Hey Guys,

So, traditionally, if you're playing by "the rules of good writing" each chapter is a complete chunk of plot. (Yes, you can end on a cliffhanger, but you're supposed to wrap up whatever got you to said cliffhanger in the chapter.)

Now, a complete chunk of plot may be one action. It may be one thing by A POV character (and then seen again from a different POV) whatnot.

Anyway. I've got three chapters here, and one big lump of plot. I feel like I broke each one into it's own lump, but they're all interconnected. If something is rushed, glossed over, feels a bit off, doesn't quite seem... *finished,* there are two more chapters covering the same stuff from different POVs.

Also, unique to this one, we're picking up with Jon the morning after he got the note from Poe. So, we're moving back in time a bit.

All right-y, housekeeping done, let's get on with the plot. :)

2/7/2

"Hey, Em," Jon says.

After getting his head back on from reading Poe's note seventy-tree times, trying to figure out what the hell Poe's playing at, Jon decided he's not going to figure it out just staring at it, so he's back at work, and ready to deal with everything else in the Order, again.

"Boss," Emily Fruman, or Colonel Fruman of Tactical Design and Personnel Equipment, looks up from the huge stack of datapads on her desk. They used to be his. The datapads at least. He's still in his old desk and his old office. That's got to change, though. Not only is he preventing her from using the space he's got his stuff in, but because she's right next door, he keeps not hiring new people to do the jobs he needs done.

Right now he needs a different sort of help, though. He nudges a few of the stacks over, and sets a hip on her desk.

She smiles up at him, "So, how'd it go?" Before he can start, she says, "And I appreciate that you found someone else to handle the set up for you."

He nods. "Yeah, that's part of how it went. I've told you about Poe, right?"

She looks like she cannot begin to believe that he might actually ask that. "Your pilot? Short, dark, and handsome? The narrow boy you were lamenting? Honey, you've told me a saga about Poe."

He sighs. And nods. Of course he has. Granted, he's listened to more than a few sagas, too. After all, there's a reason why Emily is where she is right now and that's because she's the only other member of the original Tactical Design who wasn't on duty when the Supremacy was cut in half.

They were friendly co-workers, and shared loss (her husband had been on-duty seventeen floors below and ended up just as dead as Jon's), mourning, a need to find something to fill the hours (rebuilding Tactical Design certainly took care of that), and the need for comfort (they could comfort each other), turned them into friends.

"Well, I've got a few new chapters to add to it. You got time?"

She looks at the piles of pads. "Eh…" She glances to the chrono. "You got like… two hours' worth of a project?"

He nods. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Okay, two hours, then off to the F-deck for lunch, and you can tell me all about it."

"Good. You mind if I send you something to read?"

"When have I ever minded?" She looks at the million datapads, many of which had been, once upon a time, his, and he would, without a second thought, toss on her desk if he needed another pair of eyes on them.

"This isn't work. He wrote me a note."

"A note?"

"Yeah."

She grins at him. "Oh, this is getting better by the second. Sure, send the note."

Two hours later, they're just another two officers walking the F-Deck, both with a drink in hand, looking for a noodle cart without too much of a line. Jon's finishing up everything he remembers about working with Poe, his stint as Commander Dameron of the Maji, as much of the flirty stuff he could recall, and then Poe more or less sprinting out.

"And then, in the morning, your virtue unsullied—" Emily says as Jon gets to the end of his tale.

Jon glares. "I was damn well trying to get it sullied."

Emily snerks and then sips her drink. "You wake up, and find that note, and a droid with a hangover potion?"

"Yeah."

"Good one?"

Jon shrugs. "Wasn't really hung over. Stim crash, tired, a bit logy from the night before, but it's not like my head was throbbing or I was puking." He put the potion in his cooler. Figured he'd save it for a morning he needed it.

"How drunk were you?" Emily asks. She's seen Jon on a tear before. She's been on one with him, too. More than once. In the early days, just after the body count was confirmed, and they'd gotten the message that search and rescue operations were ending, when it was just the two of them and some droids… Well, who was going to say anything if they passed around a bottle at the end of a shift? Or, strictly speaking, before the shift ended. Or, if, really, shifts weren't exactly a thing and they just sort of drifted from one thing that had to get done to the next, and got blitzed in between, and, occasionally, during.

After all, it's not like there were any higher ranked officers breathing down their necks. It's not like there were any higher ranked officers, period. Not in their command chain.

Not like there were underlings to gossip. Not at first.

Say what you like about droids, but they don't care if you're working on specs for streamlining your production lines because you've lost half your forces in the last month and a half while killing your third bottle of vodka that week.

"Glass of wine at his place. An hour plus trip back to here. Three shots, fast, and that was it. I was nice and loose, but I wouldn't say I was drunk."

Emily shrugs. "Would he have said you were drunk?"

Jon shrugs. He doesn't think so. He knows that Poe knows his way around a bottle, too. Both of them had multiple drinks at Kylo and Rey's. But… Well, not like the two of them had gone drinking before, and Poe did watch him put three away in less than half an hour.

Emily shoots him a bit of side-eye. "Uh… You know some guys won't fuck you if you're drunk."

That stops Jon short. "Huh?"

She nods at him, and nudges him so he starts walking again, the F-Deck isn't too swamped right now, but they are in one of the thoroughfares, so keeping moving is important if they don't want to get trampled. "Seriously. That's a thing. Like, maybe you can't really consent if you're drunk."

Jon's eyes roll so hard they're about to pop out of his head. "Oh… Holy fuck! I am an adult. If I want to get out of my head and get my rocks off, I can get out of my head and get my rocks off. I'm not some nervous virgin who doesn't know what he wants or needs."

Emily certainly isn't in any mood to challenge that. Not like she hasn't gotten out of her head and rocks off before. Not like the two of them haven't done that together, either. "Look, I'm just saying, some guys won't fuck you if you're drunk. How much did he have to drink?"

"Fuck." Jon mouths it that time. "Half a glass of wine. We were talking about relaxing, and I asked what he was doing, and he told me he'd watch my back if I wanted to get blasted."

She wraps her arm around his waist and gives him a little squeeze. "Sounds like short, dark, and handsome is a gentleman, too. Noble enough to tuck you in with a kiss and not take advantage."

Exasperation rolls off of Jon. "You know, that's not exactly an upside if I'm more or less lying in his lap, begging take advantage of me, please!"

Emily gets a little more serious. "Jon?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you had sex sober, yet?"

He just looks at her, and she knows the answer. If he could have sex sober, the two of them might have moved from comfort sex to being genuine lovers. For about a year, they moved through grief at about the same pace, but Emily kept going, and Jon stalled out.

"Yeah. I thought so. Look, I don't know what Poe's story is, but he sounds like he's at least attempting to be a decent human being to you, so…"

"Yeah… so…" He downs the last of his tea.

He fills the rest of his day with bits and pieces.

He doesn't think about Poe.

Too much.

He doesn't think about the wine in his glass as he eats supper, alone.

Too much.

2/8/2

"General."

"Grand Marshall."

He's in his usual uniform. There are just a few more hexes on it now. But, of course, Threepio has his correct title. Though he's wondering, since he's specifically told him to call him Jon, if this is irony or something. It's clear Threepio has a sense of humor, but Jon's not sure he's tracking all the nuances of it.

Threepio slowly turns in a circle. They're on the YY deck, two floors above Kylo's space. Right now it's mostly empty. "Future home of the Order's diplomatic wing?"

"That's what I was thinking." Right now it's just a million square meters of mostly empty storage space.

"We'll need to improve the look of ZZ. And install multiple elevators."

Jon nods at that. "Wouldn't do for important guests to be flying into a landing bay that looks like empty, industrial blackness."

Threepio nods. "Several landing lanes. Space to hold at least a hundred mid-class cruisers at once. I'm thinking some sort of central courtyard, where the elevators will be, plants and something garden-like if we can grow things here."

That makes sense to Jon. Something like a garden is probably the fastest, and least expensive status symbol they can get on a ship like this. "I think that's a possibility. And it would certainly indicate a level of wealth and comfort not generally found on space-going vessels." After all, gardens in space aren't cheap. But hopefully, they can use the planets they already control to bring plants in, so that should keep the costs down.

"Exactly." Threepio's seeing the same things Jon is. "Elevators go up to here. We can break this section off into a sixteen grid. Another wide central courtyard…"

Jon's nodding, he can feel how this will work. "Our offices, and some sort of space for formal greeting of incoming bigwigs."

"Exactly. And we'll put the guest apartments one level up. We should have some sort of high end market on that floor, too."

Jon can understand that. That's the kind of market his mom wants her shop at. Something to show guests exactly how flush this ship is. Parks, boulevards, high end shopping, maybe a theater, the sort with actual, live actors, orchestra, something like that... "Embassies?"

"Realistically, for now, we have the room for them here. Hopefully, for the future, I-Deck."

Jon thinks about that. "Start as you mean to go on."

"Jon?"

"Something my mother would say. It's easier to set patterns from the beginning than it is to move into them later."

"That sounds accurate. Embassies on I-Deck then?"

"I think so. Direct elevators from here to there, express ones. And since we're starting as we mean to go on, let's make sure we've got real transportation hubs on I. I'd like to see some sort of shuttle that can get from one side to the other in under half an hour."

"That should be doable." Threepio is staring around the empty space. "Jon?"

"Yes."

"Why does your mother know me?"

Jon blinks and turns to Threepio. "Uh…"

"It was abundantly clear, that when we met, she recognized me. I, unfortunately, cannot place where I know her, so…"

Jon shrugs. "I… How did she react to you? Was she angry?"

"No. Possibly irked, but not angry."

"Well, there goes my best guess. She's not, uh… What do you know about my father?"

"Major William Frakes of the Imperial QuarterMaster's Brigade: Logistical Planning Division, his last command was maintaining adequate building supplies on the Second Death Star. He died there."

"That's pretty much what I know about him, too. But, as you can likely guess, Mom's not a huge fan of the Rebellion in general or Leia Organa and Lando Calrissian in specific."

Threepio nods. "Do you think she recognized me as a member of the New Republic?"

"If she'd refused to work with you, or was appallingly rude, yes, but…"

"She was, perhaps, curt. I don't know how she usually acts with people."

"You'd have known if she was being rude."

"Ah." It's clear Threepio is thinking. Then he turns away from Jon, looking over the space. "I've already gotten the cost projections and building timeline set. In three months, the entire layout will be finished, and in six, we can move operations down here, by the end of the year, we should have everything ready for a grand, public opening."

Jon nods.

"Jon, in my experience, many organics of our level will often have at least a small apartment attached to their office. I know Leia certainly did. It made the commute easier, and meant that if a night went long, there was a comfortable bed, a change of clothing, and a good refresher available. Would you like me to make sure there's space for an apartment to go with your office?"

Jon's immediate response is over my dead body. He doesn't say it. His secondary response is a sense of despair. He can't move. That's his home, with Lane, and if he… He shuts that line of thought down, fast. His third one, which is the one he gives voice to, is to say, "A small one. Maybe just a bedroom with a nice refresher. I do have an apartment I'm fond of, and have no desire to leave it. But, someplace near where I work to crash on late nights…" And he said it because he knows there will be late nights. A lot of them. He's got a cot in his office now, because there are a lot of nights when the half hour commute between his office on R-Deck and his apartment on F-Deck just seems like too much.

It's rational to have a space here for sleeping. It makes sense for his life to shift and move. It just feels wrong.

"Of course, Jon."

Jon does his best not to think about that, and then looks at Threepio. "What do you do when you aren't working?"

It's occurring to him, that he's never heard a droid laugh before, but apparently, if you hit him with it just right, you can make Threepio laugh.

"So, that was a flamingly stupid question, I take it?"

"I'm choosing to take it as a compliment. You've decided I'm so much a person, that I would desire off-time."

"That's… a good way to look at it."

"I do, every ten or so days, take a few hours with my primary processing down to update my programming, scan for viruses or programs that shouldn't be there, and have someone tend to my physical systems."

"Sounds like R&R."

"Possibly. I do often feel better after it. And like many droids of my sort of make and model, I do like a good dip in a hot oil bath. Makes the joints work better."

"And you'll make sure there's a place for you to do all of that down here?"

"Of course, Jon."

"Good." Jon continues to look around. "Make sure there's something like that for droids that come to visit us, too. I know you can't be the only droid in this line of work."

Threepio can't smile, but Jon's certain he's pleased by that.

2/9/2

Two glasses. That's what he used to do.

He and Lane would, most nights, have supper, together. Granted, some of those nights were just the two of them shooting down to F to grab an hour for a meal together before they'd go back to whatever it was they were working on.

But, most nights, they'd get home, and they'd have a glass of wine, or two, with food.

It was part of the line between work and not-work. Part of being home.

Get home, take the uniform off. Dinner, talking, gentle touches and soft words, and a shared bottle of wine, and then maybe they'd read, or maybe work some more, sometimes watch a show, sometimes go out…

But that was the line, uniform off, dinner, and two glasses of wine. If it was ever more than that, it was because they were both off duty the next day, and they were going out, or staying in, and playing.

He's had one glass. He pours the second one, and then looks around for something to seal the bottle. He doesn't find anything, because, between the two of them, kicking a bottle with dinner wasn't a big deal.

But by himself…

He pours it into a pitcher, and puts it back in the cooler. There's not a lot in there. A few left overs, and several other bottles of wine, and one bottle of vodka in the freezer.

Jon rolls his lips together. He and Lane used to go through one a season.

He goes through one a month now.

It's not, all things given, a problem. He knows men who had problems with alcohol. He doesn't. He does his job, his life is moving forward, he's just… sad. And sad is normal. It's… fucking what he should be. So… It's not a problem. It's a rational response to the current situation.

It's not a problem.

Yet.

But it could be one.

And the Grand Marshall can't be a drunk.

Two a day. Unless he's off duty, and celebrating.

That's… tenable.

2/11/2

C8's voice on his comm. "Grand Marshall, you asked me to let you know when the Master was back on his feet, and I have a feeling he's going to up and about today."

"Thanks, C8. You think he'll be up to some company?"

"I think he would like to see you, sir."

"Excellent. I'll be down in an hour or so."

Jon supposes, that if he thought about it, he'd have put together what he knows about the symptoms of Hiffa, and what that does to a human body, and the idea that Kylo would look like he'd been run over by a herd of Banthas.

He just… didn't.

But, Kylo's either distracted or tired enough that he doesn't see Jon swallow, hard, looking at him, and by the time Kylo's paying attention, he's got the reaction covered.

Poor man looks like he lost ten kilos in a bit more than a week, and while that's not the problem it would be for Jon if he lost ten kilos in a week, it certainly wasn't good for him.

Food and time. That's the only fix for it. Lots of naps, too, likely.

Leaving Kylo to go back to his primary job, he's thinking about what he learned about Poe from Kylo.

Poe likes men… Well… Not a surprise.

So, what the hell just happened?

Poe… doesn't like him?

That just feels so wrong. Plus, you don't write a note like that to someone you don't like.

Poe's cloaked?

Eh… his fantasies of Poe aside, he's thinking that's not true.

It'd be one thing if Poe were cloaked. But if Poe were cloaked, there's no way Kylo would know he 'likes men.' That gets a sigh. That's not strictly true. 'Like's men' might have been the sort of thing Poe told Rey, thinking it would go nowhere else, and Rey told Kylo, knowing he didn't have anyone else to tell, and then the landscape shifted.

But, even if he were cloaked… Jon shakes his head. Poe's not cloaked. If he's cloaked, he's doing the worst fucking job of it ever.

Poe doesn't like 'verse guys? Shit… He went sprinting out more or less right after that. That… could be it. Maybe. He knows some people think 'verse means, 'unable to settle down with one person' but… He was married, happily, for years. Still would be if he could be.

He thinks about the note.

That note really didn't feel like "Hey, I found out you sleep with women and men, so I'm about to run away."

He's almost tempted to turn around and try to get more information out of Kylo, but… No. With any luck he's eating, and then getting a nap, and doing it again. The last thing he needs right now is Jon pestering him for more information about Poe.

Work. Work is good. Meet with Threepio again. Get films together. Make sure the cinema is up and ready for them. Watch shows tomorrow. That's a good way to spend a day, get plans in place, move them closer to the Order of the Maji.

He checks his inbox, and the signed contract from the K'Aran dynasty is there. There's a note showing the first of the payments have cleared. He's got lists of troops they're getting ready to move, and a time table for when the first of them should hit planet side. It's got all the right signatures in place, though he doesn't recognize the general in charge.

Then he gets the copy of the orders from Kinear highlighting who's been put in charge of overseeing the setup for the K'Aran Planetside Security contract, and why them, and what each of them will be doing. Jon adds his own initials to it, showing it's been seen and read, and then uploads it to their central filing system. All the blanks filled in.

At least from their end of things, the K'Aran situation is done... Well, planned out. It won't be done for ten years. Still... It's good.

There's another note from Threepio. They've got another of these security deals germinating. The T'Quelleths and D'Muirs are attempting to set up a marriage to end a half century of war. They're being requested to hold the talks and wedding. No mediating here, they'll do that themselves. Their job is to put everyone up and secure the peace.

Jon smiles at that.

At least something is starting to move in their direction. He CCs the wedding specs, assuming a deal can be struck, to his Mom. After all, if they're going to do something like this, and try to get others to come, they might as well exceed expectations by light years.

Dinner again. Alone, again.

"'A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and you…' That's how the line goes, right?"

Lane would have known, but… Well, Jon's not only lacking a loaf of bread, but he's also lacking Lane, who he's fairly sure had said something like that to him one afternoon when they were planet side and could contemplate something like a picnic. (They stayed in, and had a picnic in bed. That was a good R&R break.)

He does have wine, so at least that corner's covered.

And he should have a you to share the wine with.

Jon glances around his flat. His empty flat. The flat where he's sitting with his wine, a bowl of surikin noodles, a stack of datapads, and no you.

He scoops a bit of the broth to his lips.

By all rights, having gotten the answer he was looking for from Kylo, Poe should be here, sitting next to him, likely with his own bowl of noodles and some of the wine, and he should be finding out if Poe's good for more than just looking at.

Should be.

The bench next to him is still quite empty.

His comm is just sitting there. He could use it to call Poe. He's got his link number, he knows how the device works. The man was flirting with him, and would be unlikely to turn him down… Hell, the fucker literally spelled it out and wrote it down for him, I'd like to see you again.

Jon shakes his head. It's got to be the sober thing, which… Okay, that's fucking weird, but… He wouldn't put it past the New Republic to be into things like that, so…

He could call.

He glances at the wine. It's the other half of yesterday's bottle.

Two glasses worth. Only two.

That's… just taking the edge off for him. Not even in the neighborhood of drunk, so he can't imagine Poe could possibly object to that. He takes another sip of his wine, and looks at what's left in the pitcher.

Not enough.

He just… can't… not on two glasses of wine.

2/12/2

Cinema-time.

However it is that Kylo and Rey's transportation magic works, it either won't transport twenty-four people in addition to them, or it's got to be somewhere they've been before, or… something.

Instead of the two of them and a pile of kids popping up in the theater out of nowhere, Jon finds himself waiting around, at the front entrance, as the owner assures him that everything is ready, and the children are welcome to try any of the snacks they'd like, and… He's blathering, nervous to have the Master, his Lady, and this collection of kids he's fond of, in his cinema.

They're later than he'd thought they'd be, but it might also mean that however they got here, it took longer to get here than expected.

Then he notices the crowd around him getting quiet, and a moment after that he catches sight of… An abnormally tall child… No, that's a kid riding Kylo's shoulders. From the looks of it, having an absolute blast doing so. (Kylo appears to be enjoying this, too.) Jon's not the only one staring in amazement at that.

After a moment, Kylo, Rey, Rose, Paige, and this huge collection of kids are all crowded around, waiting.

Rey looks at the kids, gestures to Jon, and then says, "Kids, this is Master Jon. He's a friend of ours."

"Jon, this is…" And then Rey introduces the collection of "children" in front of him. Some of them are definitely kids. The littlest of the bunch is a baby, snuggled on Rose's chest, and then the next littlest one, the one who had been on Kylo's shoulders, is… he's got no idea. Little. Younger than his youngest niece. Most of them look like they're not quite adolescents. A clot of teenagers are toward the back, whispering to each other, looking around and joking.

And for the most part, introductions go fine. Jon's good with names, and he's good with people, and he makes each of the kids feel welcome and ready to have a good time. Like with his nieces and nephews, when needs be, he's more than willing to get on his knees to get eye level with the kids. They tend to like it when people try to make eye contact with them, and offer to shake hands like they're equals.

That pattern continues with the kids, until he gets to the last of the bunch, who he also assumes is the oldest of them.

For a heartbeat, Jon just stops and stares.

Fuck. His brain freezes for a moment.

The first thing that hits is the Order uniform. He's in the blue of the pilot corps, and the lack of any pips or stripes means he's an Ensign-in-training.

The second thought is: He's… young… too young… Too young for him… Now… Probably… Jon's licking his lips, unconsciously. Wellll… Shit… He can't be that young if he's an Ensign-in-training, right?

And he's staring at Jon. Light eyes and ginger hair, enough of a beard to be interesting to kiss. Long and lean and eager, Jon barely has to look down to make eye contact. The kid is practically vibrating with want, and oh... there's something about taking a person who's just past the cusp of adulthood and showing them how much fun their bodies can provide… A slew of happy memories from several weddings go cascading through Jon's mind. And the kid, Jacen, he says his name is Jacen, as he takes Jon's hand in his, and suddenly Jon wants to hear himself gasp it as… Okay, he's got to not think about that. Jacen holds his hand a bit too long in greeting, eyes on his, tracing down the line of his uniform, and… This kid'd be so good to go.

Disapproval is radiating off of Kylo at this, slamming into Jon, derailing his fantasies.

Jacen just smirks at them.

A hot blush lights Jon's face. He can feel Kylo wondering if this was a good idea, and Jacen's still staring and… adding a few images of his own to the flood of fantasies dancing in Jon's mind, and, okay, his shaft is starting to take notice, and… Shit… Force user. He looks down, breaking eye contact. Little bastard probably watched his own happy memories and is now playing with them. Jon's eyes narrow. He looks up again, straight into Jacen's eyes, and says, "Stop it. You can try again in five years, when you're on the other side of twenty and more than half my age."

A few of the other teens giggle as Jacen smiles brilliantly at him, nibbles his lower lip, looks him up and down again, eyes lingering in places that make Jon feel hot and much, much too dressed before making eye contact, and saying, "I'll mark my calendar, Sir."

Jon only mentally whimpers at that.

Jacen smirks at him again, making it clear he caught how much Jon liked being called, Sir, and then turns to join his friends, walking with a swing to his ass that should be illegal outside of the goodtime zone.

He intentionally does not turn to face Kylo, not yet, because he can still feel the wave of disapproval arcing off the man, though it appears to be aimed more at Jacen then him.

Jon's not sure what to do about that.

Jon thinks movies are going well. The kids appear to be having a good time. Or at least enjoying the food. He makes a mental note to increase whatever they paid the cinema owner by 10% because if there's a single edible thing left in this cinema when they leave, he'll be shocked.

He's sitting next to Kylo, and can feel him and Rey… communing or however they put it when they talk in their heads to each other.

Okay, maybe not feel it. Maybe he just knows what sorts of stuff in these shows will likely poke them and get them, like they are right now, huddled in against each other, eating popcorn, watching the show, but also, obviously, talking about something.

Part of him wants to say, "Okay, quit it. Talk out loud, to me, let me in."

Part of him knows that it's likely best to let them have this time to consider and ponder to themselves.

Part of him keeps looking at Jacen, three rows ahead, who occasionally looks back and sort of grins at him. He's not sure if the kid's lips actually move, but he certainly can feel that he's beyond entertained by this.

Jon sighs, gently whacks Kylo's wrist, and he hands over the popcorn he and Rey have been sharing.

Four movies was probably two more than was wise to try and shove into one day.

He can feel Kylo getting edgier next to him, and the little kids are running around, and… Yeah. He can and has and will again do kids, but this is significantly more fun for a day or two than a lifetime.

And movies brings talking with Kylo, which, of course, was the point of this.

Okay, Kylo was not thrilled about mentioning the deodorant thing to Poe, but… Well… Fine.

And he wants Jon to just go down the list of everything he apparently doesn't know about being a person in the galaxy and…

So, he does. And…

It had not gone past Jon's scanners that Kylo has some issues. He didn't realize they were, on any level, attached to his physical body. Jon's basic theory is that the only way you get to look like Kylo is if you're deeply invested in how your body looks, but… apparently, no.

So, he was expecting to spend today convincing Rey that she was just as pretty as the ladies in the movies, and Kylo that, yes, he could handle social situations that involved him having to at least attempt to be charming and flirt.

So, of course, Kylo flips the script on him, and he's the one who's having the body image crisis, and Rey's just… off.

He doesn't know what's going on with her. Not too deeply, and she's making it clear that she'll talk when she wants to, or to whom she wants to. Which is not necessarily him.

He wonder, idly, how friendly she really is with Rose. They seem close. But… He's got the feel that right now she could really use a good girlfriend to chat with.

Or maybe just… Oh… Yeah. He can feel the pieces falling into place. Rose doesn't exactly love Kylo. And Rose's husband, who has to be the Finn that Poe's mentioned, really doesn't love Kylo, so if there's anything going on with them that isn't entirely perfect, she feels like she can't talk to Rose about that, and… Probably part of not really opening up to him about it either.

(Though him sticking both feet in his mouth up to the ankle with that comment about K'Ahauna likely didn't help matters.)

And none of that much matters. He's sketching Kylo, because he's sure Kylo's got no idea of what he actually looks like, while he and Rey watch some of the New Republic propaganda vids, so both of them can get an idea of how exaggerated the good looks of Handsome Princes and Princesses get when they get turned into movies.

When the propaganda vids are done, Jon looks at Kylo and says, "Well…"

Kylo rolls his eyes. "All I'm going to say is, I've seen Luke Skywalker naked, and he did not look like that."

Jon laughs. "No eight pack on Skywalker."

"I don't have a bloody eight pack, even now, I don't have one, and I can promise you I'm the best in shape Skywalker to ever Skywalk."

Jon's laughing, hard. Rey is, too.

"Luke dragging us, and himself, to the middle of nowhere makes a hell of a lot more sense, now."

"Good. I promise you, no one, in real life, looks like the people in the movies," Jon says.

Kylo nods at that. Rey's holding his hand. Jon crooks a finger at her. "C'mere."

She moves around to his side of the conference table.

He flips over his sketchbook, but holds it so Kylo can't see what's on it. "Okay, before we show it to him, Rey, is this what Kylo looks like?"

She looks at the sketch and smiles. "Can I keep this?"

"Uh… Yeah, of course." He rips the sheet of paper from the pad. "I'd have worked a bit harder on the shading if I knew you'd want to keep it."

Rey waves that away. "No. Just like this. It's a little rough and unfinished, but Kylo is, too, so… It's… right."

Jon realizes that Rey didn't answer his question, and Kylo's getting edgy about seeing the image. "Art style aside, does it look like him?"

"Oh… Yes. Black and white… Gray and white… But, yes, it's a good likeness."

Jon smiles. "Okay, let him see."

Rey flips the image around, and Kylo just stares at it. He told Jon once that he liked him too much. It's clear he's thinking something along those lines again.

It's also clear that this is not his mental image of himself.

He keeps staring at it, and finally says, "My ears are bigger, and my nose isn't that straight, and…"

"Hush," Rey says to him. "No, they aren't." She gently traces the bridge of his nose. "Yes, it's a bit skewed from the breaks, but it's not that off. Your ears are distinctly shaped, and large, but they aren't huge. This is a really good likeness."

Kylo glares at it a bit. "You both like me way too much."

Jon rolls his eyes. "My mom would tell you it's a good likeness, too. As good as you can get with less than an hour to sketch. And, even if I did like you too much, I've got too much pride as a professional to muck up a sketch just to flatter your ego, so… There. That's what you actually look like.

"Traditionally, handsome is a mix of symmetrical features, vibrant health markers, and whatever the culture considers rare and expensive. Okay, you do not have symmetrical features, almost no one does, and the broken nose and scar certainly didn't help that, but you're not wildly lopsided or anything. You look healthy. Well, when you aren't coming off a week of all liquid diet. Your face is a little more hollow right now than the sketch. But, generally, that's beaming on through. And it's a facial sketch so wealth markers aren't going to be a thing really.

"Assuming you're wearing something made to fit your body, you'll look like one of the handsome princes, at least as much as any of the real ones do."

Kylo rolls his eyes a little at that, but he doesn't argue.

He does trace his fingers over the sketch.

Rey kisses the top of his ear.

Jon's got the sense of the two of them saying something to each other, though it's less clearly a conversation this time. Maybe they're just on the same thought.

Rey grins at him. "Okay, I'm supposed to be riding herd on the kids for dinner time. I don't think they're going to make or eat much, but it's my night to be the resident adult."

Jon and Kylo both nod at that, and Kylo kisses her, and then she's gone.

Jon glances at the chrono. "Probably about time for me to head off, too."

Kylo nods at that, staring at him more intently than is comfortable. It occurs to Jon, that if Poe got around to the tossing a tube of deodorant at Kylo part of the conversation, other things could have been talked about.

He's not sure if that's exciting or not.

"Jon… are you okay?"

Jon sighs at that. He knows by the way Kylo's asking, that he doesn't mean on any specific issue, but his life in general. He sighs again. Whatever it was he got talking to with Poe likely opened some mental doors in Kylo that Jon would have preferred stayed closed. One of the things he's generally found restful about being with and near Kylo is the fact that he's, for the most part, not aware enough of the idea of okay to even ask that question. Let alone be staring at him with huge, concerned-looking eyes. "Enough, Kylo, I'm okay, enough."

Kylo nods at that, and Jon's got the feeling that he's had a lot of days that didn't even get to enough, so this is… maybe familiar ground for him.

"Do you want to have dinner with us? Not be alone."

Jon shakes his head. "You and Rey want to talk, to each other, about everything you watched today, and I want to think some, on my own."

"Okay. Just… It's a standing invitation. Whenever…" Kylo licks his lips. "It's," he swallows, looking at the stars streaming past them. "It's a whole lot easier to be okay, when you're not alone, and I know it's not the same but, you don't have to be alone. Not… if you don't want to be."

Jon offers him a little half-smile. "Thanks, Kylo. But, you know, sometimes, I do. You and Rey do, too. That's just part of being a person. Alone isn't the enemy. But I understand and appreciate the offer. And I'll take you up on it, but not tonight."

"Okay."

He's almost out the door, when Kylo says, "Jon, what is the enemy?"

"The only one we can't beat. Death."

Kylo inhales and exhales, slowly at that, and then nods. "Okay."

Two glasses.

It's enough.

And that's all it's got to be.

2/13/2

In the morning, Jon re-reads the note. He doesn't know why. He's got the bloody thing memorized. That feels interested to him, but… But if Poe was interested… wouldn't he have… done something about it?

Jon sighs and grits his teeth. Then he gets out of bed and heads to the refresher.

Kylo's asking if he's okay.

Kylo, who's more or less, never even thought to ask about his mental health before is suddenly interested.

Because someone, and he knows it's Poe, finally said something to him to indicate that he's not okay.

Jon grabs his pad and glances at the note again. He supposes he could call Poe and just talk to him. But, at least right now that's just… not hitting him right.

That makes him wonder, too. Why isn't that hitting right? Not like he's fucking shy. Not like he's never called a man up and asked for company. Okay, it's been a while, but he still remembers how it works, and Poe is explicitly telling him to reach out if he needs anything.

He looks down at his shaft as he hits the water temperature control in his shower. It still fairly stiff with his morning stand. Then he glares a bit, that's probably not what Poe meant by need.

And even if it is…

Two glasses isn't enough.

After dinner, he's looking at Threepio's formal set of orders to move the Court of Ren, Diplomacy Wing, to XX, YY, and ZZ. He's signed off on it, approved it, and is, supposedly, working on how to use that space.

But he keeps going back to how the Maji are supposed to look. How they shape the Court of Ren, but… That's an excuse to think of things he can put Poe in. Commander Dameron of the Maji.

Fantasy Poe.

Wank-Fodder-Poe.

Poe-Who's-Narrow-For-Girls and couldn't be interested in him, and…

A million years ago, when he was in the midst some teenage existential crisis or another, Tasha was stroking his hair, letting him cry on her, and she'd said to him, "Come on, Jon, you can sort it out. You're so good with your feelings you're practically a girl."

At the time, he hadn't understood she meant it as a compliment.

At the time, it was a good way to distract himself from whatever else he was angsting about.

But the time was a long time ago, and having spent a lot more time with other men, he's come to the conclusion that Tasha was right. He is better at understanding what's going on in his head than a lot of other men are.

So…

Fantasy Poe, Narrow-For-Girls-Poe, Wank-Fodder-Poe is… Well, exciting really. He's been enjoying putting Fantasy Poe through his paces.

Fantasy Poe is a good time, several good times, in a lot of different ways.

Jon sips his wine. He's been nursing that second glass, taking smaller and smaller sips so he doesn't have to see the bottom of it. So… Real Poe likes men. Real Poe seems to like him. Real Poe was definitely flirting with him. Real Poe should be Fantasy Poe tied up in a ribbon with a cherry on top, because Real Poe is real.

But he's not.

Real Poe is… He lets the images roam around in his head. Real Poe, here, in his rooms, really here. Talking with him. The little flirty bits. The serious bits. The obvious intelligence behind the FlyBoy. The regrets.

Real Poe is a fully rounded human being with a lot of history and experience and loves and a home and… More than just a warm body for him to wank to.

But that's true of everyone. It's been decades since he's had a crush on a fictional character. Everyone in his fantasy life is real.

Granted, his fantasy life tends to leave out the warts and whatnot, but… that's sort of the point. It's about being able to experience and explore something that isn't real.

Another sip. Isn't real. Well, that's the key now, isn't it? Fantasy Poe isn't real. He can't be real. He's… everything Jon needs him to be, no matter what that need might be on any given day.

Except, corporeal.

Real people are good with corporeal, and generally not nearly as good at the rest of it.

That's… close. He feels like he's on the edge of what he's looking for.

He focuses back on Fantasy Poe. Fantasy Poe likes girls. Fantasy Poe is "narrow," mostly. Fantasy Poe gets… coaxed… into being with him, and is new to this whole men thing. He's not cloaked. Not intentionally. He likes girls, he's just… been ignoring the fact that he likes boys, too.

Which, is, apparently, so far off the mark, it's in a different quadrant of an entirely different galaxy.

Jon chews on that idea. He likes those fantasies. He certainly wasn't kidding about the fantasy with Jacen, either. There's something… exquisiteabout being someone's first really good time. But it's not a thing for him. It's not like he's got an inexperience kink. Or if he does, he's doing a terrible job indulging it. Most of the people he's had sex with in the last two years are Specs, so it's not like they're inexperienced. Lane started fucking before Jon was potty-trained, and by the time they'd gotten together he'd already tripled Lane's score, so, again, lack of experience, on either side, wasn't a thing for them.

Hell, they never even role played it. It just wasn't on the scanners.

And, before Poe, it also wasn't something he often fantasied about. Now and again, sure. And he certainly fondly remembered a lot of those adventures, but it wasn't anything he was actively seeking out.

He rubs his forehead and thinks. Why is Fantasy Poe narrow?

Better question, why did he immediately decide Poe was narrow for women?

Most men are. True, but… He's usually able to spot guys who like guys, and Poe's not exactly hiding who he is. Not like the man has a wife and two kids. He doesn't have a pretty girl painted on the side of his ship. Hell… Micah. That's the name on his ship. That's a male name.

Poe didn't flirt, at first… Jon thinks. Yeah, that's right. He didn't flirt until he got into Jon's apartment and saw the pictures of Lane. Why… He thinks further through their interactions. Right… The first thing Poe ever heard him say was about his girlfriend.

Okay, that makes a certain amount of sense. He started to flirt after he saw the pictures of him and Lane, and must have decided that if he had Lane and a girlfriend, he was open to play.

Well, that explains Poe's side of it.

It doesn't explain his.

Why decide Poe was narrow? Why fantasize about it? Why…

When it hits, Jon pours himself another glass of wine, and drinks it down, fast.

Narrow Poe is unavailable. Narrow Poe likes women. The only thing Narrow Poe can't ever be for him is anything other than a fantasy.

Disappointed.

Kylo had said that, and… He wasn't wrong.

It's slipping into place now. Real Poe is real. And… Real Poe is good for more than a wank. (He's likely good for that, too.) But… Real Poe has opinions and skills and a history and… Force, so much history, but… It's not a deal breaker. He felt that ache when he was starting to talk about the attack on the Supremacy, but… would have talked and found a way to slip the tracker…

He doesn't think, won't think, about what Poe would have done if there hadn't been a way to slip it. He knows. Bad odds, not a suicide mission. He would have led what was left of the Navy of the Resistance against the Supremacy, hoping for another one in a million chance, probably praying to Luke Skywalker for that one fatal flaw, and died bravely.

He likes Real Poe. He knows he felt a spark of eagerness. Sewing the outfit while Real Poe slept, looking forward to him getting up and talking to him more.

That was real.

He's fairly sure Real Poe likes him, too. Real Poe was flirty and attentive and warm. Real Poe enjoyed interacting with him, even if he is an Imperial cast off. Real Poe… He makes himself see them on the sofa, makes his mind clear the fuzzy edges. Real Poe wanted him. But didn't act on it.

Opposites attract. That's another line, right? Well, they'd been set up to be perfect opposites, and if this Force stuff is real…

Kylo talks about being more or less designed for Rey. Destiny and all that.

Jon stares at his empty wineglass. Two isn't enough for destiny either. Three isn't enough for destiny. There probably isn't enough alcohol in the galaxy to handle destiny.

He looks at one of the pictures of him and Lane.

"Fuck destiny." Fuck any destiny that he's got to go through here to get to.

Fuck the Force, fuck the Gods, fuck anything that's made him have to be here, alone in this fucking apartment filled with ghosts and memories and no real… no real… anything.

Fuck a universe that ripped his home in half and…

And that's where it crystallizes, sharp and perfect.

He likes Poe. Poe likes him. That's how these things start. But it's not how they end.

He touches his wedding ring. The ring that no longer has a mate.

Jon swallows, hard. He leapt fast and stupid with Lane, and got lucky. So fucking lucky. And whatever this is with Poe… He sighs a little, glares a lot. Jon twirls his ring around his finger. He looks at the wine glass, and he knows what he can't do sober, and…

He can't do this again. He cannot go through this one more time. He cannot sit in a shredded home with his heart on fire, and lost, and…

This cannot happen to him again. He's barely made it through once, and he will not make it through a second time.

But he can feel it, in the way he's remembering spending time with Poe. It's there in the lift in his mood at the idea of seeing him. "Fucking hell," it's here in this moment, now, in his fear and his pain.

It's here because this is starting, whether he wants it to or not.

And he doesn't know if he can kill it, and honestly, he doesn't want to kill it, and the fear is choking him, and the desire is there and real and…

And he really wants another fucking drink.

He's moving toward his freezer. The vodka is in there. The vodka that isn't a problem, yet. But it could be. Could be so easily…

He stops. Growls in frustration, and then taps his comm. "Hey, Em."

"Yeah, Boss."

"Can I see you? I'm having a really bad night."

"Of course, Jon. Meet me half way?"

"Sure." She lives seventeen klicks away. Getting out and moving toward her will help. "Yeah. I will."

"Good. See you soon."

A/N: Last thoughts. I think it's important that Jon have a life outside of Kylo. So, I get that some of you probably wished he'd taken Kylo up on his, 'You don't have to be alone' offer, and, eventually, he will, but... Right now, Kylo and Rey, and uncomplicated domestic bliss isn't what Jon needs.

Also, one thing we're not going to go into is what Jon and Em do. Shoulder to cry on, comfort sex, long walk around the F-Deck... Any and all options are on the table, but for now, I'll give him his privacy for how he's dealing. We know that he is, in fact, attempting to make good choices.

And, for right now, that's enough.