"The First Order just called. They want their radar technician back."
Force and Sith, Neocolai is back and on brink of ruining a perfectly sensible writing career. o_0 (Wait, who am I kidding? This entire story is ridiculous!)
This third arc was written before Rise of Skywalker. Although it does entwine with the Last Jedi plot, thanks to the second arc of Tantrums this story is AU. (Maybe because, I don't know... Luke and Rey are present, Kylo Ben is in custody, Poe has survived literally everything, Finn is gonna be a hero daft it all, OC's might be mentioned, and there is absolutely nothing taken seriously except for angst. Lots and lots of angst.)
Prompts are Highly Appreciated, I have 15+ chapters in which to write early memory scenes for Ben! Feel free to send in some ideas and I'll see what I can integrate into this next arc of the story! :D
(Normal chapters are 90% written, so the main plot is pretty much complete. Hopefully you can expect weekly updates at the very least, depending on how much time I get outside of work. Yeehaw.)
I still do not own Star Wars or anything related to the franchise, so this will never inspire Lucasfilm to reshoot their last couple of movies. Phooey.
And so, against my better judgment, the saga continues…
.
.
.
(Before Kylo Ren) (Ben is 11)
Every first year cadet knew the phrase, "Skyline is the high line," which meant never take off without a full tank of fuel. Poe was a veteran at the academy, well on his way to finishing at the top of his class after a full six years of discipline and missions. He could recite fifty-eight fatal examples of pilots who hit the treeline after their engines tanked out mid-flight.
But Poe knew his X-Wing better than Ech'ban knew sabacc (which was saying something, since none of the cadets had caught him cheating yet), and he saw the dipping indicator and figured he had just enough to make it back to base. The platform was covered in sleet, his ears were numb, the wind was picking up a sharp edge, and if he didn't leave now he'd be stuck in a drafty fuel depot until New Year Fete Week – and no way was he missing the Life Day festivities. Ration cubes stuck in his throat and the fuel depot's caf had to originate from the Hutts – thick, slimy, and occasionally accompanied by an unpleasant lurch in the stomach. A measly three hour flight in turbulence was an amicable trade for cocoa, qrikki, noryath meatbread, and a twistler. Not necessarily in that order.
"Sure you don't want to hold out the storm?" a security guard shouted over the wind, hovering as Poe buckled on his helmet. "There's snow thicker than a womprat's fleas in that front."
"I'll stay ahead of it," Poe yelled back.
"Look kid, wherever you're going, it can wait," the security guard insisted. "Contact your base and tell them you've been delayed by the weather. There's nothing vital enough to the Republic that they'll risk losing one of their pilots to something as ninnyheaded as a blizzard."
"Oh, it's vital all right," Poe said with a chuckle. Nothing more imperative than to make sure the Solo kid had a proper Life Day, complete with canron, mallows and the little parcel tucked into Poe's jumpsuit pocket.
"Kid." Anxiously the security guard grabbed his sleeve as he reached for the rungs of the ladder. "Don't be a fool. You can't fly in that."
Listen to the flight checks, the instructors always told him. If the weather is dubious, wait for confirmation before leaving the ground.
Exceptions included battle formations, high priority missions, and evacuation. Poe figured this bordered on the "high priority" range.
"Sorry," he said with a polite, hapless shrug. "I'm on orders."
"Let me contact your base first," the guard implored, folding his arms crossly as Poe ascended. "Who's your superior officer?"
"General Solo," Poe said amicably. The title was important enough to give his "orders" credibility, and it would take a few minutes for them to differentiate which Solo was the right general. By then Poe would be well on his way.
"Uh-huh," the security guard grunted. "The general always sends juveniles on priority missions?"
"Sir, I'm the only one qualified for the job," Poe retorted. He saluted, leaned back as the cockpit closed over his head, and warmed up the engines. The takeoff was smooth, with barely a shake in the engine, and when he glanced at the fuel gauge he estimated he had nearly enough for five hours of evasive flight.
Yes, he was vital to the Republic all right. He was the only pilot in the galaxy qualified enough to drag Ben Solo to a Life Day gathering and distract him into enjoying himself.
He'd be just in time.
Three hours from the base, a light tremor thrummed under Poe's fingers. One brief jolt. Shaking his head, Poe eyed the wavering fuel line and patted the X-Wing's hull.
"Don't give out on me now."
He had enough fuel. He would make it in time.
A sudden gust of wind scraped his wingtip over a crescent rock formation.
Force! – The obscene use of the word made Poe chuckle. He sure could use some mythical intervention right now. A touch of unseen buoyance under his wings and a few extra thrusters to whoosh him out of this swamp of snowflakes that were rapidly solidifying into a volley of translucent pebbles.
Would that the Force always took his side.
Clapping his pocket for luck, Poe grit his teeth and goaded a few more notches out of the strained engines. The Solos already knew he was on his way.
He wouldn't disappoint them.
He was three hours from the base when his left engine chortled, hacked, spewed exhaust fumes, and somersaulted into a snowbank. The right engine had no choice but to follow suit. It clamored its protests by hurling against a protruding boulder with a scriiiiiich of heated metal and a firestorm that smoked the cockpit until the white backdrop vanished into a canopy of crackling, black veiled lines, shuddering under Poe's braced hands, until the entire cockpit shattered into a rainfall of smog and slivering glass.
With a hoarse cry Poe ducked his head, his skin salvaged only by his helmet and the thermal layers buffering the cold. He could feel blood beading on the exposed skin of his face. It froze in ruby pearls.
"Oh, not good!" Poe gasped, waving off the dissipating smoke and delicately brushing glass threads off his clothing. He was miles from the base and he was stranded in a melting X-Wing. Any second a spark could hit the engines, and then…..
He didn't even give himself time to finish that thought. Hurling himself from the cockpit, Poe landed on his shoulder and kept rolling. Downhill, picking up snow as he went, until he felt like a floofy tauntaun with a sudden case of frostbite.
Twenty feet away from the spacecraft, Poe felt the whump of fire striking the fuel tanks. He tucked his head under his arms and yelled as the backlash carried him another fifteen feet, flinging him into a mound of loose snow. Shrapnel plinked around him, denting the snow with rapidly icing pits.
General Organa was right – he was going to break his fool neck one of these days.
Brushing ash and glass from his helmet, Poe swayed to his feet and assessed himself. Pain, obviously – he'd just crashed a kriffing X-wing. His limbs were functioning, his fool neck was intact (although the General might finish the job and decapitated him personally – he was pretty sure she kept a lightsaber hidden in those layered ambassador robes), and he was thinking clearly enough to assume the base was about…..
Drawing a forced, even breath, Poe turned a slow circle. White, billowing flakes as far as he could see. No landmarks. He could have crashed in a kriffing straight line for Force' sake, but no, the Dameron luck had him spin in a probable circle before depositing him in a patch of nowhere. His suit was thermal, geared to protect the flyer in harsh weather, but most pilots were expected to crash gracefully and keep shelter in the cockpit, surviving semi-comfortably on the supplies stowed under the seat, with a homing beacon heralding a rescue team.
Poe had neither ship nor emergency pack – everything had burned.
And no contact, Poe realized grimly as his comlink crackled and whined. Of course the storm would interfere with long range transmissions. That probably meant the fuel station hadn't been able to contact the base about his departure.
Which meant no one knew he was lost in the storm.
Shivering, Poe slapped his arms and pulled his collar up to his chin. Keep walking, he reasoned. Those were the choices, right? Keep moving or burrow down and wait out the storm. Well, Poe had no intention of playing snow rabbit. He had a cranky kid to commiserate with and a Life Day celebration he was determined not to miss.
Caked boots dragging through sifting, dry powder, Poe started walking.
He wondered if an hour had passed. The sky was darker, but it could have been the storm swallowing up the afternoon's light. For all Poe knew, it could be close to nightfall and he was trudging in the opposite direction of the base. He was walking straight – he was sure of it. He couldn't be circling his own ship.
Besides, some inner tug told him that home was ahead of him. Someone was waiting for him – someone who wanted him back sooner than tomorrow, despite the reasoning that no pilot would be daft enough to take off in this weather.
If Poe had been graced with the Force, he was pretty sure Ben would be yammering in his head right now, complaining about how he was walking too slow and how stupid he was to crash his ship when even Jess could've flown it tons better.
All that was registering in his brain, however, was cold and numb feet and kriff, he'd give his piloting license for a canteen of hot caf.
Unfathomable miles ahead. It was too late to burrow – even if Poe turned back, he would never find the wreckage of his X-Wing under the piling snow. He had to keep moving.
His hands had lost feeling (hours? miles?) ago, and he was starting to sympathize with Imperial Walkers. No machine should be forced to walk with twenty tons of durasteel dragging down its every stride. His scarf was a stiff plank shaped across his jaw, and he was pretty sure the heat of his breath would crack his frost-sketched goggles any second now.
General Leia was going to be furious – if they ever found his corpse.
Nothing to see but miles of white, and the mist of each exhale shadowing his vision under fragile crystal frames.
He blinked lethargically, squinting at a grey mass, unsure if he was looking at the overcast or more fluttering whimsies.
Ben would be interested to know that snow wasn't really white, after all.
Funny, he didn't even remember lying down.
"Don't fall asleep!"
Some people talked about hearing voices. Such accounts usually involved celestial beings, telepaths, chronic brain damage, or a merciless conscience.
Poe's "little voice" often sounded like a tetchy Jedi apprentice.
"Dameron!"
"Ngdddbh," Poe mumbled. Nope, not getting up. Test tomorrow… or …. Something important. Go bug Ech'ban.
"Poe!"
"Poe!"
Suddenly he was being yanked out of the vestiges of what he was pretty sure was Ben's latest version of 'Blanket Fort: Location Hoth Base.' Kriff, fell asleep while babysitting again….
"Don't you do this, Dameron! Don't you dare!"
Muffled shouting. What did he do this time? Ben… blanket fort…. Oh Force, the whole thing must've collapsed. I've suffocated the Solo heir.
Something ice-chipped and puffy collided with his jaw. Stinging cold sifted underneath the crackling, sharp thing wrapped around his chin.
"I am not giving the bad news to Leia, Dameron! So get – your – eyes – on – me!"
More jostling. His head jolted with every barked word, propelled by something that seemed less and less like Ben's stuffed bunyip and more like the severed armrest of an Imperial command chair.
"G'ff," Poe growled, pawing back the wooly battering thingamajig. His sleeves creaked and something white and hazy speckled around his feet.
"That's it!" The voice dropped to a rusty croak as two paws clapped around his head. "Come on, Kid, stick with me. I knew a little blizzard wouldn't kill you!"
A low, growling rumble finally registered with Poe's numbed ears. "Chwb?"
"Chewie, get that thermal over here! The kid's frozen inside his own flight suit!"
Oh, kriff. Oh, kriff, Sith, Force, kark, karabast, pfassk, stang, poodoo, and everything else considered vulgar or profane.
I can so explain, Poe tried to defend himself. All that came out was a reedy puff of useless jargon that sounded humiliatingly like, "Dn't tell Mmmmm….."
Huffing, Han pulled him forward, tying something thick, furry, and electrically heated around his torso. Poe's clunky limbs swayed without purpose as the same fluffy material was yanked over his head.
"Not a chance; you get to tell her yourself," Han said. "You're in for a royal lecture after this attempt."
Yup. Doomed. Should've broken his neck. He was still grounded from the last bungle. He could be married in a few years and he'd still be working off demerits.
"Chewie, turn off the cranker." Han's voice was once again a low hum. "Don't let him get too warm. Kid, you're lucky this isn't the old days. When Luke was your age it was a tauntaun holding him together, not a thermal vest, and he was fortunate that the Force wouldn't let its golden boy die overnight from a bacteria-toting flea infestation."
Vaguely Poe felt himself being hoisted and shoved. His feet were dragged from a cushioning surface onto hard metal. His face tingled, unpleasantly warm, and then his skin started to burn. He wrenched around, clawing at the thermovest with stiff, clumsy hands. Chewbacca's low whine was barely discernible over the blood gushing in an excruciating rush through the cartilage of his ears.
"Don't grumble at me, Kid. It's your own fault for pulling rank at a fuel depot. " Han's voice floated above the clamor of pulsing beats, and the slithering snow that pattered in the abstract vicinity of what used to be boots. Pretty sure they had been boots, before they were recycled as AT-AT clunkers.
"Yeah, he's still talking nonsense, Chewie," Han shouted, reactivating the searing, ringing peel that was carving a molten line between Poe's ears. "Whoah – no zonking out on me. Leia expects me to bring you back alive – although if you ask me, you're better off in the snowbank. She can scare a blistmok's tail off in a….."
Orders were orders, especially when they came from a longstanding general. Poe waggled his jaw in an automatic 'Sir, yessir, won't ever try that one again'… but his tongue was as cumbersome as his durasteel boots.
At least he wasn't going to be late now. As if Leia was ever going to let him off parking detail long enough to attend a Life Day Celebration after this….
(Aftermath)
"So what happened next?"
Poe shrugged, rubbing a Geldan sun-apple on his flight suit before savagely sinking in his teeth. Slightly under ripe, maybe a bit wormy, but fresh fruit was a delicacy after the First Order seized control of the marketing ports.
Come to think of it, the taste was rather similar to fizzy sodas.
Flipping the sun-apple disinterestedly, Poe tucked it back into his pocket. He wasn't really hungry after all.
"Poe – I mean, come on," Finn said, waving his hands expectantly. "You crash-landed, somehow survived sub-temperatures in a patchy flight suit long enough for Han Solo to find you – there's gotta be a finale to that. Did General Organa chew you out or something?"
"Can't say I remember much," Poe said flippantly. "It was a long time ago, you know... I mean, I barely recalled the crash after…. Half frozen and all."
"So…. General Organa got real mad?" Finn pressed.
"I was grounded – again," Poe said shortly. "Still working that off, all right?" He rose stiffly, grimacing as his left leg twinged. Something had never healed right after….
He didn't talk about that anymore. Some things were better left rotting behind durasteel doors.
"You always leave off in the middle of a memory," Finn reproached, keeping in stride with his back to approaching pilots. "Major Kalonia said you can't keep holding everything inside – 'Scuse me."
Dodging around a skittering caamasi, Finn regained his bearings, easily matching Poe's….
Hitch. Just a hitch. Some error in the muscle that would heal itself after a few therapy sessions. He was fine.
Kriff it all! He was hard pressed keeping up with a formerly crippled stormtrooper who was walking backwards!
"This isn't about Kylo Ren, okay?" Poe said, more testily than he intended. "We got a First Order fleet on our trail. Forgive me if I'm a little patchy about something that happened in my academy days."
Some days Finn could look infuriatingly, inexorably guileless. "I never mentioned Kylo Ren."
Shaking his head, Poe limped past him, shoulder brushing in a brusque hint to, let it go.
"You ever going to talk about it?" Finn called after him.
"Drop it, Finn," Poe pleaded wearily.
"It's not just me – Rey's worried, too!" Trotting up to Poe's left side, Finn snagged his shoulder and forced him to stop. "Poe, no one's going to let the First Order take you down again. Me, Rey, Leia – everyone in this base is – "
"Yeah, I noticed," Poe snipped, pushing off Finn's hand and dodging a Lorrdian commander. "Love the feeling of security around here. Everyone thinks I'm going to take my ship for a dive soon as the general's back is turned."
"Hey!" Whipping the pilot around, Finn gripped his shoulders, every blatant, zealous neuron that had made him an enemy to the First Order stoking coals in his dark eyes. The only times Poe ever saw that look directed to someone in the Resistance were the occasions when Finn struggled to repress his former training.
Kriff, he really was setting off people these days.
"Look, I'm sorry," Poe amended, throwing a glare at the concerned officer glancing his way. "I'm not trying to shut you guys out. Everyone's treating me like a short-circuiting astrodroid – starts to get on your nerves after a while. I'm fine, all right? I'm not going crazy, believe me, Finn."
He was so tired of explaining that to the Resistance.
Finn, thank the Force, was the only one who maintained that forgiving, mooka-like trust that kept Poe from questioning if he'd lost his mind after all.
"I believe you, Poe," the former stormtrooper echoed, and Poe shut his eyes for a moment, unbelievably relieved by that simple reinforcement. If that didn't make him feel more like he was acting the petulant victim.
"Kylo Ren toyed with me too, Poe," Finn said softly, cranking up the guilt factor and reminding Poe that someone always had it worse and he had no right to pity himself. "I understand, all right? We're just trying to look out for you. We lost you once on that operating table. I can't let you die again, taking on the entire First Order because you can't face up to the fact that you're not getting back what they stole."
Poe jolted, tripping up his own leg. Immediately Finn was braced at his weak side, tugging him into his balance and salvaging his fragile dignity. Like he'd done every time since he first led Poe out of that durasteel prison.
Only a wise friend could slap him over the face with the truth and just as easily boost him up when he lost his footing.
"Kay, fine," Poe mumbled, averting his eyes from the stares he knew were following him. Kriffing gimpy leg. "I'll let you two play security detail on me. But keep the rest of the Resistance off my back. How do they expect me to move on when they're all hovering around not saying that Kylo Ren messed me up, huh?"
"Maybe we gotta tell them," Finn mused. At Poe's incredulous look he clarified, "Like we did when they kept on waiting for me to spout off First Order codes. We do some stuff to make you appear normal."
"Like the paint rollers on the mouse droids," Poe said dryly. "It's too bad Admiral Ackbar caught on to us before we could hijack the sauna. I always wondered what a florescent Mon Calamari would look like on the main bridge."
"Although, honestly, I'm not sure it gave a favorable impression," Finn admitted. "Vice Admiral Holdo cut her hair shortly after you hijacked the sanistream."
"Surprised she didn't dye it back," Poe muttered. "What can I say, some people just can't appreciate creativity."
"You said it would honor the Resistance," Finn recalled uncertainly. "You said it was a harmless demonstration of fearlessness and bravado."
"Yeah, they're called pranks," Poe drawled. "Heroic comedy guaranteed to mandate the serviceable penance of cleaning the engine room. – Practical jokes," he clarified at Finn's duped expression. "Not widely accepted as a social beneficence."
"Wait, that was against the rules?" Finn spluttered. "You made me gift-wrap the entire bridge as a Life Day gift to General Organa!"
Poe chuckled, and felt some merit of alarm when the sensation felt foreign. Had it been so long since they ended the war with Kylo Ren?
The war itself wasn't over yet, however, as emphasized when the com system blared in alarm and the hangar sprang into a flurry of controlled panic.
"All pilots to your stations," General Organa commanded. "Prepare for attack, but do not engage. Repeat, do not engage."
"First Order," Finn estimated, with a curse. "How'd they find us that fast?"
"Better hope that radar technician didn't implant a tracker," Poe growled, swiveling around and lurching back to the hangar. Perhaps Kylo Ren had drawn them. More likely, one of his double agents had left a signal; Ech'ban had been assigned to the engineering decks.
Everyone worried about how Poe was handling Kylo Ren's most recent attack. Few considered that he had been delivered to the First Order by one of their most trusted engineers.
"Commander Dameron."
A hand caught his arm, twisting him in the opposite direction. Grimly Poe saluted to the higher officer.
Commander Dameron reporting as fit for duty, danced on the tip of his tongue.
"General Organa will see you on deck," the officer said kindly.
Exhaling sharply, Poe nodded. They could pad the blow as best as they could; he knew when he was being grounded.
"Poe?" Finn called out as the pilot staggered past him.
"Better report to the gunners," Poe said impassively, brushing Finn's shoulder with a dismissive wave. "They'll need your input on the Star Destroyers' shields." Finn's knowledge was invaluable to the Resistance; it was amazing how well a janitor knew the inside of a starship. He was never useless in a firefight.
Poe was beginning to envy his friend.
"What about you?" Finn pressed.
"General Organa's orders, gotta report to the bridge," Poe said lightly. He shot Finn a quick smile and clapped him on the back. "Let's take down a couple Star Destroyers."
"Poe…."
The mercy of a space battle was that there wasn't time for open-hearted conversations. Poe ditched the ache of uselessness as he crossed the hangar threshold, passing Jess and Snap as they darted to their X-Wings. Today he would not be leading them.
Didn't mean he wouldn't be beneficial to the Resistance, though. He could still pass coffee to all the commanding officers.
Or maybe he'd just hurl his X-Wing through a Dreadnaught's windshield and spare himself the agony of mind-numbing boredom.
.
.
.
Yeeeesh! So happy to be posting this at last. It's been in the works for over a year now. A little nod to Standing Cowardly, who reviewed in - what, was it really 2017? and reminded me of all my genius plans for salvaging the last sad scene in Arc 2. Hope y'all enjoy!
Reviews are wonderful, and Benny prompts are even better! :D