(Before Kylo Ren) (Ben is 11)

Anything but a B-Wing," Han implored good-naturedly, rolling his eyes as Ben pranced up with yet another identical model to the twelve ships lining his bookshelf. "We have those in spares. What about a medical frigate, Benny? Every good fleet should have one."

"It's Ben!" the boy protested, scowling as he hefted his prize onto the sales counter. "And I like this one."

Sighing, Han slid a few credit chips into his palm. "Fine. One B-Wing, Zoffel. And a medical frigate." He cast Poe a look and indicated the shelving unit. "Grab one of those, Kid."

Setting down the deluxe X-Wing kit that sported the Rogue Squadron colors and a glass cockpit, Poe scanned the shelves until he found a decent frigate suitable for a kid with a short attention span. Ben rocked on his heels, anxiously watching the Azumel clerk wrap his model in brown packing paper.

Distracted by rows of detailed models lining the glass counter, Poe wordlessly slid the frigate onto the counter. Was it fine brushes that ensured a good paint job, or did paint quality make the difference? Or should he employ a magnifying glass for some of the faint wear markings on a battle cruiser?

"There," Han stated grandly. "One medical frigate. Now it's a fleet."

"It looks stupid," Ben said, crinkling his nose at the frigate. He reached for the bag with his preferred purchase and hugged it to his chest.

"Saves a lot of lives, kiddo," Han said. "Trust me, in a real fleet, appearance gives way to efficiency every time."

"Poe!" Ben snapped, jolting the cadet from his pondering over whether smokey grey would trump charcoal for blast streaks. "We're leaving! Come on!"

The hues probably didn't make a difference. He'd mix up a similar color if he needed it. Classy stuff like this was beyond an academy allowance, but Poe discovered new insights every time he dropped by. Waving to the clerk, who was known by name to three generations of students, he turned to the doorway, where the smog-laden streets were mired with bustling shoppers - and promptly smacked into another avid collector.

"Watch where you're going!" the ginger snarled, snatching at an Imperial Starfighter before it could slide off the cumbersome stack in his arms.

"Whoa, easy - I got it," Poe said, grabbing for a Malastare podracer before it could hit the carpet. "Need a hand with those?"

Flushing to the tips of his ears, the young man dumped his armload onto the counter and snatched the podracer from Poe's hands. "No one asked for your assistance, Imbat." To the clerk he directed, "I'll have these. Put it on my father's account."

"Nice shiner," Poe commented, peering at the faint streak of yellow, testament of an old bruise. Of course he remembered. "Marelle?"

The young man whirled to face him, teeth bared. "Say one more word and I'll put a bolt in your - l"

"Armie?" The childish inquisition halted any potentially coarse comments forthcoming. Ben peeked in from the entrance, his brown eyes glinting with recognition. Squinting down his nose at the boy, Ginger frowned in deliberate thought. "You're the son of the Rebel Princess."

"He's my kid," Han said languidly, leaning against the door in a nonchalant manner that radiated, I will shoot you if he starts crying.

Steel blue eyes assuaged the general impassively. "Ah." Haughtiness and a grandiose, entitled air reverberated in waves of snob. Someone had a unique sense of self-importance.

"Paint much?" Poe wondered, edging the topic to the safer boundaries of valiant (if often futile) artistic efforts.

"Not that you would know the concept, flyboy," Ginger snubbed. "With those filthy flight boots and cheap uniforms. Grease and oil stains, that's all you pilots understand."

"Hey!" Poe snapped. So maybe he preferred his boots to fancy shoes, and academy didn't leave time to practice the finer points of art. He could model a kit and make it look decent; a feat he could boast over many of his classmates.

"That's more your class," Ginger scoffed, nodding to the child's frigate that Han cradled. "Even a blurrg can manage a basic coating, I suppose."

Poe's fist moved faster than his brain. Han intervened quicker than both. He caught the cadet's arm midswing, snatched a box from the shelf, and plonked it onto the counter even as Ginger swerved to avoid a direct hit.

"Turns out I wasn't finished with my purchases," Han growled, fishing out a handful of credits. "Put that on the bill, Zoffel. And while you're at it, I'm paying for the twit's fancy toys."

Disgust and mortification at the offer flooded Ginger's pinched face. "I refuse to accept the charity of a borcatu herding - "

"Then shut up and wait in line!" Han barked. "I'm not going to be blacklisted from my favorite haunt just because two knuckleheads went head on. Zoffel, ring it up. We've got places to be after this."

"Your call," the Azumel said, as indifferent as if a fly had lighted on his counter and croaked. Before the transaction even finalized Han grabbed the model and thrust it into Poe's hands.

"Go," he snapped, ushering cadet and eleven-year-old towards the door. "I catch one word of you two dealing out later and you're answering to Leia."

"He started it," Poe mumbled.

"I don't care who deserved a cracked jaw. As long as Ben is around, you keep your scrapper instincts to yourself. He already has enough volatile influences in his life."

It wasn't until later, when Poe was griping to Jess about the general interference in his social squabbles, only to be interrupted by hollering from the Solos' quarters, that he realized the heavy implications in Han's statement.

Generals didn't have the luxury of playing diplomat in both the field and at home. Sooner or later the negotiations barrier shattered and all unwary bystanders were caught up in the firefight.

Ben didn't have many influences outside of his parents.

Excusing himself early, Poe flipped out the deluxe X-Wing that Han had tossed to him in the shop and sat down with Ben, gluing windowpanes and splattering red paint until his homework looked like an expression of martyrdom and his desk like a war zone. By the time Han dropped by with a sheepish smile, coaxing Ben off to his own room for some shut eye, the boy was calm and half-delirious on paint fumes. He insisted on taking the model with him, and Poe didn't object. He'd try his hand at another X-Wing later.

After all, who would ever fly a ship that was pitch black with targeting red paint?

(Aftermath)

"He isn't permitted visitors," warned the young guard in an engineer jumpsuit. She shifted her stance uneasily, fingering her stun baton. "I'm under orders."

"I'm not here to chat," Poe said coolly. "General Organa wants answers out of that kung. I'm sure you understand why they sent me."

The makeshift guard flinched, uneasy pity swirling in her gaze. She was only, what - twenty-five? Still new at her job. Uncertain of all the parameters. Maintenance crew thrust into guard duty by some cheap officer who wanted a kaf break. What was her name?

"Rose," Poe recalled, earning a blink of pleased surprise from the girl. Putting on his most unassuming smile, he looked down sheepishly, fiddling with the dented hydrospanner. "Look, I just want to get this over with. If you want to put General Organa on the com I'll wait, but it's bad enough coming here once today without looking like I'm hovering."

Ah, the agony and convenience of having a compromised reputation. Well aware of the rumors, Rose blushed crimson and shook her head. "No, I understand. I mean - I'd have to log this, but if you're here under orders…."

"Thank you," Poe said softly. He mentally kicked himself, chiding, What are you doing, Dameron?

"But leave that behind," Rose instructed him warily, eyeing the hydrospanner. "There's a metal scanner over the door. No tools or picks allowed in the cell."

"Never dream of it," Poe reassured her. He chuckled softly and tossed her the spanner. "I know the drill. No call in ten minutes and you're dragging me out of there."

"In ten minutes you could be dead," Rose said faintly. Pressing her lips together, she shook her head. "Check-in within five. And you will be monitored." Her voice wavered, challenging her bravado. She knew she was out of her depths.

"I'm aware," Poe said confidently. He wasn't going to say anything he dreaded General Organa overhearing, anyways. She already knew the worst.

Maybe they'd both find answers this time.

Stepping gingerly through the first door (only to be relieved of half a dozen odd tools and spare parts he'd forgotten in his jumpsuit), Poe trailed after Rose until they reached the third door from the end. There were no markings to tell the prisoners apart. Kylo Ren was but one more humanoid among the rest.

"Five minutes check-in," Rose warned again, before she keyed the door.

Steeling his wrathful thoughts, Poe stepped inside.

Instantly he felt cold. Cold and dead inside, looking over the husk of destruction and pain. Glittering black eyes peered up dully from a thatch of greasy hair. Alarm widened them slightly before Kylo Ren scowled.

"You're here." Abject surprise was thinly concealed under antagonism. Kylo Ren scowled. "Mother must be desperate."

"No, you don't call her that," Poe said, folding his arms and leaning against the cell wall. "She's General Organa to her subordinates."

Dark eyes flashed murderously. There were chains instead of a straight jacket, but secured to the wall as they might be, Poe was ready for a fight. Kriff, he never thought he'd ever want to hit the Solo's...

But this wasn't Ben.

"Keep out of my head," he said coldly, not missing the indrawn hitch of Kylo Ren's shoulders. Irritation flared anew. "I don't know what game you're playing -"

"Don't be stupid, Dameron," Kylo Ren scoffed. "As if I care whether or not you blow yourself up with your idiocy. I failed to kill you before; Hux will not show such weakness."

"Then let him finish it!" Poe snapped. "He could've incinerated my ship with one graze to the wing cannon. Why would you care whether or not I pulled out in time?"

Curling his nose, Kylo Ren answered scathingly, "You still think it matters to me if you kill yourself in a foolhardy mission? I could have destroyed this ship with one Tie Silencer, regardless of who was on board. The Jedi's reign would end, jettisoned into the cold of space."

"And yet here you are," Poe said, a feral sneer curling his words. "So why keep death at bay for the Resistance?"

A thought formed with chilling clarity. "You're saving yourself," Poe stated. "As long as you're here, Hux will continue negotiations. The First Order needs you alive."

"Your astute brilliance is overwhelming," Kylo Ren drawled. "Once this paltry fleet is crushed, the Sword of Snokes will inflict terror upon the rest of the galaxy. We will rise above the memory of the ancient masters."

"You mean the galaxy will refer to you as Snoke's little minion," Poe retorted.

Kylo Ren hissed, lashing out with one hand. Instinct compelled Poe to snatch for the blaster he'd left with Rose. Something ingrained in his teen years stayed his hand. He braced himself, waiting for a blow in the Force, daring Kylo Ren to follow through.

Powerless in his restraints, the gawky Sith stared at him in disbelief. He laughed hoarsely and dropped his hand. "Still expecting something less than a monster."

"You're not a..." Poe swore in Corellian, stumbling over his fickle, forgetful tongue. Old memories of similar conversations mingled with the ripple in his back. Somehow they felt one and the same.

Kylo Ren leaned back, lifting one eyebrow snidely. Say it, his eyes goaded. Sever your childish ties, as I did mine.

"No," Poe said, bitterness deepening his voice. "You're not a monster. You're a sick copy of some clever hoax, and you can't surpass the fiend that created you."

Bafflement vanished in a surge of animosity. "I'm more powerful than Snokes will ever be!" Kylo Ren insisted. "Even Mother trembles when she realizes the extent of my prowess. You're nothing but a pilot, and I've earned your fear."

"I'm not afraid of you." Force, this was deja vu. How often had he repeated those words to a boy tangled in his own bootlaces?

Hang on tight, Darth Mynock.

Are these guys bothering you?

I know you won't hurt me.

"I'm not afraid," Poe repeated, his level gaze contrasting Kylo Ren's slack-jawed expression. "I never was."

Blustering wordlessly for a moment, Kylo Ren gathered his wits and spat, "Then you're a fool, Dameron!"

"Yeah." As if he hadn't know that already. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Rapping four times against the door, Poe let himself out. He was wasting his time in here. There were no answers to be gained from madmen.

If I could have brought you back, I would, he thought resignedly. For Leia's sake.

All they had retrieved was the husk of broken dreams. The nightmare lived on.

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Sorry about the long wait, I took a 21-day prayer routine with my church and opted not to do stories for that time period. I thought I'd get this chapter out before then but it just wasn't cooperating, hence the drop-out without warning.

On the return note, is anyone reading this? I'm certainly not going to leave it unfinished, but feedback is the heart of a good story and there were so many twists evolved from readers' questions in the first couple arcs. I suppose I'm just a little nostalgic for my old style. Anyways, thank you to Cheesemaster112 and Agent ERA for your lovely comments. I've got some memory scenes rolling out and hopefully I can get back on the writing schedule! :D