that had been targeting Jess were now aiming for Alara.

"Cadet Timbra. Nosedive, now."

It was her best executed move. Muscle memory should have kicked in. Instead, she veered sideways just as Poe gunned down one of the TIE fighters that had been surrounding her. The two ships collided, momentum carrying them both into the planet's orbit. Gravity sucked them down, and Alara disappeared from Poe's sight before he had even righted his ship.

He pushed down the urge to curse; while Pava and Wexley knew what to do, the cadets needed his command now more than ever. Alara might still be saved, but not if they were too distracted to save themselves first.

"Formation five. Attack." They fell easily, if a bit shakily, in the well-practised formation, boxing in and destroying the remaining TIE fighters. It still took too much time. With each second, the rescue threatened to become a recovery.

"Commander: that's planet Siclit – its air is thick with Hydrogen Sulfide," Pava reported. Her voice remained steady, but Poe picked up the mournful cadence. Two sharp inhalations (the cadets, his mind supplied) echoed in his headset.

"Stay in orbit, I'll get Alara. Comm me if there's trouble," Poe commanded while initiating the landing cycle, following the tracker that they had installed their ships with. With some luck, Alara had crashed in a clearing, allowing him to land right next to her, but that's where her luck ended. Her ship's nose was nearly buried in the soil. The cockpit was ruined beyond repair. Despite being shrouded in fog, Poe could see her lying limply in her seat.

[Some part of him also registered the fact that her ship had been rendered unflyable; the Resistance had lost yet another ship.] BB-8's warning thrills nearly made him jump out of his skin: he had forgotten about his droid's presence.

"No time to get the respirator, buddy. She needs help, now. Stay here." Poe said before filling his lungs with as much air as he could and popping his canopy open, sliding out of with ease – his boots left a deep mark in the soft ground when he jumped off the ladder. The toxic fumes, while invisible, tickled his throat, but he refused to cough.

He scampered up the wing of Alara's ship, grabbing at her blindly and tossing her over his shoulder. The weight, combined with the slippery metal, made him lose his footing and he groaned as he hit the ground chest-first, breath punched out of him. A barrage of coughs followed, forcing him to inhale. The smell of rotten eggs was pungent. His chest felt heavy, wires crossing over his ribs and tightening to the point that he could barely feel his lungs expand. His discomfort was not a priority right now. Alara had been exposed for far longer than he had, and she needed immediate help. He got to his feet and stumbled the few steps to his ship, hastily tossing her into his cockpit as BB8 retracted the ladder, allowing Poe to close the canopy while the droid activated the filtering systems.

"Thanks buddy," Poe murmured as he fastened one of the respirators to Alara's face. It barely fogged over.

His chest seized as he moved to his chair, coughs forcing themselves out of him as he doubled over, bracing his chest with one arm and holding on to the side of the ship with the other in an effort to not eat the console.

"Low oxygen intake. Poe needs respirator."

BB8's beeps were barely audible over the heartbeat thundering in his ears (was it his?) but Poe reached for the respirator below his seat, the concentrated doze of oxygen leaving him with black spots dancing in his eyes and a swimming head. He rested his forehead against the console, simply breathing until his head stopped swimming and his chest no longer felt as if a freighter had landed on it. He couldn't afford to linger.

"Comm the base; Alara needs immediate medical help," Poe ordered as he eased Black One towards the sky. He did not even want to think on how the chemical fumes had tarnished the metal. A repaint was in the near future.

But first, getting to base.

Alara's wheezes broke the silence during the flight back. The girl was pale, twitching restlessly even in unconsciousness (seizing? Probably. He didn't have anything to give her to stop it). Poe had muted his comms so that the cadets didn't have to listen to her suffering, and then detached his own respirator so that Alara wasn't deprived of any oxygen. He was fine; the ship's air had been filtered and he was conscious, if slightly achy.

"Oxygen intake is low. Poe, wear respirator." BB8 beeped from behind him, emitting a series of sounds that showed its disapproval with Poe's actions.

"I'm fine, buddy. Don't worry," Poe murmured, closing his eyes and breathing as deeply as he could. His chest twinged, but he was fine. (He pointedly ignored the wheezes that slipped out of his mouth every few breaths.)

"Commander Dameron, how's Alara?" Remley's voice had him scrambling to unmute his comms.

"BB8 is reporting low vital signs. But she's alive," Poe said. The cadets might gain some hope from his report, but Pava and Snap knew him well enough to hear what he wasn't saying - Alara was dying. Snap's sigh acknowledged the receival of that message.

"I told General Organa to clear the landing pad; only medical staff and her parents will be there," Pava reported, voice carefully blank.

"Thank you, captain Pava. Everyone, report to base as soon as we land."

He was the commander; he'd take the heat. They didn't need to bear witness, or stomach, her parents' grief if (when) the worst came to be. It was his fault; he had brought her out before she was ready and now she was paying the price.

He would pay the price for the rest of his life.

He had as good as killed her.

"Poe-"

"That's an order, captain Wexley," Poe said as they dropped out of hyperspace and entered the planet's atmosphere, landing as smoothly as possible while opening the cockpit's canopy. The control panel swam in front of his eyes as he stood up from the seat, hot bile lapping at the back of his throat.

No. Push back his discomforts.

He removed Alara's respirator, hastily hauling her out of the cockpit so that Kalonia could administer a hypo before taking her into her arms and lowering her onto a gurney. The seizure gradually stopped, allowing Kalonia to secure another respirator to her face before starting to work on her. He didn't even attempt to understand the medical jargon thrown between Kalonia and her med-droid, instead focusing on finding the ladder with his feet. It should have been easy, muscle memory kicking in and enabling him to do this in his sleep, but the adrenaline crash was hitting fast and hard, preventing his knees from locking and weighing down his limbs. He rested his head against the cool metal for a mere second, regaining his breath and balance, and almost missed the next step when Kalonia stepped back, head lowering out of respect. He may not understand medical jargon, but he would be a fool to not understand that.

No – he hadn't brought Alara back just so that her parents could see their daughter die in front of them. Had he not brought her back, he could have told the Timbras that their daughter had passed easily. Now, he couldn't even ease their pain with that lie. Not when they were running across the hangar, gazes zeroing in on their daughter and the distinct lack of activity around her.

BB8 thrummed lowly, starting to share Poe's declining vital signs with the medbot so that the latter could alert the doctor, but Poe patted his head to shut him up. His needs were not a priority right now. He'd live. He could sleep off the headache and the nausea and the dizziness.

"ALARA!" Her mother's desperate cry chilled Poe's blood. He watched, in a haze, as Mrs. Timbra cupped her daughter's face, thumbs shakily tracing her cheekbones. "WHY AREN'T YOU HELPING HER?"

"Mrs. Timbra, I'm sorry. The exposure was too great; her heart's too weak to handle any treatment," Dr. Kalonia said.

"She's still alive. DO YOUR JOB!" Mr. Timbra seethed.

"Any treatment would increase her suffering. Hold her. Be with her. Show her she's not alone. We'll give you some privacy." Dr. Kalonia explained.

Mrs. Timbra keened, grief pulling her down until she was half-lying on Alara's chest, ear resting directly above her heart. She seemed transfixed by Alara's face, as if attempting to memorise her features before the paleness of death leeched her beauty.

(Poe found himself doing the same thing.) Alara had been one of the cockiest recruits, believing that her parents' well-established places in the Resistance were enough to gain her a good spot with the pilots, and Poe had chosen her for this mission with the hope that she would realise how different open space was when compared to the training that they did near the base. This was not what he had hoped for.

"Alara, honey, open your eyes." Mrs. Timbra stood up straight and, to Poe's surprise, Alara followed her mother's orders, a small smile tugging at her lips even as her brow furrowed, clearly in pain.

"SHE'S AWAKE, DOCTOR!" Mr. Timbra was shaking now, torn between demanding Dr. Kalonia to do something and actually being with his daughter. The latter meant acknowledging that Alara was dying, and he didn't seem willing to do that.

"I love you, honey," Mrs. Timbra murmured, flattening down her daughter's hair and giving her a kiss on her forehead.

Poe felt like he was imposing. He shouldn't be here. He should be writing his report. He should be telling Leia general Organa to demote him: he had led a recruit, barely twenty years old, to her death. She hadn't experienced anything but war, and now she wouldn't experience anything ever again.

Alara's last exhale silenced the hangar. A tremoring whisper called for a person who would never answer. Mrs. Timbra's shaking hand reached out to close her daughter's eyes, to smooth out the frown, to stroke her cheeks and her hair and anywhere that she could reach. Her bangles hit the metal with a jarring gong. The sound she let out afterwards was animalistic in its rage; humane in its grief; unexplainable in its torment.

Misery without reprieve.

Her father was motionless, staring with wide eyes at his daughter's body. Like this, it was difficult to gauge which one was the corpse.

Poe had caused this.

"This is your fault, Dameron."

And Mr. Timbra knew it.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Timbra." Nothing Poe could say would be enough, but offering his sincere condolences was the right thing to do. Yet, sincerity wasn't powerful enough to overcome a father's desperation.

"Sorry? Did 'sorry' bring your mother back, Dameron?" The words were sharp; Poe felt them pierce his skin, his lungs. A sardonic grin twisted Mr. Timbra's face.

"MR. TIMBRA!" Dr. Kalonia's horrified exclamation went ignored as Mr. Timbra stalked towards Poe. He was easily twice his size; Poe felt dwarfed and immobile, watching in fascination as Timbra's arm sailed towards him, punching him square in the jaw and sending him careening into the ship's ladder. The thick metal collided with his head, sharp pain ricocheting inside his skull. Well, his head collided with it, rather than the other way round. Semantics.

He deserved this. It was his fault. He would take any punishment they saw fit, even if it included being a punching bag for the grief-stricken father. Sometimes, an actual punching bag wasn't enough. Crunching bones, bruised knuckles, and blood flying from breaking skin offered a greater satisfaction. A younger Poe could attest to that.

The tarmac's heat seeping through his clothes made him aware that he had been floored. Finn would be jealous; it usually took him a solid half an hour to manage to drop Poe.

"Mr. Timbra, that's enough. The Resistance offers its deepest sympathies for this difficult time, but it will not condone this level of violence." Dr. Kalonia's words were followed by a grunt; had someone pushed her? This was his fault, not hers. He should stand up, protect her, but his hearing and sight were warped, sounds and colours merging into one another in an unrecognisable mess. Black One's wing blended with the sky, black and blue and white and orange and beeps and whirs. BB8 rolled against his shoulder, jostling him, and Poe swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat.

"HE KILLED MY DAUGHTER! YOU SON OF A BITCH; YOU COULDN'T LIVE WITH YOUR GRIEF SO YOU PUSHED IT ONTO US!" The words were punctuated with a punch to his face, his kidney, his stomach, his ribs. Poe could barely lift his arms. Was he being restrained? No, pinned down. Mr. Timbra loomed over him, dark eyes brimming with tears, rage, and grief. So much grief. Poe could drown in it. "Your mother must be so disappointed in you. I don't even know why the general keeps you on. Pity, probably. Well, see where that landed us."

Poe was thoroughly trained. Muscle memory should have kicked in, enabling him to free himself from such a restrictive position and potentially disable his opponent, but his body felt weighed down, disconnected from reality even as the words rang harsh and true. More punches landed on him, but he lost count as he attempted to breathe in between the hits. Maybe he didn't deserve to breathe; maybe this was his penance. Dying like Alara did; struggling to draw in air. Fitting. He would have liked to say goodbye to Finn before he died, but Alara hadn't had the chance to say goodbye to her father. Or to her mother. She had just died.

"Mr. Timbra, that's quite enough," another voice joined the fray. It was familiar: authoritative and caring and motherly all at the same time. Poe's body automatically moved to stand at attention, but the man's weight on him prevented him from doing so.

"ALARA'S DEAD. THIS IS NOT ENOUGH!"

There was a blur of orange and white and brown and Timbra's weight abruptly disappeared; to his right, Snap was holding the struggling man down. Hadn't Poe commanded them to go inside? No wonder Alara hadn't obeyed him; not even his oldest recruits were following his orders now.

A pair of hands – large, familiar; Finn? – slid under his shoulders and hauled him backwards, away from the racket. His flight suit snagged against the ground and Poe swallowed convulsively, closing his eyes against the bright sparks of colour that dominated the edges of his vision. Pain, emerging from too many places to properly pinpoint, threatened to swallow him whole. He shouldn't complain. His pain paled in comparison to what the Timbras had to be feeling. He would heal. Mr. And Mrs. Timbra would not.

"You're important too, Poe. We'll get you some help, don't worry."

Finn's hands skittered over his sides, gingerly brushing against shifting ribs and bruises and cuts and he didn't even have the air to tell Finn to stop because it hurt and he couldn't take it and that he was about to throw up and faint and die all at the same time. Maybe it was selfish of him, but if his pain could be relieved, he wanted it gone. Just for a little bit. Just enough to catch his breath. Finn's mouth was moving, but Poe couldn't understand what he was trying to say. It was just a steady stream of sounds; warm, comforting, safe.

Maybe his head injury was worse than he thought.

A hand cupped Poe's forehead before fingers were sliding across his scalp, careful to avoid pulling on the knots. Finn was feeling for goose eggs. Poe didn't think he would find one.

He felt drained.

Despite the uncomfortableness of the tarmac, the warm sun lulled him into a doze and he let his eyes flutter close, grateful for the darkness offered by Finn's shade. He was dimly aware of Finn gently slapping his cheek, but he didn't want to wake up. He'd talk later, when he didn't feel like five x-wings had landed on his chest.

He blacked out just as his muscles cramped, a hot white tidal wave of agony dragging him under in one swoop.

Finn's blood ran cold when Poe's back arched, body contorting and twisting and slamming against the tarmac. His eyes opened for a brief moment, staring blankly at the sky before rolling back completely so that nothing but milky whiteness was visible beneath fluttering lids. Small grunts and whines escaped his throat.

Finn removed his jacket, hastily folding it and pushing it under Poe's head so as to prevent Poe from slamming it too harshly against the tarmac. There was already enough blood cascading down the side of his head from his encounter with the ladder. A respirator was placed over Poe's face, Kalonia's hands deftly moving to open the collar of Poe's flight suit. Poe's head arched back, veins extending and throbbing beneath his skin. For a moment, Finn imagined them bursting, washing them with blood and gore and Poe. Poe would be pissed: if he couldn't die in the sky, he'd at least want to see it as he died.

"EQ, diazepam!" Snap grabbed the hypo from the droid, handing it to Kalonia while the med-droid was still making its way to them. Kalonia slammed it into Poe's neck with a viciousness that would certainly leave a bruise later, but Finn couldn't bring himself to care: Poe was settling down, collapsing against the tarmac as his chest heaved for air. His throat bobbed once. Twice.

"Turn him on his side," Kalonia ordered. Finn barely had time to roll him over and remove the respirator before Poe was throwing up, vomit and blood dribbling between his lips as he struggled to expel it.

"Get me another gurney. EQ, hand me the suction." The droid pulled out a thin tube connected to its body and Finn mirrored Poe's grimace as Kalonia shoved the tube between Poe's teeth in order to suck the liquids that he had been about to aspirate on. Poe gagged again, shoulders jerking as Kalonia removed the tube and ran a gloved mouth inside his mouth, checking for cuts or abrasions that would warrant him coughing up blood. Upon finding nothing of the sort, she resecured the respirator on his face, hoping to ease his wheezing. (It didn't help.)

BB8 let loose a series of beeps that Finn did not manage to comprehend, but Pava - who had been standing next to Snap - snapped out of her reverie and quickly translated; "He was exposed to the hydrogen sulphide too. His vital signs are still dropping."

"Finn, carry him; we'll meet the gurney halfway." Kalonia ordered, brows furrowed. Poe grunted softly as Finn hefted him in a bridal carry, head falling against Finn's neck. His curls tickled. He could feel the residual twitches in Poe's muscles, but couldn't do anything as he hurried after Kalonia, unconsciously keeping an eye out for the rise and fall of Poe's back.

Behind him, he could hear general Organa instruct the others on what needed to be done. Some part of him felt ashamed – he had forgotten about the general's presence altogether – but the other side of him didn't care; he was not about to leave Poe on his own, especially not when he was in this condition.

He was alive. That was what mattered.

He just needed to stay that way.

Finn was unsure of how many minutes or hours passed. At some point, Snap and Jess had joined him in the hall, but they weren't allowed to visit Poe until he had been settled in an inclined bed with a respirator strapped to his face and a blanket drawn up to his chest. His arms peeked out, three IVs going in the back of his left hand and a soft restraint encasing his right wrist. Finn blinked, mouth opening but not managing to express the thoughts that flooded his brain at the sight.

"The restraints are to prevent him from escaping med-bay if he wakes up delirious; he almost tore a vein the last time he was here," Kalonia explained, an exasperated smile warming her face, "he has two more around his ankles; we don't want him tossing and turning when the sedative wears off or he'll agitate his injuries."

The list of injuries was endless. Two fractured ribs, bruised kidney and liver, inflamed lungs, other bruises and cuts... At least, courtesy of bacta, the swelling had gone down and the bruises were already fading. The cut on his forehead had been similarly treated, but it was still being held closed by butterfly stitches.

He was still in a bacta-suit, the injuries to his upper body requiring further treatment that, had the Resistance had a bacta-tank, would have warranted him a one-way trip to full submersion. As it was, Poe had been settled in one of the beds equipped with sensors that monitored the patient's vital signs at all times, automatically alerting the nurses when the numbers did not fit within the programmed parameters. They were beds usually reserved for those in danger of dying. Finn grasped Poe's wrist, thumb unconsciously searching for his pulse point despite his heartrate being broadcasted on the screen. There. Strong. Steady.

"We're giving him fluids, painkillers, and the antidote to hydrogen sulphide. He just needs time to recover now; shouldn't be long till he finishes his treatment."

"The seizure?" Snap asked. Finn winced; he could still feel Poe writhing uncontrollably beneath his hands – it had been odd and frightening to see, too reminiscent of the use of the Force on stormtroopers who messed up.

"Common side effect of the gas; so are the dizziness and the weakness – it's why he didn't fight back when Timbra attacked him."

"He wouldn't have fought back even if he was at full strength," General Organa walked in, robes billowing behind her and a frown marring her face. Her voice had lost some of its authoritative ring; in this room, she was simply a concerned friend.

As if deeming to deny Leia's statement, Poe made a small sound that sounded suspiciously like a whimper, lips parting minutely before he coughed; an ugly, deep sound that sent blood splattering on the respirator. Leia promptly grabbed a wet cloth from the bedside table, removing the respirator and gently wiping Poe's mouth before cleaning the respirator and resecuring it on his face. Through it all, Kalonia didn't even move. Finn suspected that this was not the first time that this dance had happened.

The respirator prevented Leia from cupping Poe's cheek, so she simply pressed a hand against his forehead, smoothing away the shadow of a grimace and soothing the subconscious stress. He relaxed, body sinking into the mattress as he fell into a deep sleep again.

"The Timbras have been sequestered to their private quarters until they recover. If they decide so, they will be honourably discharged from our service. Prior to that, I have commanded Mr. Timbra to apologise; Poe's not at fault for what happened."

"Good luck convincing him of that," Jess muttered, running a hand down her face. Finn silently agreed; despite his easy-going nature, Poe carried each loss in his mind, an ever-growing list that was already too long. Finn had seen him writing it down once. Neither of them had slept that night.

"Barring complications, he should be fine, general." Kalonia bowed her head and Finn collapsed, gracelessly, in the chair beside Poe's bedside, the chair's harsh clatter burying Finn's shaky exhale. Poe was going to be fine. Poe was going to recover. Finn didn't have to watch his first friend wither away in front of him. Good. He didn't want his final memory of Poe to be of him seizing, or of fighting against the restraints in his bed. (Finn belatedly realised that he was blatantly disrespecting the general by not even standing at attention, but a firm hand on his shoulder prevented him from standing up again.)

"Keep me appraised of his condition, doctor. You three are off the roster for tonight; keep an eye out for your commander. I'll see you tomorrow at 0800 hours. Finn, you stay with him. He always reacts better when he wakes up to a friendly face," the general said.

"Yes, ma'am."

Poe slept on, unaware of the conversation happening around him. His eyes roved beneath their lids every now and then, chasing whatever was going on his mind. Finn hoped it was something good.

Kalonia shooed them away a few hours later, bidding them to grab some food and a shower while Poe underwent some checks.

Pava and Snap let out twin sighs of relief when they returned to the room – the bactasuit was gone, along with one of the IVs. Later, they told Finn that Poe didn't respond well to waking up in the restrictive suit while high on painkillers –the first time triggered a panic attack so bad that he had passed out again. After that, they opted for keeping him completely sedated and/or restrained until he didn't need it or heavy-duty painkillers anymore.

Poe was still covered in bandages, but Kalonia assured them that the breaks had healed well and that the bandages were just so that the bacta that was still treating his lungs would not be slathered all over the sheets.

"We eased him off the painkillers too; they were depressing his respiratory system, and we need to accurately gauge his ability to breathe on his own in order to monitor his progress."

After Kalonia left, Pava and Snap settled on the floor and fell asleep, soft snores echoing in the room. Finn slouched in their chair by Poe's bedside, grabbed Poe's restrained (calloused) hand, and readied himself for a long night.

Poe showed signs of waking up in the early hours of the next morning.

Finn had dozed off for a while but had long since woken up, unable to fall back asleep without the reassurance of having seen Poe awake and talking again. While Pava and Snap had slept through the night, years of being pilots for the Resistance had made them light sleepers; they were up and alert the moment that Poe groaned low in his throat, tossing his head to the side in an attempt to dislodge the respirator.

Before Finn even shifted, Snap was by the other side of Poe's bed, easily holding Poe's head in place.

"Nngh," Poe's eloquent response, coupled with his frown, would have been comical had it not been for the sheer terror that twisted his features when he attempted to move and discovered the restraints. Finn grimaced when the monitor behind the bed started shrilling, the outline shining red as Poe's heartrate skyrocketed and his oxygen intake plummeted. He hadn't even opened his eyes yet.

"It's us, Poe. Finn, Pava, and Snap. You're safe. You're on base. You're going to be fine, but you need to keep the respirator on," Finn gently squeezed Poe's palm to let him know that they were not about to hurt him, holding back a wince when Poe's grip tightened to a point that cut off Finn's circulation. Poe's fingers spasmed, promptly releasing Finn's hand.

Poe growled as he attempted to turn on his side, shifting as much as the restraints allowed him to. For a second, it looked as if he was seizing again.

A droid burst in the room, a hypo in his 'hand' (pincer? claw?). A sedative, probably.

"WAKE UP, DAMERON!" Pava's voice rang in the room and Poe's eyes popped open for a brief second before fluttering close again as he took a couple of deep breaths, wincing slightly against the residual pain. His lips turned downwards beneath the mask, throat bobbing around a dry swallow.

Finn's chest ached: he dimly realised that he was holding his breath.

Poe was eerily still as he took in the room, gaze flicking to the sheets, the restraints (his free hand twitched), Finn's hands, and the tubing in the back of his other hand. A huff of breath hit the respirator. Snap released his grip on Poe's head, prompting the pilot to follow the arms to their owner before taking in Pava and Finn. His lip twitched upwards when he met Finn's eyes and Finn smiled back, relief flooding him; Poe's eyes were exuding warmth again, even if it was smothered beneath layers of exhaustion and the remnants of pain.

The monitor ceased its wailing. The numbers showing his oxygen intake became green again. The droid hovered, running its own scans before backing out of the room.

Poe let out a guttural groan as his free hand came up, uncoordinated, to rub at his red-rimmed eyes.

"Your eyes itch?" Snap's voice was low, soothing against a potential headache. Poe nodded as he knocked away the respirator, taking a breath that did not smell of chemicals and plastic.

Big mistake.

Wet coughs forced their way out of his chest and Finn slid a hand around his shoulders to sit him up, bracing Poe's chest with his other arm when Poe attempted to curl in on himself, hair drooping into his eyes. The restraints pulled taut, preventing Poe from pulling his legs to his chest. Instead, Poe grabbed Finn's forearm, dull nails digging in his shirt. Jessika was suddenly there, a warm, wet cloth in her hand as she wiped away drool and mucus from Poe's mouth. Snap put the respirator back on, easing the straps a bit when Poe grimaced and attempted to pull away only to hit Finn's chest.

The bacta-bandages prevented Finn from rubbing Poe's back, but he rested his hand there nonetheless, a reassuring weight until the pilot's breaths evened out again.

"Does your chest ache?" Snap asked.

Jessika stacked up some pillows and Finn shifted Poe back, feeling the affirming hum that Poe let out as he sunk in the cushioned, inclined surface, eyes closed but still conscious. Finn grabbed Poe's hand again, pushing the restraint a bit back so that he could rest his finger against Poe's pulse and feel the resounding thumps ease back into a normal rhythm. Poe rubbed at his eyes again, the heel of his free hand digging into his eyes.

"Headache?"

Another hum.

"The painkillers must have worn off. Do you need more?"

Poe shook his head, eyes still screwed shut as Finn brushed back his hair. Jessica disappeared.

"Will you take some ice-chips?"

"Keep a bucket nearby," Poe breathed out, voice hoarse and barely comprehensible behind the respirator. A weak cough escaped.

"We gave you an anti-emetic, you should be able to stomach it," Kalonia stepped in, "Are you causing me trouble again, Dameron?" A stethoscope was on Poe's chest before Finn even noticed its existence.

"No, ma'am," Poe huffed, swallowing convulsively against the dryness in his throat. Kalonia replaced the respirator with a nasal cannula and gave him an ice-chip, allowing him to suck on it while she conducted her examination.

"Does it hurt to breathe?" Hands flitted across his sides, pressing against his ribs and his sides before palpating his stomach and throat. Poe grimaced, but submitted to the examination in silence.

"His chest and head hurt, and his eyes were itching," Snap said before Poe could deny his own pain. A weak glare was shot in Snap's direction.

"That's to be expected. The bacta is doing its job, but your body needs time."

A muffled groan.

"You're grounded for at least a week, Dameron. Now, can I trust you to rest, or should I send a droid in to sedate you?" Kalonia's eyebrow raised, daring Poe to defy her orders.

"We'll make sure that he rests," Finn piped up, smirking when Poe attempted to dig his nail in Finn's hand. The sensation made him realise that they were still holding hands, but Poe didn't seem to mind, nor did he seem willing to let go, given how his fingers were curled around Finn's hand.

He was about to comment on it when Poe's face fell, shoulders curling beneath the weight of the thought that had crossed his mind. "How are," Poe stopped to inhale, "the Timbras?" Finn would pay all his credits to not see the broken look in Poe's eyes. Misery was permeating off of him in waves, accompanied by misplaced guilt.

"Grieving. It wasn't your fault, Poe. The droids checked her out; she had evidence of a stroke. That coupled with the gas made her beyond saving. It's not a matter of the training she received either; if it were, the other cadets would have met the same faith." Kalonia's voice was warm but convincing, evidently attempting to drill the words into the pilot's brain. Poe simply nodded, the glazed look in his eyes betraying the fact that his mind was several miles away.

"Can I remove the restraints, Poe? Or do you feel it's better if they remain on for now?" The offer was genuine; Poe had a choice that would not be overridden by Kalonia's medical advice. She trusted him to make the right decision.

"I won't run away, Doctor," Poe smirked, shifting his leg in a clear indication that he wanted his freedom returned. The movement alerted him to the catheter, and Finn held back a laugh at the grimace that twisted Poe's features before it faded into grim acceptance. (Finn could relate; he knew the uncomfortableness of having to pee in a bag.) "How long was I out?"

"About twelve hours. If it makes you feel better, it was a droid who put it in," Kalonia said as she removed the restraints around his ankles. Finn removed the one around his wrist, massaging the limb despite the fact that the restraint had been loose and padded so as not to cause any pain or chaffing.

"Squeeze my hands, Poe." Kalonia offered Poe her hands, palms up, prompting the pilot to put his hands in hers. A fine tremor coursed through him at the effort, but Finn knew that his strength was there, even if slightly weaker than usual.

"Good, the weakness is already abating. Rest up, the bacta and the antidote are already clearing up your symptoms," Kalonia emptied a hypo in Poe's neck before the pilot could refuse the aid, rubbing at the injection site as she spoke, "This is just to take the edge off the pain. I'll hang a bag while you're sleeping. Pava, Wexley; go rest a bit. The general is expecting you at noon."

"Take care, Poe." Jess' well wishes were accompanied by two simultaneous, gentle hugs that dwarfed Poe but left his eyes crinkling with a smile even after they left the room with Dr. Kalonia.

"You stayin', buddy?" Poe's blinks were long, the man clearly fighting back the lure of sleep.

"Someone has to make sure you rest," Finn teased, "I'll keep watch, just sleep." Poe opened his mouth, about to argue, but seemed to think better of it. He nodded gratefully at Finn before closing his eyes, shifting minutely in bed until he found a somewhat comfortable position.

When he settled, Finn reached out with the hand that wasn't holding Poe's own, gently massaging Poe's scalp. It hadn't taken Finn long to discover that Poe was a tactile creature, but it had taken a gruelling mission that had left Poe stumbling into walls and nearly collapsing from exhaustion for Finn to notice that Poe craved a friend's touch when he was feeling vulnerable, deriving a sort of comfort that enabled him to actually rest and heal. [That discovery made him realise how the pilots always flocked around each other after missions, assuring each other that they had made it back.]

"Th'nks, b'ddy." Poe's murmur was slurred, the man easily dragged under by the drugs coursing through his system, but Finn kept up his ministrations until he was sure that Poe was deeply asleep.

He left their hands intertwined, rested back against the chair, and nodded off without even realising.

Finn woke up briefly when Dr. Kalonia came in the room to hang the painkillers and remove Poe's catheter, but had fallen asleep again, this time leaning forward so that his head rested next to Poe's hip.

Murmurs, movement, and a hand haphazardly hitting his cheek woke Finn up in the middle of the night.

The sheets were rumpled around Poe's feet, bandages half unravelled and hands pulling away the pieces still stuck to his skin. His legs were restless, heels digging against the bed as he pushed down against an imaginary foe.

Blood ran down Poe's hand: the IV had been pulled loose, the tube dangling and dripping all over the floor. Dr. Kalonia was going to be pissed. Finn closed it off before muting the screen above the bed; there was no need to alert all of med-bay that Poe was having a nightmare. The nurses would still be alerted if his vital signs became problematic, but at least the shrill beeping wouldn't set Poe off even more. Poe's neck arched back over the pillow, exposing his throat. His skin was drenched in sweat.

"Alara-"

Finn reached out to stop him from turning on his side, pushing down against his shoulder with one hand and using the other to feel Poe's forehead. Slightly warm, but no fever.

"Breathe, Alara, please-" Poe's voice was hoarse, cracking over most syllables.

"Poe-" Finn's reassurance was cut short by Poe's eyes popping open, the pilot catapulting himself in a sitting position and barely evading butting foreheads with Finn, who had pulled back at the last second. Poe's chest heaved, cheeks and eyes and limbs alight with a manic frenzy that set Finn on edge.

Finn didn't know what he hated most: this, the blank look that had taken over Poe while he had been seizing, or the fact that he didn't instinctively know what to do to help his friend.

The bandages were too restricting. Too slick. They went around him and under his arms and over his chest and back, no end or beginning in sight. And the sheets! They were soft but scratchy and itchy and too warm.

There was something hooked to his nose. Around his ears. Restrictive. Poison? Gas? Sleeping agent? He couldn't afford a muddled brain. He didn't have trouble pulling it off. Good. Breathing hurt, but he would live. Nothing major. Nothing new.

A pressure on his shoulder. A hand.

Poe pushed it away in a practised manoeuvre, immobilising the whole arm and using the momentum to swing himself up and off the bed. His knees wobbled but he locked them, giving himself a second for the headrush to pass before turning to face his captor.

A pulse of pain went through his head at the sudden movement but he ignored it, resisting the urge to slam his eyes shut against the shifting furniture and the burning lights. His eyes watered, obstructing his vision. There weren't any exits except for the door. Closed. Locked?

His captor looked familiar, but Poe had met a lot of people in his life, and he couldn't remember whether this person was friend or foe. Better to operate on the latter assumption.

"Poe?"

"Where am I?"

The room didn't look like the inside of any ship of the First Order. It was small. White. Off-white. Needed a repainting. This place gave him the feeling of belonging, but he couldn't let his guard down. For all he knew, he was only feeling this way because of the drugs coursing through his veins. Or maybe he's just been held captive for long enough to start perceiving his prison as a place where he belonged. He would be the first to admit that he had enough sins to be incarcerated for life.

His lungs constricted but Poe refused to cough; showing weakness in front of an unknown being would be suicide. Sweat dripped down his face and he pushed his hair back with the hand that wasn't bleeding, fingers getting caught in the greasy knots. Pain emitted from where the strands pulled at his scalp, sharpening his focus. His hand was shaking.

He couldn't hear anything outside the door.

"It's late, not many nurses are around; you slept the day away."

He couldn't hear Alara struggling to breathe, hanging on to life with the flecks and dregs of her fingernails. She had died. He could hear her mother wailing.

Could hear hundreds of mothers screaming sobbing stuttering stumbling sinking to the ground, part of them dying and their body refusing to offer them reprieve by following through.

Hundreds (thousands) of wails cursing his name.

His existence.

The ground was cold against his knees. He could feel it. He was still alive. Not that he regretted that. Somehow, he always survived, even if nobody was waiting for him except for Finn and the general and his duties. He was tired of surviving at the expense of others. Why should those under his command always perish? Was he that bad of a leader?

"You're not, Poe. Leia wouldn't have made you commander if you were."

His captor's voice was soft, reassuring. He was kneeling a few steps away from Poe; closer than he had been before. How had Poe not noticed him moving? If he couldn't clock such an obvious thing, no wonder the cadets under his hands didn't last long – he didn't spot what was about to kill them before it was too late.

"You're drugged. You were just poisoned. Your senses are dulled. You're not like this in battle. You saved me."

Saved one in twenty. Thirty. He should have saved at least fifteen. The Resistance couldn't afford for him to keep losing good recruits.

"You saved far more than that, Poe, and you know it."

He sounded vehement now. Why was he reassuring Poe? Maybe it wasn't a foe? Maybe it was a fellow prisoner.

His knees wouldn't lock again.

He still attempted to stand up.

His chest and back and hand twinged and it hurt to breathe and he stumbled but he held himself up against the wall.

Bad move. His back was to the door. He couldn't face it while keeping his captor in view. That's what he was. His captor. He was just trying to win his trust by being nice. Poe knew this tactic.

He wouldn't show weakness and fall for it.

"Poe, do you know who I am?"

Kriff. His lack of cognizance was going to be noticed. Maybe he could bluff his way through. A hand reached out to him, not close enough to touch. Dark skin. Human.

A name tugged at his brain. F- something.

Flea? Flip?

FINN!

"Yeah buddy, it's me. Can I come nearer?"

"Stay away!"

The order was out before Poe thought about it and wasn't that the problem? He never thought. He just did. He just killed. Finn stepped back, hands up by his head with his palms turned towards Poe. He shouldn't be doing that. Not when faced with Poe. Poe didn't want to hurt him. He probably would, though. Finn was right to step back. He should step away too. Maybe putting more distance between them would help keep Finn safe.

Silence: just two men breathing in the same room.

The door rattled on its hinges as somebody attempted to open it. Poe winced as his head snapped to the door, reflexively seeking out the noise and making the dizziness return with vengeance. His neck protested the quick movement. His discomfort could wait. He had to keep Finn safe. Finn could live. He could go back to the resistance. They needed him.

"We're at the Resistance's base, Poe. You need to breathe."

Breathe? He was breathing. It hurt, but he was. Why were there restraints on his bed if they were at the Resistance? This wasn't his room. Maybe they finally realised that he was dangerous? Good. But then why was he not restrained?

"You're not dangerous, Poe. You're hurt; you're in med-bay."

How was Finn reading his mind?

"You're speaking out loud, buddy."

No he wasn't. His lungs hurt. He could hear wheezing. Alara? No. Alara was dead. His fault. Always his fault.

He could have grounded her.

He could hear the explosion, see her charred body hanging out of the cockpit.

No, Alara didn't burn.

She wouldn't have suffered if she had been caught in an explosion.

He could have trained her more.

Could have taken the hit for her.

He could have dived down immediately instead of fighting off the TIE fighters first.

But then Pava and Snap might have died.

A sick part of him was glad of the decision he had taken if it meant that they were still alive. He needed them.

The Timbras needed their daughter.

"You got her home; you gave them the chance to say goodbye and she didn't die alone."

His mother didn't pass alone. He could still see her hand slipping off the gurney, calloused from years of handling the controls of different ships. Someone held him back from going to hold it. He may have been tiny, but he could still reach it! His father was never the same; plagued by the unhealing pain of loss. It had been worse, at the end of the day, seeing her die.

His mother was one of the first to die because of him. Her only reason for flying was to make the world a better place for him, so that he could have a meaningful life instead of just being caught up in a war bigger than he was. He had ended up as a spice runner before joining the Resistance. He hadn't lived up to her dream. He couldn't even make his own mother proud.

His face itched. He dragged his nails down, catching a curl, ignoring and relishing the way his skin and scalp pulled and stung because it was grounding and real and so were the hands reaching out to him – charred, rotten, green, blue, black.

He flinched and something hit his back.

The door? When had he moved?

He could make an escape.

Quick, Finn! Poe could distract them while Finn escaped.

The door opened. He turned his back towards Finn. He didn't manage to see who entered before a pair of arms were wrapping around his bare chest from behind, pulling him down to the ground and restraining his arms. Legs bracketed his own, immobilising him against a broad chest as a hand pushed his head to the side and jabbed two hypos in his neck. He snapped his head back, dislodging the hand and hitting something hard. The chest behind him stuttered as Finn groaned. The limbs around him tightened. Poe's vision swam, tiles blurring into one another.

Kriff, the drugs worked quickly. His limbs felt like lead.

His breath hitched. His cheeks were wet. Had he been crying? The respirator was back on his face again, the string catching on his knotted hair.

The air felt good.

"Breathe with me, Poe, come on."

The rumble came from behind him. Poe found himself following the instructions, mimicking the rise and fall of the chest that he was resting against. His head fell back, pillowed by a muscled shoulder, forehead resting against Finn's neck.

Finn would keep him safe.

He could sleep.

Finn loosened his hold as the tension seeped from Poe's body, but he kept his palm over Poe's heart, feeling its thunderous attempts to break through Poe's ribcage as Poe slowly stopped hyperventilating, the wheezes dying away into nothing. Poe was still conscious, incomprehensible murmurs from behind the respirator revealing the raspy, strained quality of his voice that the breakdown had left behind. Tears were still streaming down his cheeks.

Finn was still reeling.

He had never seen Poe look so dishevelled, not even after his session with Kylo Ren. Poe snuffled in his arms. Sweat was running down Poe's bare back and soaking Finn's shirt, but Finn didn't care. Not when Poe looked one breeze away from shattering beyond repair.

His reassurances had fallen on deaf ears, Poe too far gone to listen to anything but his own paranoia, despair, and the dead. So many dead. Sometimes, Finn forgot that Poe had experienced enough trauma to last him several lifetimes. At least he had seemed to realise that Finn was not going to hurt him.

"He's out, Finn. It's a light sedative; he's more asleep than drugged." Dr. Kalonia said, sounding exhausted. She and the nurses had had their hands full with an influx of patients that had taken them away from their desk, so she had been terrified when, upon sitting down, had seen Poe's screen shining bright red while blaring out warnings about registering no vital signs. She had only grabbed the sedative when she heard his frantic voice from behind the door. Experience had taught her that nothing would calm Poe down from this state except for a fainting spell or a sedative.

"Will he be okay?" Finn secured Poe's upper body against his own before he stood up, Kalonia easily lifting Poe's legs as they manoeuvred him back to the bed.

"Of course; the pain meds lowered his walls, so he just experienced everything that he had been pushing down. He'll be better with some rest," Kalonia said, a smile tugging at her lips. The screens atop the bed lit up again and Finn was glad to see that Poe's heartbeat was nearing the languid pace of sleep.

"Do you have a washcloth, some warm water and soap?" The question was out before he thought it through, but he didn't take it back. He hated falling asleep soaked in sweat, and knew that Poe would feel miles better if he woke up feeling refreshed. [Besides, Poe always claimed that he got headaches when his hair got too greasy, and alleviating that discomfort was the least thing that Finn could do.]

"Do you want me or someone else to help you?" Dr. Kalonia cleaned Poe's hand from the blood, but did not re-attach the IV.

"I'd appreciate that."

"I'll get a gurney and help you transfer him." Dr. Kalonia squeezed his shoulder, sparing one last look at Poe's sleeping features before heading out the door, weariness evident in her frame.

A droid rolled in moments later, two towels, shampoo, a clean set of sheets, and a basin made specially to wash hair in bed accompanying everything that Finn had requested. Kalonia followed behind it with a hover gurney, placing it near the bed. Poe grunted as they transferred him, but didn't show any other signs of waking up even when Finn pushed the shampoo tray under his head, making sure that Poe's neck was resting as comfortably as possible on the curved edge. He used the glass on the bedside table to rinse his hair thoroughly, taking the time to gently lather the curls before washing away the shampoo and using Poe's conditioner to work the knots loose.

[If he were awake, Poe would hum contently, pressing his head to Finn's hand like a cat.]

Finn towelled Poe's hair dry, snorting upon realising that, as it was, Poe's hair looked like he had just tumbled out of bed after an exceedingly good night. Not that Finn knew how Poe looked after that.

Move on, Finn. (A droid was changing the bedsheets, making quick work of the sweat and bacta soaked ones and tossing them into the wash chute.)

He grabbed the washcloth, squeezing out most of the excess water before running it over Poe's chest and back as Kalonia held him in a seated position, Poe's head resting against her shoulder. Poe hummed when Finn raised his arm to rub Poe's sides, body twitching in a subconscious response. (Somehow, he wasn't surprised that Poe was ticklish. Didn't mean that Finn wasn't going to tease him about it when he woke up, though.),

Feeling the body heat and the gentle rise and fall of Poe's breathing beneath his hands was as much of a balm to Finn as feeling clean was to Poe. Poe was alive. Still here. Still breathing. He lived to fight another day, and Finn could not find words to express his gratitude for that.

He made quick work of drying him off and Kalonia held the stethoscope to Poe's chest, listening for a few moments before pulling back.

"I don't believe that he needs further treatment with the bacta. His lungs sound much better; I'll leave him with the nasal cannula just in case, but he should be fine in a few days. Let's move him and get a sweater on him; he tends to feel cold easily."

They manipulated Poe's limbs into a sweater after moving him back to bed, where Kalonia started a new IV (in the crook of his elbow, this time) and hooked the cannula around his ears. She lowered the rate of the pain meds, only keeping him on enough for him to rest comfortably and still be cognizant when he woke up.

"Goodnight, Finn. Remind him to not move around too much before I give him a thorough check-up tomorrow, please."

Finn pulled the blanket up to Poe's chest, momentarily resting a hand there; Poe's heart met his palm, strong and evenly paced. The pilot seemed to sink more comfortably into the bed, head falling to the side and lips parting. Finn clasped their hands together, thumb running across the back of Poe's uninjured hand.

"Goodnight, doctor." But she was already gone.

The first thing he felt was the hand in his hair, blunt nails scratching against his scalp. There was a nasal cannula on his face, the plastic hugging his cheeks, and a hand holding his. He couldn't feel any wires beneath his waistline (thank the Maker), but there was the tug of an IV in his free hand.

It didn't hurt to breathe. Why was that important?

His eyelids felt as if they were taped down but he persisted, grimacing when a ray of light sent seemed to stab his brain.

"Try now, Poe."

A dull echo of the pain reverberated through his skull despite the hand in front of his face shielding his eyes from most of the light, but it was enough for his eyes to adjust without Poe suffering for it. The hand retracted as Finn sat down again, worrying his lower lip while Poe oriented himself; the off-white walls immediately tipped him off to his current resting place. Med-bay. Again.

There was the shadow of a frown in Finn's brows and exhaustion seeped from his bowed shoulders, but his lips were upturned, eyes swimming in relief – how bad had Poe's condition been for Finn to look so haggard? He opened his mouth to ask - and to call him out for staring at him while he slept (though Finn would correct him, saying that he was simply keeping watch) - but his lungs spasmed with his inhale and a barrage of coughs escaped instead, throat protesting its dryness. Hands turned him on his side, bracing his chest and back in a practised manoeuvre, preventing him from curling in on himself. The relatively short coughing fit winded him, and the same hands rearranged him on his back while he was still attempting to catch his breath. The ice-chip pressing against his lips startled him back into full awareness (when had he closed his eyes?).

"You can sip some water later on. Don't take too much at once or you'll throw up." Kalonia had materialised by his bedside (he wasn't sure when she had walked in) and was slipping the stethoscope's bell beneath his sweater, bidding him to breathe as deeply as he could.

The cold metal made him shudder. He remained silent, focusing on his breathing even as Finn helped him sit up so that Kalonia could press the stethoscope against his back. His body protested momentarily as he moved, the stiffness customary after any night's sleep. He hadn't been out for that long, then – why did Finn look like Poe had been about to die? He gratefully sunk in the pillows that Finn had piled up behind him, smothering the groan that threatened to escape from his throat. While the bacta had healed the bruises, a part of him longed for the warm springs of Yavin IV just to work out the soreness that resided in his muscles.

"You've been in and out for two days – cognizant once, not so much the other times." He heard the grimace in Finn's voice without needing to see it on his face. Whatever he had done when he wasn't cognizant wasn't pretty.

"You were high on painkillers." Kalonia said while checking his blood pressure. Poe let his head fall back as the cuff tightened around his arm – no wonder Finn was so quiet; he was waiting to see if another meltdown was about to happen. (Some part of him was glad that he didn't remember seeing Finn's disappointment upon realising how much of a mess Poe was.) He wondered what he had said, but it couldn't have been that bad if Finn was still here. If anything, Finn didn't look repulsed, just shocked.

He grimaced as Kalonia passed a flashlight in front of his eyes, blinding him for a few seconds.

"Sorry you had to see that, buddy." His throat twinged and had a gloved hand not pulled down his lower jaw, he would have asked for another ice-chip or a sip of water. A gust of air tickled the back of his throat and he roughly, uncoordinatedly, pushed (nudged) Kalonia to the side, raising his elbow to cough into it instead of to their faces. She waited for the fit to pass, palm bracing his aching chest before easing him back against the pillows and pushing up his sweater.

"We all have our demons, Poe. But you have people to talk to. I'm here, if not a psyhealth. Just don't do anything stupid, yeah?" Finn's fingers tapped his own and Poe turned his palm upward, allowing Finn to clasp their hands together and squeezing it in turn, assuring Finn that his message was received. On days like this, he was gladder than ever that Finn had saved him from the Finalizer. He didn't know where he'd be otherwise. Tears stung his eyes but he pushed them back, cursing the painkillers when a few of them still rolled down his cheek.

"I took you off the painkillers a few hours ago, Poe. That's all you." Kalonia spoke up as she palpated his chest and stomach. Finn held another ice-chip to his mouth, saving him from answering.

"Pava and Snap are heading back from a mission; they'll visit you when they arrive. They said to tell you not to get used to lounging around too much," Finn smiled, "not that you do anything else when in the cockpit." Poe raised an eyebrow, but Finn continued before he could speak, "you're still grounded for the rest of this week, so don't get any ideas."

"Your lungs need rest before they can handle filtered air, Poe. It's just five more days. We have Alara's memorial. And I'm sure you can help around on the camp."

His protests died on his lips; apart from the fact that there was no challenging Kalonia's verdicts, he wouldn't live with himself if he didn't see Alara off for the final time. That is, if her parents allowed him to attend; if they didn't wish to see him, he wouldn't impose himself. He'd just pay his respects in private.

"Poe?" Finn's voice drew him out of his thoughts. Kalonia was gone. "I talked to General Organa. You'll be allowed at the memorial; the Timbras have been reprimanded for their actions and there won't be a repeat of what happened." Finn's voice was hardened steel, and he was frowning the same way he usually did when he talked about a rescue mission, with pursed lips and clasped hands. Poe didn't need saving, but he appreciated the sentiment; maybe he did need some protection on this one. Given that he was in a hospital bed that Timbra himself had put him in, Poe couldn't exactly argue that he could hold his own against the other. Then again, Poe had been poisoned.

Finn squeezed his hand again, "You're staring. How are you feeling, Poe?"

"I'm fine, buddy. Just tired." As if to prove his point, he let out a jaw-cracking yawn, his eyes drooping for a moment before he forced them back open; he had spent enough time asleep, he wanted to spend some time out of his mind and talking with Finn.

"I thought you were dead, for a moment. Timbra only stopped punching you because Snap tackled him out of the way; they almost ran the general over when she was exiting the briefing room in their haste to get to her," Finn said.

"They can be overprotective hens," Poe chuckled.

"You started seizing a few seconds later, so I'd say they are just the right amount of protective. For most of the first day, you couldn't breathe without wheezing," Finn stopped, forcibly inhaling.

Poe swallowed down the bile that rose in his mouth at Finn's worry; it rolled off of him in waves, tension bunching his shoulders and seeking release in jittery legs. Poe didn't remember much from what Finn was saying. Flashes, really. The tarmac under his back. Hands on him, manipulating his limbs into clothing that he could not identify. Stings of needles. The huff of a respirator. Pava and Snap talking to him, grounding him with their touch. Finn taking over when they had to leave, palm pressing against his. Swirling panic and terror and calmness. Pain. Grief. Hopelessness and hope and resignation.

Poe wanted to tell Finn to get on the bed, to hold him until Finn reassured himself that Poe was still alive, but the bed was barely big enough for one and the beds' sensors tended to go haywire when there was more than one heartbeat to account for on the same bed. He didn't really care; Finn seemed to have aged with worry, and Poe wanted to smooth the wrinkles away before they had the chance to set (as if it worked that way). He could hold Finn, if only for a little while. Just enough to assure Finn that he was still breathing. Finn needed it. Poe needed it.

"Is your stomach still bothering you?"

"Stomach? No, Finn. Really, I'm just sore, but that's only because I've been still for too long." Poe opened his arms, prompting Finn to sit by him and curl around Poe's upper body, infinitely careful in how he bracketed the pilot within the circle of his arms. "I'm sorry I scared you, buddy." Poe turned his head sideways, nosing Finn's throat and allowing the man to take all the comfort he needed from the hug. (Finn's warmth was a welcome balm, keeping the cold fingers of death away from him, if only for a little while.) Finn's palm was splayed wide on the left side of his back and Poe purposefully took a deep breath, feeling some tension ease from Finn's shoulders at the clear sign of life.

"I'm glad you're here, Poe." Finn muttered in his hair, "And that I washed your hair; it's like a pillow right now." A weak huff of laughter ruffled his curls, but Finn smoothed them back in place before cupping Poe's cheek, thumb grazing under Poe's eye before grabbing his hand again.

"You washed my hair?" No wonder his head didn't ache from the build-up of grease.

"You always said it caused you headaches when it got too greasy." Finn shrugged, bashful.

"Thanks, buddy," Poe squeezed his hand, eyes closing on their own accord. It was getting harder to force them back open.

"Sleep, I'll be here."

Poe didn't need further convincing. He was out before Finn relocated to his chair.

He woke up with the uncanny feeling that someone was watching him sleep. It wasn't Finn; his stare was warm and caring, like a sun's caress after too many hours in the cockpit. This one, while still warm, was also expectant, like a mother's stare after a scolding.

It wasn't his mother's, for sure. Mr. Timbra's kind reminder of her death was still echoing in his mind.

"Dr. Kalonia said that you're recovering nicely, but how do you feel?"

Leia's voice made him inhale so sharply that his lungs spasmed, triggering a coughing fit that had him unconsciously turning on his side. He barely registered the soft towel wiping the sweat away from his face until he was on his back again, squinting at the ceiling while his eyes adjusted to the light. Leia's cold hand raised his head off the pillow, holding him steady while she pressed a glass of water against his lips. Some of the water trailed down his chin in his haste to drink and she pulled the glass away with a low tut, firm fingers infinitely gentle in the way they lowered his head back down, catching slightly in the curls at the nape of his neck.

"Morning, general." His voice was still raspy so he cleared his throat, wincing against the soreness.

"This is an informal visit, Poe, but good afternoon," she said, putting a book aside. He tracked it lazily, dimly realising that the IV was gone. There was a piece of gauze stuck to the back of his hand.

"Where's Finn?"

"Training some of the new ground troops. I assured him that you could survive a few hours without his presence." The teasing lilt was there for a second and gone the next, "How are you?"

"Fine, general. Ready to get out of here."

She raised an eyebrow at him, somehow managing to look both amused and aggravated at his response. He had just coughed up a lung, after all. (At least he hadn't woken up in cold sweat to find her by his side, a witness to his nightmares.) She pointedly looked at the monitors above his bed, where his heartrate was still rabbiting away.

"I'm a bit sore, but nothing that won't heal," he amended his response before adding, "I'm tired of this bed."

He threw the covers aside and pushed himself to a fully seated position, taking a moment to breathe before stretching his arms, feeling his back and shoulders pull at the movement. His torso protested, but it was a dull reminder of what had happened, not enough to render him as helpless as a shrivelled plant under the blankets. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, barely holding back an obscene sound at the warmth that flooded his limbs as the blood started flowing again. Leia, who had been fluffing his pillows, forcefully pushed him back to lay against them and he shot her a small smile of gratitude, cheeks tinting when she petted him on his head like he was 10 years old again.

"Eat something before you stand or you'll end up back in the bed," Leia said, inclining her hair towards the bedside table. There was a vanilla pudding – his favourite desert on base. "Leoni made it for you."

He needed to find a way to repay the cook, then. Maybe reprogram Leoni's droids so they could measure the ingredients for him – he had been complaining about his back with how much he was crouching to read the scales. Poe's stomach grumbled, audibly. Eat now, think later.

"Slowly, Poe," Leia said when he heaped the spoon. He grinned – she always said he looked like a teenager when he grinned at her like that; her eyes were saying that same thing even now – and dumped half the spoon in the tub again.

"What would you have done if Snap hadn't stopped Mr. Timbra, Poe?"

He froze with the spoon halfway between his mouth and the pudding, forcibly swallowing the mouthful that he had been relishing. It tasted like ash going down. He pushed the remaining pudding around the plate, suddenly grateful for the distraction. How could he tell her the truth and have her realise that, beneath the cocky flyboy façade, he was floundering with the choices that he had made?

"I don't know, general."

A raised eyebrow called him out on his lie.

"Taken it, I guess."

"At your detriment."

"His daughter's dead because of me."

"Because of the war," she corrected gently.

"I took her up there."

She should understand the burden he was carrying more than others. She knew the pain of losing someone under her command.

"You could not have predicted her panic."

Logically, he knew that her experience was feeding her words. She was right. While he had trained them, he could never predict how a cadet would behave in battle, and that knowledge terrified him. His fear had somewhat faded because he had never lost someone fresh out of training, but Alara had been a wake-up call, reminding him that TIE fighters did not differentiate between cadets and seasoned fighters; if there was a weakness, they would pounce on it. It was the same thing he taught the Resistance cadets to do. Maybe he hadn't emphasised it enough to Alara; at least, not enough to prepare her for an actual battle.

"I wanted her to lose some cockiness," he shrugged, ran a hand through his hair, "She lost her life instead."

"You trained her; cockiness does not equal inability." An elegant eyebrow rose, "You should know that; you're as cocky as they come in a cockpit." Her voice deepened again, taking on a grave tone, "Had you believed that she would have frozen like that, I know that you wouldn't have taken her up with you."

He shrugged. He didn't know what he had believed before taking her. Couldn't remember his reasoning, or whether he had thought it through enough. She had been one of the best in training, but his experience should have told him that that meant nothing in the real world.

"I should have known."

"Experience cannot prepare you for everything, Poe. You know by now what it means to have command; I will not lie and tell you that it will get better. If it's any consolation, everyone's reports indicate that you made the most viable choice. You did good, Poe - Mr. Timbra had no right to attack you. Your life does not stop mattering just because another was lost."

He took another spoonful of pudding, semi-savouring the taste as he mulled it over. For the Timbras, his life did not matter when compared to their daughter's. They would not be experiencing this grief had he been in Alara's position.

Leia had not been there; she could not praise him for what was written on reports by people who did not have his level of command. (That was not fair; Pava and Snap were just as capable of leading the squadrons. Maybe more.) Think, Poe. He recreated the scenario in his mind, remembering their positions and how quickly they had been surrounded. Any decision could have led to a fatality, regardless of who, with how they had to manoeuvre to protect one of their own. If anything, he stood by the fact that bringing her back was a good decision.

The knowledge that he had been helpless to save everyone didn't make it any easier.

"I'm just tired, Leia."

He didn't know where that slipped out from, didn't recognise the keening tone or the voice-crack before her name.

"You're also grieving, Poe; both are debilitating. Rest: take the few down days you have to recalibrate yourself. War hits us all, but you have support – don't forget to lean on it." She squeezed his wrist, thumb lingering on his pulse for a brief moment before she spoke; "eat all of that, or Dr. Kalonia won't let you go." She didn't stay to ensure that her order was followed; she knew him well enough to know that he would obey her till his dying breath.

The pudding and the water, despite being light, made Poe queasy, so he remained in bed for a while. His toes curled against the soft scratchiness of the blanket and he pulled the sleeves of the large sweater over his fingers, relishing the warmth that he was cocooned in. Once his stomach settled, Poe disconnected the nasal cannula and swung his legs to the side, forcing his knees to lock and his body to adjust to being vertical. Breathing while moving took more conscious effort than he expected, but he soon settled into a cycle of deep and shallow breaths that eased the burn in his chest and allowed him to stretch, feeling (and hearing) bones crack and muscles pulling taut until he relaxed, shaking it all out. The effort winded him, but the sound that left his lips at the relief of having loosened his limbs was obscene, making him thank the Maker that nobody was in the room with him.

He didn't notice BB8's presence until the droid was slamming against his shins, insulting Poe in binary for making him worry while simultaneously showering him with love and well-wishes.

Poe kneeled down, hands running over BB8's dome, "I'm fine, buddy. Finn's been taking care of you? Must have been nice." Another string of beeps followed. "I missed you too, buddy. Don't worry, I'll get out of here soon."

"I ought to keep you another day just for nearly giving my nurses a heart attack," Dr. Kalonia's exasperated voice sounded from the doorway and he didn't have to look to know that she had her arms crossed over her chest, a stern frown on her face.

"Didn't know I was bed-bound," Poe replied, an apologetic smirk on his lips.

"Faux ignorance does not suit you, Poe. You're lucky General Organa warned me you'd try to get up, or you'd be staying here for another week just for making me go grey," She stepped next to the bed, raising an eyebrow in a clear request. He acquiesced, sitting on the edge and removing the sweater – a shiver ran through him as the air hit his chest, amplified by the cold touch of her stethoscope. "Even if you haven't been to med-bay as many times as you have, I think that you've gained enough knowledge with how much time you spent by Finn's bedside." He didn't respond to her gentle reprimand; she was right, and the fact that she was smiling told him that she wasn't actually angry with him – just worried. (He wouldn't tell her that he hadn't asked simply because he couldn't take the possibility of them denying his request. The bed had felt too claustrophobic, blankets and restraints encasing him in a world too far from his cockpit.)

"Sorry, doctor."

He lowered his eyes as she palpated his throat and pressed two fingers to the throbbing artery underneath his jaw, disregarding the read-out on the monitor in favour of making her own judgement about how his ticker was working. He let her pull away before bringing his elbow up to his mouth to cough into it, wincing against the barking sound.

"You're lucky you're pretty, Dameron." Her wry tone was belied by her smile and a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, "I'm discharging you. I'll comm Finn so he can get you to your quarters. Report back if that cough persists to the point that you're losing your breath and don't engage in combat or flying procedures for now, or you'll end up right back in this bed."

"You don't need to comm Finn-"

"It's either him or I'll have a med-droid push you to your quarters on a hover-chair. Who do you prefer?"

She left before he could respond, not that he had any response in mind. It was obvious who he'd prefer.

"No, BB, you can't override my orders just because you don't think I'm 'logically sound'", Poe argued. After running multiple scans on Poe just to ensure that he was not about to keel over, BB8 had proposed that Poe reprogram him so that he could ignore orders to ensure Poe's survival if he felt that Poe's vitals indicated a compromised state of mind. Needless to say, Poe was dead set against it, mostly because he needed an obedient droid to depend on regardless of his condition.

"He'd be overriding orders every day, then," Finn's voice was warm, tinged with good humour as he walked into the room and encompassed Poe in a warm, protective hug. Poe breathed in Finn's musk, taking a moment to savour their chests rising and falling in tandem before Finn pulled back, running a critical eye over him.

"I'm fine, Finn. Let's go."

Their quarters seemed further away from med-bay than usual even as Finn filled the journey with chatter, the hand around Poe's back (casually supporting his elbow) tightening each time that Poe stumbled, body still adjust to the exertion. (Kalonia had been right; he would never have made it back to his room under his own steam. At least, not without some pit stops on the way.)

Poe sunk into the bed the moment they arrived, falling face first onto the blankets.

"Don't fall asleep just yet," Finn said.

"Not gonna sleep again, Finn," Poe responded. It came out garbled, muffled by the sheets, but Finn's answering chuckle assured him that he had understood Poe's words.

"At least give me a side, you big lump."

Poe eased himself onto his back, toeing his shoes off as he did so that he could sit cross-legged on the left-side of the double bed. Finn handed him a glass of water, tapping the bottom in a silent command to drink it all as he pattered around the room, grabbing his data pad and a glass of water for himself before sitting against the headboard, legs stretched out, seemingly ignoring the fact that he had his own bed to lounge on.

"Rest, Poe. I'll be here."

Poe made a valiant effort to follow the report that Finn was typing, adamant about remaining awake, but the rhythmic tapping against the screen and Finn's warmth lulled him into a doze, head falling back against the headboard with a small thunk. Seconds later, or maybe more, Finn was manoeuvring him to lie on his side underneath the sheets, back resting against Finn's leg as fingers occasionally scratched his scalp or palmed his forehead, thumb grazing against the side of his face.

He was out before Finn restarted typing.

The memorial was four days later, in the evening. Alara had been cremated, and her ashes – which her parents would, later, scatter in the atmosphere – were currently in a decorative urn that everyone was gathered around. Alara's friends – including the other cadets – were taking turns to speak about her. Poe stood near the back, flanked protectively by Finn on one side and Jess and Snap on the other: they acted like bodyguards, heedless of the fact that Poe was almost back to full strength and probably capable of taking care of himself despite the occasional coughing fit.

The coughing fits were exhausting. The first time that they occurred outside of med-bay, Poe had been alone in his room and the sheer ferocity of the coughs had brought him down to his knees, struggling to tell up from down as he pawed at the ground, desperate for a semblance of relief. Finn and BB8 had walked in on him curled on the ground, barely able to cough in response to the spasming of his lungs. Finn had wiped the sweat and tears away from Poe's face, bracing him until Kalonia, summoned by BB8, had arrived and shoved an inhaler between his lips. The burst of air and medicine, despite its chemical aftertaste, was wholly welcomed, allowing Poe to come down from the high of terror and adrenaline as his lungs finally relented. (As the panic dissipated, exhaustion crashed through him like a tidal wave.) He had fallen asleep after Kalonia checked him over and showed him how to use the inhaler, and had woken up to Finn repeating the explanation to BB8, placing a spare inhaler in one of his compartments. The fits had abated over the days until he no longer required the inhaler to regain his breath, but Finn had still placed one in his cockpit in the case of emergencies. Dr Kalonia approved of Finn's actions; she said that they did not know whether his lungs would be more sensitive than usual after the ordeal, so it would be better to remain cautious, at least until he eased himself back into his usual routine. Poe had simply shrugged – he felt fine. Mostly fine.

Mrs. Timbra's voice pulled him out of his reverie. She had stepped up to the urn, head held up and as dignified as ever (except for when she had seen her daughter die). Her voice was strong, easily heard from their position despite the sobs that threatened to choke her down.

"I believe that my husband, and all of you, have spoken enough of my daughter's character, so there is no need for me to relay more anecdotes," she stopped to breathe. Poe internally winced – he hadn't heard a word. "However, I do wish to speak about commander Dameron's bravery."

Poe blinked, consciously making an effort to close his mouth as everyone's attention turned to him. Finn and Jess stepped closer to him (if that was even possible), pressing against his shoulders. His palms, fisted in his pant-pockets, were sweaty.

"I have seen him training Alara and, despite all of you making her sound like an angel, she could be quite hard-headed." She stopped, laughing wetly at some memory that nobody else was privy too. "I have also read the reports of their battle and commander Dameron not only attempted to guide her, but also risked his own life to bring her body back to us. He allowed us to say goodbye, and for that we are eternally grateful. May she find safe flight in the afterlife."

Poe released a shuddering breath, thankful for Finn's, Snap's, and Jess's support as he blinked away a lone tear. The prompt absolution did not magically rid him of his guilt, but it eased some of his remorse - at the very least, his efforts and how he conducted himself in his role were appreciated even by those who had every reason to detest him. Mrs. Timbra nodded at him with the shadow of a smile as she stepped down, and he returned her salutation with a smile of appreciation as Leia started to guide the attendees to the mess hall for some sort of reception.

Poe didn't feel like integrating with a lot of people yet, so he stepped to the side, taking an extra second to pay his respects before heading to one of the lush hills surrounding their camp; it had rained hard the previous week, so grass had sprouted everywhere, softly brushing against his socks and ankles. Jess and Snap had followed the others, but Finn was stumbling behind him, feet catching on twigs and rocks that were nearly invisible in the darkness. It didn't take long to arrive at the top of the hill. A small clearing provided a measure of privacy from the camp, and the quasi-circular break in the trees magnified the expanse of the sky, erasing any claustrophobic sensations that the dense greenery may have induced. Poe grabbed a blanket that he had hidden in a trunk, spreading it out before beckoning Finn to lie down with him.

"It's quiet out here," Finn whispered, shoulder pressed against Poe's.

"Good spot for when everything becomes too much," Poe whispered back. He took a deep breath, releasing it with a huff and a small cough as he willed his body to relax.

Hundreds of stars twinkled through the break in the foliage and Poe wandered what they would say if they could speak: Would they recount the stories of legendary, historic pilots, or would they opt for the tales of unnamed soldiers who had died in space, hoping that they would be rescued before the cold took them? Who would be the villain in their battles – the First Order or the Resistance? For each star, there was a tale of camaraderie and betrayal. Of desperation and triumph. Tales upon tales with no end in sight, living in memory until the universe itself blinked out of existence, extinguished by a hand more potent than anything they have ever seen. Or maybe it would naturally die away, knowing its time was limited. Endless possibilities.

"You're thinking louder than the engine of an X-Wing," Finn said, drawing him back to the clearing, to the grass squashed underneath the blanket.

"Black One's engine purrs so quietly you can barely hear it," Poe teased, poking Finn's side.

"I can't say the same for your snoring."

"Look who's talking."

"Got to say though, I missed it when you were in med-bay. Kept waiting to hear you walk out of the 'fresher or something. Don't think I'll get used to a room without you," Finn murmured.

"I'd miss you too, buddy." Poe grabbed Finn's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before resting their intertwined hands on his stomach so that Finn could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

"BB8 was frantic too."

"He told me you treated him really good," Poe snorted, "are you planning on stealing my droid, Finn?"

"I don't think he'd adjust to anyone but you, Poe." Poe felt Finn shrug, the fabrics of their shirts catching. "Don't do anything like that again, yeah?"

"Can't promise, you know that."

"Just remember you have people to come back to, then. I don't want to attend a memorial in your honour." Finn's voice was steely, his hold cutting off the blood supply to Poe's hand before he relaxed, thumb sweeping the back of his hand in a silent apology for the excessive force.

"I'll do my best to spare you that ordeal, insofar as you do the same for me." The wind picked up, rustling the leaves and dropping a few. Poe exhaled slowly, letting the wind caress his cheeks and relishing the ability to breathe without trouble. Finn picked a leaf out of Poe's curls.

Chatter from the base carried to their location, but Poe wasn't inclined to join them. Instead, he let the words wash over him, soaking in the sheer presence of living people despite not being in their immediate vicinity. They could not bring Alara back, or anyone they had lost, but they could fight in their honour, spurred by not wanting their deaths to be in vain, by wanting to make the world remember those who had paid the ultimate sacrifice. Maybe him and Finn would live to see the Resistance succeed, who knew.

But there was no use thinking about the far future. For now, Poe just wanted to focus on the moment. On the smell of the damp grass and the dew settling on the foliage. The wind caressing their ankles. Finn's fingers around his own, his solid warmth pressed against Poe's side.

The stars twinkling above, infinite and numbered all at the same time.

Poe breathed, closed his eyes, and let himself snooze, safe in the knowledge that, for one night, no harm would come to him.

I haven't written in too long, and this was my venture back into the world of writing. I hope I did justice to these characters - I fell in love with them at first sight, and wanted to write some Poe whump XD

That being said, if I have done something grievously wrong in the SW universe, feel free to point it out - I have only had time to watch the sequel trilogy for now, so I might have erred a bit at points.

PS: I do not own the characters or the films - if I did, Rey, Poe, and Finn would have met much earlier XD

I welcome all comments and constructive feedback, but you know, be nice with it :)

Kudos,
Chrisii