Old Prompt: What about a chapter about Poe teaching Ben how to play holo-chess or some other game? - Fangirl4life2001
Ben didn't exactly learn anything in this chapter, as the infallible Dameron luck struck again… But here's a "bored game" for the prompt.
(Before Kylo Ren - Ben is 10)
"I hate this game."
"You said the same thing about dejarik," Poe commented. He hopped the green, frilly monster piece over its friend and into the next slot, passing up one of Ben's monsters in lieu of making another double jump. Not because the kid was getting frustrated and already had three of Poe's monsters penned away.
"It's stupid. I want to play sabacc."
"I think your mom confiscated it down the exhaust port," Poe mumbled. He might have accidentally forgotten to bring a deck, too. And lost Han's gold-embelished, commemorative edition in a high cupboard.
"C-3PO lets me do what I want."
"He makes you eat green swamp swill," Poe clarified.
Screwing up his face, Ben peevishly nudged one of his monsters out of line, then deliberately hopped it in order to capture another of Poe's monsters. Poor things. He should be defending them more valiantly.
Heaving a disgusted sigh, Ben flopped back in his chair, arms dangling over the sides. "I'm booored!"
So am I. This would be so much more interesting if Ech'ban was commentating. Every monster would howl and dub Poe with an imaginary title that was probably profane in some offworld language. Ben would be the king of monsterdom and dominate the board, pulling up all of Poe's captured monsters into some disturbing form of mutiny, and eventually all rules would crumble into the mad pursuit of one poor, frantic green monster who was desperately trying to evade the ruthless blue army and the mind-controlled subjugation of its own kind. Poe would be forced to surrender close to lunchtime (Ech'ban would expand the board across the entire house just to prolong the chase) and afterwards Ben would be so exhausted from victory that he would accede to quiet time and reading without an overly obnoxious complaint.
But noooo, Ech'ban was off on some vital mission to woo that long-legged Arhan who was allergic to nearly everything on the base, which apparently included mop-haired children who only wanted to play sabacc.
Poe was alone in his plight.
"Hate this game," Ben enunciated distastefully, kicking at the board. Green and blue monsters scattered, and more than one fell into the "prison" made from a wrapper of Leia's delicious (and probably lavishly expensive) chocolate that Han had tossed at his son's head before he walked out that morning.
"Hate it," Ben repeated. He flicked one of Poe's monsters at the wall, and then flipped another onto its head, bouncing it across the board until it fell over the table's cliff face with a high-pitched "Nooooooo!"
Seven more hours until Leia relieved him of duty, and Poe was out of ideas. Blanket forts were for babies, reading was dull, lightsaber duels were out of the question, sabacc had been outlawed after Ben snuck into a casino, coloring was stupid, painting the B-wing had to wait because Han was going to help Ben finish (he promised), Poe wasn't allowed to use the kitchen for anything but toast ever again, holovid was banned on Master Skywalker's orders, Ben swore he'd already "practiced the Force today," someone mopping the halls had upset Ben's internal coping mechanism and he refused to leave the apartment under any circumstances, the datapad was conveniently locked up in the Millenium Falcon, and apparently dejarik was "too hard."
Poe was seriously contemplating dragging the kid outside and letting him scream bloody murder until a bee flew into his mouth.
But since he wasn't a cruel babysitter and he hated the thought of explaining to Leia why her son's tonsils had rapidly swollen, he elected to search his ever weary, overworked brain for new and extraordinarily safe exploits. (Which was an exercise of its own torturous making, seeing as his head was currently bloated with coordinates, numbers, the mechanisms of fourteen different attack vessels, Ben's current "permitted-to-do" list, the various allergies of Ech'ban's girlfriend and methods of decontamination for her personal safety, five ingredients for a foolproof "Even you can't botch this one, Dameron" flatcake batter, sixty-one nooks and crannies in which Ben could hide the Falcon dice, four uniforms to coordinate for flight or casual wear, sixteen out of billions of rules required to politely attend a "Hosnian Prime" dinner, thirteen methods to successfully prevent a meltdown if Ben tripped over a shoelace, and two names he still couldn't decide between for dubbing his flight squadron when he proverbially captained his own fleet in the … ever bleaker future). There was no jolt of inspiration or spark of hope. Maybe he could convince the kid to take a nap.
Naps sounded awesome right now.
Ben was making horrible, torturous sounds as he mimicked a blue monster eating the green one. There was no helping it. The galaxy had abandoned Poe Dameron, and he was left with no other choice.
Dragging his chair to the kitchen, he hopped up and reached into the highest cupboard. Sabacc it would have to be.
"I'm telling Mom you stood on the furniture!" Ben exclaimed, taking advantage of the breach of rules long enough to jump onto the table and lunge to fling a monster onto the ceiling fan.
There was a quick scramble that might have involved battered shins on Poe's part, a broken chair, a nearly concussed Solo, and a sliced game piece that was almost accompanied by the fingers of Ben's right hand.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in the medical wing as Ben howled over his bruised forehead while Poe endured four stitches and the removal of a large sliver of wood from his forearm.
He added "Entertainment for Your Force-Sensitive Child" to his reading list and memorized the two meager pages of non-lethal games that a bored parent must have devised during the Clone Wars. Safe, indoor action distracted Ben for an hour at a time, and quieted him enough to take interest in more passive activities.
As for Poe's battered ego, he figured he was lucky he wasn't banned from furniture on the Solo's list of safety rules. He'd already been added to their personal medical plan after Ben's catastrophic ninth birthday.
(Aftermath)
"Commander Dameron," Leia greeted cordially. "Your punctuality is appreciated."
"General." Poe nodded once.
Leia raised a single eyebrow, instinctively picking up on his agitation. Poe cringed. Of course he saw the lean of her right shoulder, and the drawn lines around her mouth. Loyalty had forced a mother to imprison her child and bear the commendations and praises of well-meaning do-gooders who only saw a criminal restrained under her command. She was exhausted, and here was her sulking commander, complaining about the unfairness of a ground mission. He couldn't add one more trial to her bowed shoulders.
Straightening his posture, Poe swept the frustration from his expression and offered a plausible smile. "Commander Dameron reporting for duty, Ma'am."
A wan smile eased the lines around Leia's eyes. "I know you expected to lead the fleet, Poe," she said gently, "But something unexpected requires your presence here. General Hux has made contact."
The new leader of the First Order, standing in Kylo Ren's place. Baffled, Poe glanced at the expectant officers surrounding him. "With all due respect, General…. What does that have to do with a fleet commander?"
"He… personally requested you." Sighing, Leia shook her head. Her words were forced. "It's... about Kylo Ren."
Two words inspired by the darkest side of whatever force created monsters out of children, intended to jolt everything he thought was stable in his luckless existence. Shaking his head, Poe stumbled over the words that sprang instinctively from his traitorous tongue. "No. There's nothing they could possibly... Why would the First Order contact me?"
The last time he was pulled in for enemy transmissions, Kylo had ditched the mask for mooka eyes and conspired a trap that convinced even Leia he'd had a change of heart. Poe's sympathy for the enemy had died under a four-inch blade, in the heat of an exploded cruiser. The First Order had nothing important to say to him now.
"We have taken their commander prisoner," Admiral Akbar concurred. "Negotiations are a luxury we cannot afford."
"Negotiation is all we have left." Disappointment quenched the empathy in Leia's gaze. Turning away from Poe, she strode to the center of the bridge and addressed her commanders. "A distraction is all we need to distance ourselves from the First Order's fleet, and Commander Hux has given us the exact opportunity. In a matter of hours we'll be within safe distance of - "
"Pardon me, General," Poe interjected, "But that's a Dreadnaught out there. If you need a distraction, just send me out there with a handful of bombers. I can target its laser canons and all we'll have to do is - "
"I am not risking half our fleet for one battleship," Leia emphasized.
"General, it's more than a Starfighter we're talking about!" Poe stressed. "Think how many outposts will be protected if we could -"
"If you're here to argue, get off my bridge," Leia said tersely. "I've asked for your help, Poe. It may be unconventional, but if you want to aid the Resistance, put the guns away and listen to your commanding officer."
Mollified, Poe grit his jaw, recognizing that General Organa held control over the fleet, and he had just overstepped her command in front of the senior officers. Fine way to reassure them that you're operating in a sensible and rational manner, Dameron. Swallowing his pride, he nodded stiffly. "Understood, General."
"Thank you, Commander." Beckoning him forward, Leia indicated the battle graft. "Besides the Dreadnaught there are three other Starfighters in close proximity. We take down this ship and reinforcements are guaranteed to follow close behind. What we need is time, not firepower." Waving the screen aside, she pointed to an isolated planet. "There's an abandoned outpost hidden in the caves. We can regroup; rally the stragglers from other systems. We'll be undetected by the First Order - for a while, at least."
Hiding wasn't his game - never had been. "What do you want me to do?" Poe asked, struggling to keep the I-could-totally-ignite-Snoke-if-I-wanted-to impression out of his tone. "Seems we won't need the fighters."
"That's Plan B," Leia said cryptically. "For now, I'd like to know why the First Order personally requested an audience with one of my finest fleet officers. Lieutenant D'jar, put General Hux through."
Before Poe could voice his protest, the console flickered and a ginger head filled the viewscreen. "Someone was a bit anxious on the com," Leia mumbled. She stepped forward, capitalizing the commander's attention. "Last I was aware, the First Order reviled negotiations."
"This isn't an armistice," Hux retorted. "One of your officers was in direct contact with Kylo Ren before his recreancy."
"Yup," Poe drawled, striding up to stand beside the general. He heard Leia's irritated sigh. "Heard a lot about your hero's 'discrepancy.' Personally, I think he started losing gears a long time ago. There was some incident involving tangled bootlaces when he was..."
"Poe, what are you doing?" Leia hissed, jabbing him in the ankle with a durasteel-toed boot.
"Buying you time," he whispered back. "Actually, it may have started earlier when someone put a tooka..."
"I'm not interested in trivial sentiments," Hux snapped. This is a retrieval mission. You are detaining one of our officers. You will return him to our ship, along with the one responsible for his disparity, before your fleet is confiscated for the glory of the First Order."
"Sounds like an ideal argument to make me stay put," Poe retaliated. "No Sith Lord, no firepower. I can agree to a stalemate."
"Your surrounding fleet will be destroyed," Hux said crisply. "Your resistance will crumble, the corpses of your feeble officers crushed and boiled in the heat of your exploding starships."
"Look, General Hugs," Poe said, leaning on the console as his left leg wavered. "If you want Kylo Ren, I'll be happy to deliver. Just let me pack an escape pod full of explosives and we'll ship him right over."
"Dameron!" Leia growled.
Hux squinted, scrutinizing Poe with the distaste of a tailor yanking out a persistent, unruly thread. "How important are you to the Resistance, Pilot?" he challenged.
Leia stilled, her hand hovering over the switch to end the transmission.
"Kinda important," Poe drawled. There was once a stretch of sand and a crooked knife. Hard to imagine he wasn't worth a rescue effort after Master Skywalker himself flew home to salvage his wavering life force.
"Then answer this, Pilot," Hux considered. "What is your worth to the First Order?"
Hostage, informant, trophy. Not a lot of imagination was required to envision an ugly demise. "Your pet Sith Lord couldn't kill me," Poe said flatly. "I'd like to see you try."
"Indeed," Hux said. "What you do not realize, Pilot, is that I do not need any of you alive. Although Supreme Leader Snokes would prefer his prisoners pleading and wailing in anguish, I will be suitably recompensed for delivering the corpses of three Jedi and their miscreant mynock. Stand down your fighters and lower your shields, and this will end with minimal bloodshed."
"I've heard enough," Leia muttered, flicking off the transmission. "Dameron, get to your fighter. Your job is to protect the frigates. I need fifteen minutes. No heroics. Admiral Akbar, lay out the coordinates."
"Calculating for light speed now," the Mon Calamari rasped.
Giddily Poe scampered away from the console. I'm leading the fighters! he thought ecstatically. He was still in the war.
"Commander Dameron," Leia barked.
He skittered in the doorway, spine as ramrod as he could manage. I'm not disabled, he projected with his stance. I'm just as good a pilot as I've ever been.
"Don't engage the Dreadnaught," Leia said crisply.
It stifled his eagerness, but he saluted all the same. For her. "Understood, General."
The doors swished and he bounded through, determined not to be held back from this firefight. So maybe he couldn't run like before. He was getting places all the same.
In the back of his mind something stirred. A presence. A warning. A misgiving that something bad was about to happen. He'd felt the same tremor before he clipped a tree with his X-Wing and woken up with a cranky Kylo clamoring through his comlink.
Now he knew such ill-bodings were to be ignored.
Dodging a team of medics, Poe trotted for the hangar, already activating his communicator to have BB-8 ready the fighter.
He was Poe Dameron, son of Shara and Kes, and that meant one thing.
If he was going to die one of these days, at least he would go out flying.
.
.
.
Wheee, thanks to the fabulous Judge1964 for reviewing! :D (I am ridiculously overexcited about this story right now... and the fact that I get to see a soggy Kylo sloshing about like a sad puppy in theaters again tomorrow. Poor Kylo Ren, never taken seriously in any of the three films...) :/