Finn started his scrub of the mess hall with hopes that Poe's presence wouldn't affect his work.

They fell behind in their first shift.

Poe insisted on bending over the benches in the mess hall to clean under the tables, despite Finn's reassurance that there were several easier ways to accomplish the task. Frustrated with the inefficiency and unable to look away, Finn walked right into the supply crate, knocking it over for the third time in as many hours.

"Gotta be careful there, buddy," Poe huffed as he excavated himself and his mop from beneath the table. "You've been having some problems with that thing." He wiped his hands on his flightsuit as he approached Finn and the toppled crate. "You alright?"

"Uh… a little wobbly," Finn responded. Poe quirked an eyebrow, and Finn clarified: "The crate. The crate is wobbly."

Poe nodded in understanding and took hold of the crate. "Mind if I take a look?"

"No, no, no, don't!" Finn reached out but it was too late. Poe had upended the crate and dumped the contents, resting it bottom-up so as to get a better look at the base. He sat on the nearest table – the one Finn had finished cleaning moments before – and peered at the crate's construction.

While Poe sat, elbows resting on his knees, considering the best way to stabilize the crate, Finn took the opportunity to finish mopping the rest of the mess hall. He finished the chore in record time, forcing himself to ignore Poe's subconscious humming. Finn knew there was nothing wrong with the crate's construction, but he was happy to get his work done, distraction-free, while Poe tinkered. He glanced towards Poe, perched on a table surrounded by the littered contents of the upended crate.

Finn didn't know how Poe intended to fix a perfectly stable crate. Nor could he figure why Poe insisted on accompanying him through his three-day grounding for the low fly-by from yesterday. Finn wished he had seen it, and thought about asking Poe how his flight went, but he didn't. He was tryingto concentrate on his work. Concentrate on anything but Poe.

Finn shook his head, refusing to dwell on these thoughts. It was too much to figure out at once, and he was determined to take it one piece at a time. Right now, he understood the importance of the Resistance. He was getting the hang of his duties, learning about past skirmishes with the First Order, meeting his fellow soldiers. He still wasn't used to having quarters of his own. Or possessions that weren't standard-issue.

He thought of Poe's jacket. Maybe that's why he's is acting this way, Finn considered, recalling waking up in the medbay.

Poe's blurred face swam into focus. He was asleep, jaw slack, leaning on his hand with his elbow propped on Finn's medtable. Finn, throat hoarse from days without speaking, reached up and nudged his shoulder, causing Poe to jerk awake.

He looked around, confused for a few seconds, until he met Finn's eyes. "Finn? Finn! Oh, stars," Poe covered his mouth with his hand, then ran to the door. "DR. KALONIA, HE'S AWAKE". He returned to the medtable and answered the questions that Finn couldn't form. "Rey's ok, she went to find Luke. The map worked. You saved the galaxy, Finn."

The doctor came in, turning a few dials to prop Finn comfortably in a sitting position, and handed him a ration pouch filled with water. Finn sipped slowly under her instruction, regaining his voice as he answered her questions. Three fingers held up. Five. Two. Right hand, left hand, right foot, left foot. Yes, he knew what planet he was on. Yes, he knew his name.

He glanced, unintentionally, at Poe as he answered. Finn.

Poe left then, but returned shortly with General Organa. Finn thought his eyes looked red and puffy, but chalked it up to him having been asleep minutes before.

The general thanked Finn for his bravery, made sure he was comfortable, then instructed Poe to answer any of his questions about the battle. "Take it slowly, Poe, I mean it," Leia told the pilot, in a distinct maternal tone. Poe nodded. Finn thought it strange that the general would be giving medical advice.

"So what happened?" Finn croaked.

Poe took a deep breath, and let it out with a whoosh as he sat down next to Finn. "Short version? We blew it up. When it comes to details," Poe shrugged, "everything right now is rumors." His lip curled in disgust. He was clearly displeased with the lack of concrete information. "Rey and Chewbacca took R2-D2 and the Millennium Falcon to some ocean planet, that's where the map led."

"You got to meet Rey? Is she ok?"

"Yeah, I met her." Poe chuckled. "I had to teach her how to swim."

Finn choked on his water, "You what?"

"General's orders," Poe confirmed, then changed topics before Finn could ask him to elaborate. "Not a scratch on her, but you'll need to stay planetside for a while. That burn was no joke."

Finn rotated his right shoulder. It didn't seem so bad, and he told Poe so.

Poe gave him a sad smile. "Not that one, buddy."

Finn searched his fuzzy memories of the fight on Starkiller Base. He remembered the turbulent red of Kylo Ren's cross-hilt burying itself into his shoulder, but everything after that was a clouded mess. He concentrated until, at once, a single sensation returned to him: cold wind in his face and a streak fire on his back.

He twisted at the waist, feeling the taut skin across his spine. The pain was present, but dull. "Oh, no," Finn whispered, looking down at his medbay tunic.

Poe's hand was on his arm immediately. "Are you ok?"

"I'm– yeah, I just… I ruined your jacket."

Finn had no description for the look on Poe's face.

Since then, his behavior toward Finn had shifted. Or, at least, Finn was noticing things about Poe that he hadn't before.

He was kind. He was handsome. He was smart. He sought out every opportunity to show Finn around the base, introducing him to crew, familiarizing him with the equipment. But always with the air of hiding a brilliant secret, and that's what Finn couldn't handle. Finn couldn't shake his doubt that Poe was playing some sort of twisted joke. No way could anyone be that sincere.

Finn was miserable. Surely, Poe had better things to do than to seek him out and laugh at everything he said. Or invade his workplace, leaving any assigned room messier than they'd found it. Or, despite his sharpshooting, being wholly incapable of finding a damn laundry chute.

Finn twisted the grip on his drying cloth, remembering their last encounter before yesterday. He'd found articles of Poe's clothing in every corner of the base imaginable—how the rest of the crewmembers hadn't noticed was a stellar miracle. Then again, the pieces weren't terribly large.

He'd called Poe to his quarters that night. When Finn answered the knock at his door, Poe had the gall to stand there with his eyes twinkling, a manic grin on his face. Finn had lost all patience by that point, though, and wordlessly handed Poe the basket of laundry before shutting the door.

He snapped out of his reverie at the sound of a vibrodrill activating. Poe was carving something into the supply crate. Finn threw his cloth to the ground and ran to stop him, swearing and preparing himself to ask if this was Poe's idea of revenge for his ruined jacket.

He was interrupted by the base-wide comm system, announcing the opening of the mess hall for lunch. Never, even under the tyranny of the First Order, had Finn gathered his supplies as fast as he did then, nearly chucking Poe down the laundry chute with the dirty rags, if only to show him where it was.