SW FIC: A Different Story (Poe/Finn)
Aug. 10th, 2016 12:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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cowboyguy. Was hard to fill your suggestion in such a short story, but I hope you like it!
Title: A Different Story
Author: tg
Rating: PG
Fandom: Post-Star Wars: TFA
Disclaimer: Not my characters. No money being made.
Summary: Sometimes Poe is the best pilot in the Resistance. And sometimes Poe just feels awkward.
Poe Dameron had unending grace when he was in a ship. His flights were always smooth and his aim true. He could zip past enemy ships without their even noticing. He could take down outposts with just a few careful shots. And he could cleverly pull off the most complicated missions to perfection. There wasn’t just one reason Poe Dameron was considered the best pilot in all the Resistance—there were many.
Outside his ship, however, was a different story. “Dameron, you’re humming again.”
“What?” He turned, his hand knocking hard into one of the posts of the sneeze guard covering the food, making him wince. Ow.
Pava frowned at him. “Humming. You’re doing it again. Are you trying to drive me crazy?”
“Not intentionally.” He tried to turn on the charm. “Unless you’d like—”
“Just try to cut it out, all right?”
He stuck his hand back under and grabbed a plate. Lunch was two sides of vegetables and a seasoned cutlet of some sort of meat; sometimes it was best not to ask. “Sure, Pava.”
After shuffling down the line with the rest of his squadrons, he grabbed a cup for a drink, fumbled with it as it was stuck to the one beneath it, and then managed to grab hold to get it to his tray. After filling it up at the fountain, he followed everyone over to their usual table in the mess hall and took a seat in the center of one of the benches. With a contented sigh and a pang of hunger, he dug in. The meal wasn’t half as delicious as it looked, but it was fuel. The morning run through the quadrant had been smooth and uneventful, but it was the last time he’d be in his ship for more than a day. There was a briefing this afternoon and some strategizing tomorrow morning with both red and blue squadron.
“I’ve got a question for you, Dameron.” Poe looked up from his meal to see Yarwin Banks, one of two newcomers to Red Squadron, seated directly across from him. The man had his head cocked and wore a curious expression as he held a fork in mid-air. “Were you playing music in your fighter?”
Not one but two people at the table groaned. One lowered her head and dramatically banged her forehead against the table. Poe ignored the reaction. In fact, his face lit up with a smile. “Yeah, it’s a brand new album by one of my favorite groups, Mina Fulston. There’s this amazing song halfway through with this addictive baseline and a punch in the tenth measure that’s to die for. I’ve been playing the song on repeat. I love flying to it. It’s almost like it was written to meld with my X-Wing’s engine.”
“Oh,” said Banks, looking less curious and more overwhelmed now. “I thought I heard something through the coms. I don’t know how you can fly to something so loud. I need quiet to concentrate.”
“Most good pilots do,” said Bastian, making Poe feel about a foot tall.
He pushed the mushy green vegetables around in their segment of the tray. “Anyhow, it’s a great group.” There was a wobbly feeling in him now—he was part anxious, part unsure, and part elated to be given a chance finally to talk about his music. “They hail from the littlest moon in the Baylin Cluster, over in the Mid Rim. Their music has this amazing beat to it that’s so addictive—“
“Yeah, we noticed,” Pava said again. “You can’t stop humming it.”
He flushed and ducked his head, concentrating on his food. Why ask about his music and then not let him talk about it? He didn’t understand how he could explain how good the songs were any better, but no one ever seemed as interested in it as he was. No one ever wanted to geek out with him about the experimental key change at the bridge that no one saw coming in that one song or the way another song started out deceptively soft but then the pace picked up out of nowhere and just filled your whole body with this thump of excitement. It really was the best thing to fly to, especially on those long, lonely patrol runs. At least BB-8 had never complained
“See? This is what I mean!”
Poe flushed again, realizing he’d been humming already. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He tried to keep quiet for the rest of the meal, wolfing it down so as to finish sooner. He knew they didn’t mean to be mean. He knew they loved and respected him. But he also knew that sometimes he got on their nerves.
Not feeling hungry any more, he forced himself to finish just so his stomach wouldn’t rumble during the briefing. That was the last thing he needed after all this. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. No late nights without me, okay?” he jokingly told them as he grabbed his tray and cup. But climbing off the bench in the middle was easier said than done. His knee didn’t clear the table during his escape and it banged hard, shaking the table. Most of the pilots had lifted their trays and cups, as if expecting that to come. The few who didn’t found their drinks sloshing over their food or, in one case, tipping over onto him.
“Nunb! Oh man!” Poe leaned over to tip the cup back upright, even though most of it had already spilled out. But his arm hit another cup. That went over, drowning another plate. He pulled his arm back. “Sorry!”
Everyone told him it was all right, that they’d deal with it. But he felt awful as he backed away from the table, watching the napkins come out, trying to salvage the rest of their meal and tend to sodden clothing. He tipped his tray into the trash and stormed out of the mess hall, feeling rattled and terrible. No apology was ever enough, and it wasn’t as though he could promise not to make the mistake again, because he was clumsy enough that he probably would.
He tried to shake it off with a walk around the compound. But he smacked his arm against the wall as he took a corner wrong. The worst part was that two people saw him do it. He flashed them suave smile and a wave, but he wasn’t sure they bought it. And the worst part was, he was a few seconds late for the briefing and General Organa gave him a stern look. He smiled apologetically as he tried to take a seat and stumbled into it. Possibly no one saw, as all eyes were on the general, but his face flushed hot and stayed that way well into the briefing.
The news wasn’t great. No word from Rey. No sightings of the First Order in days. They also seemed to have abandoned some of their main bases, which might have been good news months ago, but now indicated that there was something bigger and badder planned. What could be worse than a stardestroyer the size of a planet? Poe didn’t like to speculate, but there wasn’t much more they could do without some intelligence.
By the time he got home, he had been stripped of the optimism and excitement he’d felt after his morning flight. Plus his arm was a little sore. He threw open the door to his quarters and threw himself onto the couch face-first.
“That good of a day, huh?”
Poe didn’t even raise his head. He merely answered Finn’s question with a groan.
“Aw.” There was a clink of something against metal and a footsteps coming close. Then there were hands on Poe’s shoulders, squeezing, and one trailing down to rub his back. “Was it the patrol?”
Poe shook his head, even as it was buried in the couch cushion. His body weighed down heavily, sinking into such comfort he never wanted to leave. But he turned his head and looked back at Finn. “Ever feel like you don’t completely fit in the one place you’re meant to?”
Finn laughed, and the sound wasn’t what Poe wanted to hear. But Finn’s hand kept rubbing his back. “Did you forget where you met me? I was raised and trained to be in the First Order. I excelled at it. But when it came down to it…” His hand slid up and caressed Poe’s stubble-covered chin and cheek. “That wasn’t where my heart was.”
Poe angled his head and kissed Finn’s fingers.
The sound of bubbling made them both give a start. “Damn, I forgot the noodles! Come help me with dinner?” Finn jumped up and raced over to the kitchenette.
Hesitating, Poe didn’t immediately follow. “I don’t want to mess it up.” He seemed to be messing everything up today.
“You won’t…” Finn moved the pot from one burner to another with another clink. “I’ve already burned it.”
Poe heaved himself up. “How is it possible to burn—“
“This time, not enough water.” He turned off the stove with a sigh. “Never had to cook before I got here. Not sure I’ll ever get the hang of it.”
“I’ll heat something up. Don’t worry about it.” He turned on the fan to suck up the smell of burnt noodles and grabbed something from the small freezer to zap for dinner instead.
When he banged his shin on the edge of a cabinet, Finn was there with an ice pack. And when he scooped the stew into bowls and turned to hand one to Finn, he found Finn wearing the goofiest of smiles. He looked like an adoring little puppy. “What?”
“Nothing,” Finn said, but that smile didn’t budge.
Poe refused to hand dinner over until he told. “Come on. It’s getting cold.”
Finn looked down. “But if I tell you, you might stop.”
In answer, Poe set the bowls on the counter, extra careful to not drop them, and then stood between dinner and Finn. “Out with it. What is it now?”
Finn still didn’t look up, but he stepped forward and nudged the toe of his shoe against Poe’s. “Sometimes you hum.”
Groaning inwardly, “I know that can be annoying. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I love it. Makes me feel good, like you’re relaxed enough around me to truly be you. And I happen to like you, you know. Besides, you’ve got a great voice. You could sing if you wanted to.”
Poe gave him a half-smile. “Really?”
“In fact, I insist you sing.” Finn crossed the room and fiddled with the panel until the familiar thumping beat of one of his favorite Mina Fulston songs started up. Loud, just the way Poe liked it. For a second, Poe felt self-conscious there, with Finn watching him. But then Finn started to sing, and he was kind of awful, what with mixing up the words and not hitting the right notes. But he was grinning ear to ear and having fun with it. Poe found himself laughing and relaxing and, inevitably, singing along.
cowboyguy. Was hard to fill your suggestion in such a short story, but I hope you like it!Title: A Different Story
Author: tg
Rating: PG
Fandom: Post-Star Wars: TFA
Disclaimer: Not my characters. No money being made.
Summary: Sometimes Poe is the best pilot in the Resistance. And sometimes Poe just feels awkward.
A Different Story
Poe Dameron had unending grace when he was in a ship. His flights were always smooth and his aim true. He could zip past enemy ships without their even noticing. He could take down outposts with just a few careful shots. And he could cleverly pull off the most complicated missions to perfection. There wasn’t just one reason Poe Dameron was considered the best pilot in all the Resistance—there were many.
Outside his ship, however, was a different story. “Dameron, you’re humming again.”
“What?” He turned, his hand knocking hard into one of the posts of the sneeze guard covering the food, making him wince. Ow.
Pava frowned at him. “Humming. You’re doing it again. Are you trying to drive me crazy?”
“Not intentionally.” He tried to turn on the charm. “Unless you’d like—”
“Just try to cut it out, all right?”
He stuck his hand back under and grabbed a plate. Lunch was two sides of vegetables and a seasoned cutlet of some sort of meat; sometimes it was best not to ask. “Sure, Pava.”
After shuffling down the line with the rest of his squadrons, he grabbed a cup for a drink, fumbled with it as it was stuck to the one beneath it, and then managed to grab hold to get it to his tray. After filling it up at the fountain, he followed everyone over to their usual table in the mess hall and took a seat in the center of one of the benches. With a contented sigh and a pang of hunger, he dug in. The meal wasn’t half as delicious as it looked, but it was fuel. The morning run through the quadrant had been smooth and uneventful, but it was the last time he’d be in his ship for more than a day. There was a briefing this afternoon and some strategizing tomorrow morning with both red and blue squadron.
“I’ve got a question for you, Dameron.” Poe looked up from his meal to see Yarwin Banks, one of two newcomers to Red Squadron, seated directly across from him. The man had his head cocked and wore a curious expression as he held a fork in mid-air. “Were you playing music in your fighter?”
Not one but two people at the table groaned. One lowered her head and dramatically banged her forehead against the table. Poe ignored the reaction. In fact, his face lit up with a smile. “Yeah, it’s a brand new album by one of my favorite groups, Mina Fulston. There’s this amazing song halfway through with this addictive baseline and a punch in the tenth measure that’s to die for. I’ve been playing the song on repeat. I love flying to it. It’s almost like it was written to meld with my X-Wing’s engine.”
“Oh,” said Banks, looking less curious and more overwhelmed now. “I thought I heard something through the coms. I don’t know how you can fly to something so loud. I need quiet to concentrate.”
“Most good pilots do,” said Bastian, making Poe feel about a foot tall.
He pushed the mushy green vegetables around in their segment of the tray. “Anyhow, it’s a great group.” There was a wobbly feeling in him now—he was part anxious, part unsure, and part elated to be given a chance finally to talk about his music. “They hail from the littlest moon in the Baylin Cluster, over in the Mid Rim. Their music has this amazing beat to it that’s so addictive—“
“Yeah, we noticed,” Pava said again. “You can’t stop humming it.”
He flushed and ducked his head, concentrating on his food. Why ask about his music and then not let him talk about it? He didn’t understand how he could explain how good the songs were any better, but no one ever seemed as interested in it as he was. No one ever wanted to geek out with him about the experimental key change at the bridge that no one saw coming in that one song or the way another song started out deceptively soft but then the pace picked up out of nowhere and just filled your whole body with this thump of excitement. It really was the best thing to fly to, especially on those long, lonely patrol runs. At least BB-8 had never complained
“See? This is what I mean!”
Poe flushed again, realizing he’d been humming already. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He tried to keep quiet for the rest of the meal, wolfing it down so as to finish sooner. He knew they didn’t mean to be mean. He knew they loved and respected him. But he also knew that sometimes he got on their nerves.
Not feeling hungry any more, he forced himself to finish just so his stomach wouldn’t rumble during the briefing. That was the last thing he needed after all this. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. No late nights without me, okay?” he jokingly told them as he grabbed his tray and cup. But climbing off the bench in the middle was easier said than done. His knee didn’t clear the table during his escape and it banged hard, shaking the table. Most of the pilots had lifted their trays and cups, as if expecting that to come. The few who didn’t found their drinks sloshing over their food or, in one case, tipping over onto him.
“Nunb! Oh man!” Poe leaned over to tip the cup back upright, even though most of it had already spilled out. But his arm hit another cup. That went over, drowning another plate. He pulled his arm back. “Sorry!”
Everyone told him it was all right, that they’d deal with it. But he felt awful as he backed away from the table, watching the napkins come out, trying to salvage the rest of their meal and tend to sodden clothing. He tipped his tray into the trash and stormed out of the mess hall, feeling rattled and terrible. No apology was ever enough, and it wasn’t as though he could promise not to make the mistake again, because he was clumsy enough that he probably would.
He tried to shake it off with a walk around the compound. But he smacked his arm against the wall as he took a corner wrong. The worst part was that two people saw him do it. He flashed them suave smile and a wave, but he wasn’t sure they bought it. And the worst part was, he was a few seconds late for the briefing and General Organa gave him a stern look. He smiled apologetically as he tried to take a seat and stumbled into it. Possibly no one saw, as all eyes were on the general, but his face flushed hot and stayed that way well into the briefing.
The news wasn’t great. No word from Rey. No sightings of the First Order in days. They also seemed to have abandoned some of their main bases, which might have been good news months ago, but now indicated that there was something bigger and badder planned. What could be worse than a stardestroyer the size of a planet? Poe didn’t like to speculate, but there wasn’t much more they could do without some intelligence.
By the time he got home, he had been stripped of the optimism and excitement he’d felt after his morning flight. Plus his arm was a little sore. He threw open the door to his quarters and threw himself onto the couch face-first.
“That good of a day, huh?”
Poe didn’t even raise his head. He merely answered Finn’s question with a groan.
“Aw.” There was a clink of something against metal and a footsteps coming close. Then there were hands on Poe’s shoulders, squeezing, and one trailing down to rub his back. “Was it the patrol?”
Poe shook his head, even as it was buried in the couch cushion. His body weighed down heavily, sinking into such comfort he never wanted to leave. But he turned his head and looked back at Finn. “Ever feel like you don’t completely fit in the one place you’re meant to?”
Finn laughed, and the sound wasn’t what Poe wanted to hear. But Finn’s hand kept rubbing his back. “Did you forget where you met me? I was raised and trained to be in the First Order. I excelled at it. But when it came down to it…” His hand slid up and caressed Poe’s stubble-covered chin and cheek. “That wasn’t where my heart was.”
Poe angled his head and kissed Finn’s fingers.
The sound of bubbling made them both give a start. “Damn, I forgot the noodles! Come help me with dinner?” Finn jumped up and raced over to the kitchenette.
Hesitating, Poe didn’t immediately follow. “I don’t want to mess it up.” He seemed to be messing everything up today.
“You won’t…” Finn moved the pot from one burner to another with another clink. “I’ve already burned it.”
Poe heaved himself up. “How is it possible to burn—“
“This time, not enough water.” He turned off the stove with a sigh. “Never had to cook before I got here. Not sure I’ll ever get the hang of it.”
“I’ll heat something up. Don’t worry about it.” He turned on the fan to suck up the smell of burnt noodles and grabbed something from the small freezer to zap for dinner instead.
When he banged his shin on the edge of a cabinet, Finn was there with an ice pack. And when he scooped the stew into bowls and turned to hand one to Finn, he found Finn wearing the goofiest of smiles. He looked like an adoring little puppy. “What?”
“Nothing,” Finn said, but that smile didn’t budge.
Poe refused to hand dinner over until he told. “Come on. It’s getting cold.”
Finn looked down. “But if I tell you, you might stop.”
In answer, Poe set the bowls on the counter, extra careful to not drop them, and then stood between dinner and Finn. “Out with it. What is it now?”
Finn still didn’t look up, but he stepped forward and nudged the toe of his shoe against Poe’s. “Sometimes you hum.”
Groaning inwardly, “I know that can be annoying. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I love it. Makes me feel good, like you’re relaxed enough around me to truly be you. And I happen to like you, you know. Besides, you’ve got a great voice. You could sing if you wanted to.”
Poe gave him a half-smile. “Really?”
“In fact, I insist you sing.” Finn crossed the room and fiddled with the panel until the familiar thumping beat of one of his favorite Mina Fulston songs started up. Loud, just the way Poe liked it. For a second, Poe felt self-conscious there, with Finn watching him. But then Finn started to sing, and he was kind of awful, what with mixing up the words and not hitting the right notes. But he was grinning ear to ear and having fun with it. Poe found himself laughing and relaxing and, inevitably, singing along.
no subject
Date: 2016-08-10 01:21 pm (UTC)Thank you for writing this! It was so sweet. I love dorky Poe so much. And I especially love him faceplanting onto the couch after a frustrating day, and having a Finn there to cheer him up. This is adorableness that I will probably need to re-read several times today.
no subject
Date: 2016-08-15 01:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-08-15 01:05 am (UTC)I am curious as to what the prompt was, though.
no subject
Date: 2016-08-15 01:18 am (UTC)The prompt:
The "Poe is just a weird, dorky klutz, even though he tries to come off all smooth and suave and in control" trope. But he kind of likes being a weird dork, and he has a really good day when he just doesn't hold back. Or something. I don't know if I'm describing it right. But you know that moment when you just stop worrying about whether or not people are judging you? That.