And here is the second half to Cheesemaster112's prompt for a jealous!Ben. I wanted a sort of "first-encounter" scenario for Poe and Leia, before he was officially roped into the Solo family. Poor guy just doesn't get it; he always belonged.
Thank you to Cheesemaster112, Judge1964, and Brievel for reviewing!
(Before Kylo Ren - Ben is 7) (Follow-up to Chapter 45)
Jess often complained that Poe had the worst immune system in the galaxy. It wasn't that he got sick often — he just got sick bad. Any nasty bug that managed to catch up with his sleepless routine infallibly wiped him out for days, before dancing off as if it had never been.
Whatever virus was festering in that grimy crate on a recycled Imperial cargo ship, Poe hoped he never encountered it again.
It started off immediately by plastering him onto his bunk, his hands and arms as red as a kavasa fruit and his vision dipping in grey spirals. He half remembered dragging himself out of bed, and then looking up in bewilderment from a net of blankets as his roommate hollered from the doorway. After that…
Visions. Flashes of color. Screams in his head. Engine grease on fire, following the plunge of a blown wing. He was falling, no she was, and he couldn't stop it no matter how fast he ran, tried to warn her not to take off, to stay out of the fight and just come home… Over and over he fell, felt his wings clip the earth, and then he was yanking at the wreckage, hot metal scouring his fingers, trying to pull her out before the flames…..
"No, Mom… no…. don't go… grab my hand, I'll…. Someone help me, please!"
Some inner sense told him he'd never actually witnessed the crash, and yet he was there, running towards a torched cockpit, yanking at twisted metal as his mother beat at the glass within. "I got it, I'll get it open! Just hold on!"
The smoke cleared for an instant and he saw a rotted skull drooping in a pilot's helm.
Hands grabbed him by the shoulders and arms, yanking him away, and for a moment his vision swooped into a stark room filled with droids and sentient beings in masks. He screamed and pain tore down his throat. "No! Let me go, let me get her! Mom!"
'Fever's too high….' 'We'll have to sedate him….' Detached words drifted over him as flames flashed in his vision. 'Can't risk any more… don't know what this is….' 'Call… General….'
Dancing brown eyes smiled proudly on him as his mother clasped his shoulders. "I'll be home before you know it," she promised. She slid on her helmet and ….
Terror paralyzed his lungs as he saw the streak of smoke against a clear blue sky. "Mom, no! Pull up! Pull up, they're right behind you!"
Fire crackled in his ears and soot dragged on his lungs. He waded through tangled grass, tearing it away from his legs as he watched desperately for someone to leap from the wad of crumpled metal with one wingtip jutting towards the sky.
"Mom, get out! Get out of there!"
There were bones in the cockpit. Rotted and rat-gnawed; a skeleton in a pilot's uniform.
'Hush…. Rest, young one…. Rest and let the dreams lie…..'
He slapped at the gentling hands, peering into the curtain of smoke. "Help me find her! Please, she's gotta be there! She's my mom, I gotta help her!"
'Dameron, listen… listen….'
"Help me," he gasped, tearing at panes of ashen glass. "Please help me!"
'She's here…. She's always here….'
Soft hands wrapped his fingers around cold smoothness. He clung to it as grey walls dove around him again, squeezing his eyes shut against the careen of motion, focusing on the object and its chain. Solid, round. Texture in the circumference. It fit easily over the crook of his finger.
'She's here, Poe… You mother is here…..'
Warm brown eyes hovered over him and he moaned, clawing for her hand. "Mom… Mom, don't go. Please, don't take off. Stay."
Anguish filled those tender brown eyes, as though she knew she could not give him what he wanted most. Even so she gripped his hand tightly, smiling despite her sorrow. 'I'll be here, Dameron. Now hush… close your eyes….'
He slept.
When clarity returned in a dismal view of a white curtain, he immediately flopped onto his side and pawed at the nightstand, scrounging for a canteen or a stale cup of water. There was no nightstand, and he nearly tumbled onto his face as the momentum carried him past the edge of the bunk. A child's yelp carried his cross-eyed attention to the nearby chair. Bed-headed and wide-eyed, young Ben Solo stared at him as if a mynock had planted its maw on his head.
"What...?" Poe rasped, his foggy brain crawling to put miserable and medcenter together.
"You're up. You're up," Ben said, as though the very notion was impossible. He scowled, looking decidedly put out. "I suppose this means you'll be leaving the medcenter now."
"Huh?" He was sick and possibly dying and all he wanted was a glass of something wet and non-hangover provoking, and why was Ben Solo in his sickroom, anyways?"
"Every time it almost works, something messes up!" Ben whispered. He wrinkled his nose and immediately cringed, cupping the red and raw-looking flesh. "Owww."
"Wha'd you get?" Poe mumbled, plopping down before the room could spin out of hand.
"I didn't get anything, idiot," Ben snapped. "Since this is the only place I can find Mother, I'm expecting her to take notice. Don't mess it up!"
"Kay, fine," Poe groaned into the pillow. Kriff, his head hurt…. "Why're you here?"
The child looked horrified. "Dad was right! You really did fry your brain!"
He was certainly not fried - and why the thought brought with it a devastating wave of emotion, Poe didn't understand - but he was muddled and mildly loopy and baffled as to why the Solo's kid was sitting out in his sickroom. "So you're sick, too?" he wondered. Was there a call signal in here? Da...ft he needed something to drink. (And a filter for his brain - the Solos probably wouldn't take kindly to their son picking up a few tasteful expletives.)
"I'm not sick, doofus," Ben said testily. "Mother won't pay attention to me when she's got stupid stuff to do. Not unless I'm sick like you."
Poe squinted, trying to make out signs of congestion or fever spots. The only malady visible was a cherry-red, raw-looking nose. Almost like he'd scraped it with a….
"Did you use a pan scraper for that?" he realized.
Heat flooded the boy's cheeks and he instinctively raised his hand, his eyes watering with pain. Ouch. Double ouch.
"Ow," Poe sympathized, cringing at the visual image. "Ech'ban tried that once… scabs for a week, still didn't get him outta class."
Ben looked marginally chagrined. "Don't tell my mom," he pleaded, curling his knees against his chest. "I won't bother you, I promise. Just pretend you're asleep when she gets here."
"When?" Poe echoed feebly. The war hero of the Republic? The princess of Alderaan? Generals didn't have time to fuss over cadets with Dantari flu, or whatever was zipping around the base lately. Speaking of which… "You should probably go," he warned, burrowing his aching head into the pillow. "Probably contagious."
"You're not," Ben said, sounding suspiciously disappointed. "Uncle Luke says you got Sand fever from the cargo ship. It doesn't pass on like other stuff."
Oh. Sand fever. Whatever that was. Probably fairly nasty, if they had him in here. "You should probably go anyways," Poe warned. "Mom's wondering where you've been."
He should've added a secondary pronoun to specify who was specifically missing a child, because Ben stared crossly at him and stated, "She's not your mom, Dameron!"
Right, he knew that, and he wasn't going to say how much it hurt when an unfamiliar wave of fire and charred metal flashed in his mind's eye, but the moment was cut mercifully short when Ben abruptly straightened, looking over his shoulder. Moments later the curtain flapped and a medical droid rolled inside, followed by a sweeping figure with an ornate armored vest, boots of supple leather, and a face that was too gentle for its superior position. Poe blinked owlishly before he remembered that he was supposed to be pretending he was asleep.
"G-General Solo?" he stammered, fumbling to rise to attention (because he'd already botched it for Ben's request; he might as well make himself presentable).
"Lie down, Dameron," Leia ordered, deep brown eyes snapping with command. He flopped.
"Mom, he's okay," Ben inisted, sidling up to his mother and tugging a blanket firmer around his shoulders, the fabric trailing behind him like an oversized cape. "I don't feel so good, though."
Concern immediately latched a mother's attention onto her child, and Poe didn't miss the subtle glance at his sickbed. Not contagious, huh? Gently Leia pressed a hand against Ben's forehead. She huffed softly when he leaned into her touch. "Go to bed, Benny. I'll be there in a few minutes to check on you."
"I wanna stay here with Poe," Ben whined. "No one else is home."
Chagrin softened Leia's expression as she carded her fingers through Ben's hair. "I'll be there in a few minutes," she promised. "You shouldn't stay here if you're sick."
"But C-3PO doesn't — "
"Ben." Raising a finger to her lips, Leia hushed and gave him a firm look. "Go lie down, Sweetie. I'll be there in a few minutes."
Casting a wrathful glance in Poe's direction, Ben yanked the blanket about his shoulders and flounced off. "Poe's being boring anyways," he grumbled.
Shaking her head, Leia scooped up the light coverlet that Poe must've kicked off and looped it across his shoulders, taking a seat in Ben's chair. "You've been out of it for several days," she said in greeting. There was some sort of odd look in her eyes, and a glass of nutrient-infused hydration in her outstretched hand. Force, this woman deserved his loyalty.
"I was?" Poe rasped, grabbing for the glass and fumbling with the straw. Was a general supposed to do a check-in on a cadet with low scores on his engineering test? The higher-uppers didn't have time for every recruit who caught the local bug.
"Hm." Far too genteel for this sickroom, Leia leaned back nonetheless and watched him attack the sweetened, medicinal-tainted juice like a starved sandflea. "How do you feel?"
"Um." Dried out, thick-headed, and lonely for family that had been dead for years. He ought to be over it by now. Shrugging uneasily, Poe chose to study the condensation on the glass. "Fine. I guess. They'll clear me for duty soon, right?"
"Not for a few days," Leia answered. "The fever nearly cooked your brain, Cadet. You'll be here a while." She shifted in her chair, silence hanging heavily over the room, as though some extraordinary quest had been left wanting. Rising abruptly, the general straightened her uniform and stated, "Just inform the droid if you need anything, Dameron. Your friends will be here to check on you soon."
Perturbed, Poe nodded, instinctively swiping a sleeve across his nose in case something was hanging that Ben hadn't told him about. Had he said something disrespectful? He couldn't remember. Not that he expected any walk-in on a crusty-eyed cadet to make a favorable impression on a general, but he always hoped that his first one-on-one briefing would be a little more... promotional.
That's what your pride earns you, Dameron, he chided himself mentally. A nice, open slap of humility and the certainty of impending doom.
At least he hadn't been given extra chores for missing three days of classes. Twiddling with the chain about his neck, Poe fingered the grooves in the circle of metal contemplatively before the thought settled in. The kriff...?
He squinted at the ring, holding it to the light, and had to swallow a wave of nauseating loss. His mother's wedding ring. He'd left it in his room, tucked away in an old sock, nestled among his most precious keepsakes, stuffed into an ancient sabacc tin that even Snap knew better than to rifle through. There was no conceivable reason why it would suddenly appear around his neck.
Mom, get out!
Bones in the cockpit.
Sprawling for the waste bin, Poe gagged, spitting out a vile stream of soured pink fluid. It wasn't his mother's corpse in the cockpit; he didn't know she was gone until the battle was long over. The memory sprang from something worse. Bones in the corner, still fetid with rotting meat. He and Devon had traded shifts, letting Celia sleep while they took turns fending the rats away. How many days...?
"Whoah! Hey don't fall on your — Hey, I need a medical droid in here!" Sturdy hands were suddenly about his shoulders, drawing him back before his forehead could knock the floor. Ungracious mutters and a dour oath in Sullustese placed the intruder immediately.
"First thing you do when you're conscious is try to brain yourself again," Snap complained, plonking Poe into the bunk with more force than was necessary for a miserable and dehydrated invalid.
"Ow. Ease up, you fleabitten wampa," Poe grumbled, wiping a sleeve over his mouth. "You're as bad as an Imperial security droid."
"Oh." Releasing Poe with a disgruntled humph, Snap took a step back and appraised him. "You're awake. Like, actually awake this time. I thought I'd have to call the general just to keep you from crawling back to the hangar. Again."
"She was already here," Poe moaned, wrapping his arms around his aching head. He hated being sick.
"Really?" Snap said, stepping away from the bedside and slinging out one long leg to sit backwards over Ben's chair. "She didn't stick around long. I was only gone for ten minutes."
"She's a general," Poe mumbled. "M'sure she has more important things to do."
"Uh... yeah, probably..."
Something dubious poked through the dense cloud in Poe's brain. "You're not saying something," he grouched. "Did they expel me or something?" Dread launched him upright and he straightened to his elbows, denial curving a knife through his chest. "Celia didn't get it, did she? Devon? They okay?"
"Whoah, stop panicking, Poe!" Snap coached. "You've got a really bad tendency to jump to hyperspace before getting a readout, you know that? Celia and Dev are fine. Nobody's dead. You just had a three-day fever and tried to crawl out to an open hangar on a frosty morning, okay? Scared me half to death. Seriously, half the droids are on Dameron patrol until you're out of that bunk."
Squinting, Poe tried to imagine an army of mouse droids scuttling down the halls, looking for one feverish cadet. "Really?"
"Yeah." The typical jest in Snap's expression was gone. "Why do you think General Solo's hovering? You kept..." He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, as if debating his next words.
"Snap," Poe goaded.
"You... were... uh... asking for your mom," Snap said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "You wouldn't stay in the bunk. A whole team of medics couldn't keep you down. Sedation was getting dangerous, but, uh... soon as the general came in you calmed down. So we kept calling her every time you stirred. She's spent the better of two days in here."
"Oh, kriff…." Poe whispered. No wonder she'd looked disappointed. Two days of her scarce time wasted on an academy pilot and he hadn't even thanked her properly. He so owed her for this.
"Look, everyone spouts off when they're sick," Snap said compassionately, misinterpreting his flustered state. "Nobody's gonna hold it over you, Poe."
"Is that why the kid was in here?" Poe interjected. Kriff, no wonder Ben was playing sick!
"Actually, about that…." Snap drawled, rubbing the scruff on his chin with a chagrined smile. "Now's probably the best time to practice writing a formal apology for the purpose of preserving diplomatic relations. You might've cussed out the medics while the Solo brat was in the room, and … Benny kinda mimicked your artistic palaver in front of the Hosnian Prime representative."
Nearly cross-eyed as he tried to remember any blathering that trailed into something more devious than Daft and Sithspit, Poe managed to squeak out, "What the — "
"Uh-uh," Snap teased, grinning far too wide for a little sneak who dared tattle on his frazzled-minded, foul-mouthed friend. "Nothing the baby Jedi might overhear, remember?"
Since when was he designated the moral compass for Master Skywalker's apprentice? Then again, Poe considered, he couldn't recall a single instance when a miniature Jedi had mimicked convalescence in a cadet's sick room. It was a strange manner of circumstances that had brought a child from a quarrel over bootlaces to a watchful vigil in the sickroom of an unmemorable pilot. The Force works in mysterious ways, he quoted to himself in jest, snorting as he remembered the catchphrase tossed about by officers who couldn't explain a shift in fortuity.
He didn't realize he'd mumbled it aloud until Snap retorted, "Yeah, you're still delirious, Poe. Sleep it off for real this time, all right? No more stumbling around the halls and tripping over mouse droids. You've done enough for the holocams."
"Yeah, sure," Poe snorted. "Get me the footage. And a cup of muja juice. M'dying here."
"Not anymore, doof head," Snap said softly, swinging out of his chair to dim the lights. "I'll send the med droid back in here."
Don't go, Poe thought frantically, even as he mumbled, "Kay, fine." Can't sleep. Not when I see them every time I close my eyes.
Bones in a pilot's uniform. A gaping jaw and a snapped neck. Rats scaling the walls.
Mom, don't go….
"Stop being an asinine fool, Dameron…." The voice filtered through the smoke in a field, pulling him back to a dark room, where machines pulsed over his head and the only lingering pain was deep within his chest. "It's only a dream."
There was just enough light for him to make out a small form, accented by scruffily mussed hair and glinting dark eyes. Ben shuffled in his chair and resettled, rubbing unhappily at his nose. "It's okay," he said hesitantly, as though unused to offering words of comfort. "You're just sleeping. Stop fussing around and get better. Mom says you can take me to the Sarini Island Zoo when you feel up to it."
Huh. So he'd been roped into the Solo's babysitter regime after all. Too bushed to wonder how the kid associated his Republic Day party-crasher with a potential obligator, Poe mumbled a brash retort and thunked his head into the cool side of the pillow. Vaguely, just before the smog of feverish dreams swept over his head, he heard the kid mutter, "What the pfassk does daft mean?"
(Aftermath)
Leia was no fool. She'd seen the footage minutes after Poe left the holding block. Pulling rank was a trick she'd employed herself over the years, but faking orders was absolutely mendacious. Poe was jeopardizing the trust of his entire squadron.
Why would you do it, was Leia's first numbing thought when she received Tico's communication. Groaning, she rubbed her temples, cursing their limited security as their officers fell one by one. Sergeant Ki'al should have known that a maintenance crewman checking on light fixtures wasn't his relief. He had no business instructing Tico to hold the position, even for a kaf break. I work with nerf herders, was Leia's resigned thought.
Poe had known that he'd caught a lapse in security, and rather than pull an officer from their relief forces, he had charmed his way right into the enemy's cell.
Leia ought to demote him to captain and toss him into a cell of his own. Insubordination was intolerable among any of their crew.
She replayed the recording a fourth time.
"You're not a monster..."
"You're a fool, Dameron!"
Oh Poe, Leia mourned, her heart twisting in sympathy as he left the cell, his shoulders drawn ub with strain. You never cease to follow up on him, as if any moment he might turn around and be your little friend again.
What did a cadet see in a violent child? What did a pilot sense in a war criminal who was beyond his mother's amnesty? What goodness did Poe still anticipate, as if it might pierce the darkness in her son?
Why did she still sense the light pulling around Kylo Ren, even after he murdered his father?
Han, what would you do? Leia wondered, running a hand through her brittle, greying hair. She had forced herself to listen to Rey's recollection of Han's death, both women faltering in stages as grief pulsed through their numbed state of denial. Finn's report had been passionate and furious, lashing against Kylo Ren with sheer emotion, neglecting to observe any purpose or motive besides, "He's Kylo Ren. He won't stop killing until the Resistance is finished."
Yet even Darth Vader had killed thousands of Jedi and still felt drawn towards the light, ere the end. Luke had refused to give up hope for his father.
And neither will Poe, Leia realized, sighing as she played the footage again. In spite of his denial, and the cold rage that clenched his hands whenever he neared the hall to the cell block, he could not quench his own spirit. Shara's mercy ran deep in her boy.
He senses something, Leia acknowledged. Though the pilot saw little purpose in lightsabers and mythical beings who lived on in the Force, there was more behind his skills than "dang good piloting." He instinctively knew who to trust. Who else would single out the one stormtrooper in a melee who refused to fire his gun? He miraculously accounted for hazards in mid-flight, skirting around enemy fire and skimming over obstructions with centimeters to spare. Long ago, he almost seemed to be intuitive to the moment when Ben would lash out uncontrollably. Somehow he was always there at the moment when he was most needed.
Oh Poe, Shara had it too, Leia pondered compassionately, remembering a pilot who might have been a Jedi had there never been an Empire. You don't understand your own gifts.
If Poe sensed goodness in the man who had tormented him time and time again; if he still sought the light in one who seemed the furthest away...
Then what in the blazes was she doing puttering around with protocol when her son was sulking in solitary confinement?
"Han, you'd better be up there scolding him," Leia growled, casting a dark look at the golden dice dangling from her console. "Because you've left that crazy kid completely in my hands, and I'm about to shoot him."
There were no second chances for traitors, but there were motives behind murder. Leia had been left in the dark long enough.
She was going to have a little face-to-face chat with Kylo Ren.