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sonotpractical · 2 months ago

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poe dameron- chapter 1- like flying

Summary: Years after the war, you’re assigned to interview General Poe Dameron. Your father had given everything he had to the cause, including trusting Poe on a mission that cost your father his life. You try to treat this like any other assignment, but Poe convinces you to open up, and realize that post-war life is worth appreciating.

Contents: fem!reader, death of parent discussed (~4k)

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“General Dameron, thank you for meeting with me.” You hold out your hand.

“Poe,” he smiles, shaking your hand and holding onto it. His head cocks slightly. “I’ve read your articles for years. You don’t look how I pictured.”

Your smile wobbles slightly.

“Oh no, not in a bad way,” he says, horrified at himself. “In a really good way.”

He winces.

“And now I sound like a creepy asshole,” he mumbles. “I don’t do a lot of talking to reporters.”

He looks different than how you pictured too, but you manage to keep quiet about it.

His hair is streaked with gray now, giving him a serious, distinguished air. Until he smiles. Then, his boyish charm swoops back in with full force, even under the attractive black and gray stubble that peppers his chin.

He pulls out a chair at the small table for you. You've met him at a community building on Yavin. After hearing about the planet for so long, it was worth the trip just to see it in person yourself.

You have plans to hike out to a few historic sights during your trip, old Rebel facilities. Only a handful of military outposts are still active, run by the Yavin government. It’s the old, old places that call to you, though. Stories your dad told, or things you’d heard from the Rebellion days.

Interviewing Poe Dameron about the war is supposed to be a quick, factual assignment. Sound bites that can be included in school lessons or holovids.

When you’d been hired, you’d suggested at least 3 other people to interview instead of him.

General Dameron had gone pretty quiet after good people had been put in charge and the rebuilding had gained a solid foothold.

He has a farm and a workshop on his home planet, a handful of his friends have plots of land nearby. They’re all more active in the current government than he is. Although you’ve heard rumors that destroying any last vestiges of the First Order is somewhat of a hobby for him.

You’d told your bosses you didn’t want to bother him.

The people making the vid had insisted: you need Dameron.

He was the Resistance poster boy for a reason. Charming, handsome, and so dedicated that just stories about him had recruited people to the cause. Not to mention he was still flying circles around everyone, the couple of times a year he taught at the flight school.

“You know, I said no the first time they asked me to do this.” He sits across from you, opening a bottle of some light-pink beverage and pouring a couple of glasses.

“No offense, you weren’t my first choice either,” you say neutrally.

He shrugs, not offended. “It’s not that I can’t talk about what happened. I like to talk to new recruits. If they want to promote someone to higher ranks or political posts, I’m happy to advise, but,” he hesitates, re-caps the bottle, “hindsight’s the worst enemy I have sometimes.”

“You did what you had to do,” you say, taking your glass.

“People love to say that.” He lifts his glass to you, a dry smile on his face. You tap the rim of your glass to his.

It’s juice of some kind, light and sweet, perfect for the warm morning.

“What did you do during the war?” He asks, dark brown eyes level and slightly teasing.

“You don’t know already?” You ask.

“Humor me,” he sips his drink, leaning back in his chair.

There’s something in his eyes. You realize he’d said ‘yes’ to this for the same reason you had. He’d wanted to talk to you. Study you. Maybe have closure of his own.

“I was a low-level bureaucrat on my home planet when the First Order stomped through the sector. They said everyone could keep their jobs, but we’d be helping them strip our entire planet of resources, and they’d enslave everyone who didn’t agree. So, I stole a bunch of their computer shit and my father flew us out of there. He kept flying for the Resistance, and I worked on the raw data, eventually got into intelligence.” You take a sip of your drink, your throat dry suddenly.

A slight frown pulls Poe’s eyebrows together. “Your father was a good man. A good stick.”

You clear your throat, take out your datapad to look through your notes. You can’t look him in the eyes, but you feel the air change around the two of you.

“I can’t act like I’m not the reason your father died,” Poe sets his glass down with a thunk.

“If I can, you can,” you say shortly.

“Then I guess neither of us can,” he snaps back. He exhales a long breath. “Sorry. I’ve been nervous about meeting you for days now. BB-8’s off on a mission and my dad’s off helping build another settlement. I don’t do well when I’m left alone with my own thoughts I guess.”

You let the silence permeate for a few seconds. You don’t feel ready to talk about it, but you figure you never will be. Not really.

You don’t blame him for your father’s death. You can’t. Not when the Resistance had brought so much joy to his life.

A few swipes on your datapad and you lay it on the table to show Poe.

His face immediately breaks out into a huge smile.

“I remember that party,” he says. “Your dad got so drunk Chewie had to sit on him to get him to stop dancing like a maniac. He was gonna hurt himself.”

Poe laughs, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.

You look at the picture too, smiling. A group of pilots in orange flight suits, Poe in the middle and your dad next to him, their arms around each other.

You run your finger over your dad’s smiling face.

“Dad told me, ‘the pilots these days are all work and no play. The Rebellion celebrated every victory like it was our last. I’m 25 years older than Dameron and he leaves parties before I do, sober as a judge,” you laugh.

Poe raises his eyebrows. “Not that sober, but your dad could drink all of us under the table. He wasn’t entirely human, though, so he had an advantage. Even if it was just a sliver of something extra in his DNA.”

You look at Poe in surprise. “I didn’t think he told anyone about that. But, he admired you a lot. He said he thought he knew how to fly, until he met you and saw what a pilot could really do.”

“It’s funny,” Poe says thoughtfully. “He was my dad’s age, and it was nice of him to say I was a good pilot, but your dad was a mentor to so many people. Me included. And he was so proud of you.”

You roll your eyes lightly.

“Seriously, all he did was brag, but because everything you did was secret, he told us we just had to trust him: you were winning us the war.”

You shake your head. “I sat behind a desk for most of-“

“A First Order desk,” Poe says quietly.

Your gaze sharpens. “I always heard Leia trusted you with everything. Had no idea you knew about the spies she ran.”

Poe’s dark eyes are sympathetic, understanding. “Did your dad know?”

“That I went back to our home planet and acted like I took the First Order up on their offer of employment?” You say sarcastically. “No fucking way. He would’ve worried himself sick.”

You close the photo on your datapad and bring up the recording interface.

“Can I start the interview?” You ask, feeling a little queasy.

The hardest part of the whole war had been lying to your dad. That you had a boring admin job. That you worked for any Resistance officer who was far enough away from your dad that you couldn’t visit him.

You’d seen him only once in that last part of the war.

You hadn’t been able to get away from the collapsing First Order fast enough to make his funeral.

You almost jump out of your chair when Poe’s hand gently covers yours.

“I spoke at his memorial,” Poe says, as if he can read your mind. “I’m sorry. About your dad.”

You turn your hand in his, so you’re palm to palm. “I’m sorry about Leia. Whenever I got an update directly from her, she talked about you a lot.”

Grief passes over Poe’s face, lingering around his expressive eyes. He wipes them briefly with the back of his other hand before squeezing yours.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you say quietly, turning off the datapad and the photo of the past. “Any of it.”

You’re used to carrying the weight of your memories. Times you could’ve prevented death or suffering, but instead, you let it happen. Kept your cover intact. Worked toward the larger goal.

You see that same weight in the set of Poe’s shoulders. The slightly blank way he looks at the wall, a cover for the storm of feelings you know he has inside.

The never-ending pain of past decisions. The loss of people you loved. The yawning guilt.

“They gave me a list of questions to ask you, but honestly, they’re terrible.” You let go of Poe’s hand. “Why don’t you tell me about now? Yavin knows how to endure war, how to rebuild. Did you always know you’d come back here afterward?”

“No,” Poe says immediately, “I thought I’d spend the rest of my life going from planet to planet, spreading the word about the new government. Keeping an ear to the ground and a blaster on my belt for any rumblings of fascism. But a few weeks after that last battle, I came home to talk to my dad, which is a whole other story. I can’t really explain it, but I knew I needed to come home. So, I spent a weekend or two of every month back here, for a handful of years, getting my place together. Slowly started spending more and more of my time here. Now I’m only gone a week or so every other month. How about you?”

“Me?” You blink at him, thrown by the question.

He grins. “Yeah, you.”

“Um, I’m not sure.”

For some reason, your brain scrambles. It’s not easy to put into words, how you’ve been working nonstop for the new government, most of those in public affairs.

How you don’t take vacation because you don’t have anywhere to go.

Any sightseeing or days off you have are tacked onto work trips.

How you have an apartment you haven’t been to in months. And it doesn’t even matter because you’d never really moved in anyway.

“How about this?” Poe says invitingly, like he really wants you to say yes to whatever he's going to ask. “We can take a walk through town. I could show you the farm. Might be easier to talk if we’re not just sitting here staring at each other.”

You hesitate. “I hired a guide to take me out into the jungle after our interview. Wanted to look at some of old sites.”

Undeterred, Poe leans forward. “Then how about dinner tonight? At my place. BB’ll be back and I can introduce you. ”

“Okay,” you agree, “but only because I want to meet BB-8.”

“Everyone does. He’s as famous as he is stubborn. He’s not retired at all, by the way. He’s just so friendly, people don’t see him as a threat. He’s like someone gave a hospitality droid the ability to think creatively about sabotage,” Poe says fondly.

“Someone, meaning you. You tweaked his programming, right?” You tease him.

“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t think of it like that at the time, all those years ago. Then again, he’s long past only doing what I programmed him to do.” Poe laughs, scratching his fingers through is curly hair. “Come by my place whenever you’re ready. We can talk more.”

Grateful for the breather, you part ways with Poe.

He’s every bit the man your dad had said he was. Kind, smart, magnetic.

You’d known this interview wouldn’t be easy. It’s difficult to think about the war at all, let alone how close to your father Poe had been.

What you hadn’t anticipated was that Poe himself was going to be a challenge to resist.

*****

“I have a place back on my home planet, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I was a spy, but I still worked for the First Order.”

Your bowls are empty, washed and dried. BB-8’s in the corner, charging for the night.

Dinner had been surprisingly easy. You and Poe had talked like regular people. About planets you’d been to, food you liked, what you’d seen today on Yavin.

Afterward though, sitting here now, you knew it was time to have the conversation you’d really come to have.

Poe nods, understanding how you feel about the war.

It means a lot because he’s one of the few people who really does understand.

Not that war means compromising who you are at your core, but how complicated everything becomes.

“I’m sorry I never contacted you,” Poe says. “I could say I was busy, and it’d be true. I started trying to talk to families and friends of the people we lost. It just got more and more difficult. Your dad was important to me, and I-“

He stops speaking, like the words jam in his throat, cutting off his oxygen.

“The more important something is, the harder it is,” I say. “It’s okay.”

“It isn’t,” Poe insists, his dark eyes burning into yours. “One of the last things your dad said over comms, when he knew-“ Poe sighs, “when we thought none of us were going to make it out of there, was that I should tell you how much he loved you. And I can’t forgive myself for not telling you right away. For not reaching out.”

The pain on his face tears at your heart.

“I know how much he loved me,” you reassure Poe. “He loved the Resistance too. You and your friends held everything together by sheer willpower. It’s the reason the new government works at all. I know you were busy. Don’t worry about me. I took care of myself.”

Poe looks uncomfortable. “Did you have anyone, after the war?”

“I was fine,” you say quickly.

He sees right through you, you can tell.

You smile at him, tired just from thinking about everything that’s happened post-war. “I didn’t have anyone, no, but I’m used to that.”

“Just because you’re used to something, doesn’t make it right,” Poe frowns.

“And just because you want to take care of everyone, doesn’t mean that’s what’s best for you.”

Poe’s head tilts.

“My dad always said you were too selfless. People thought you flew high-risk missions because you needed the thrill, but really, it was just that you didn’t want anyone else to be in danger,” you say. “Plus, you only trusted yourself with the really sketchy flying.”

“He was sharp,” Poe says with a smile and a sigh. “He wanted us to meet, you know.”

“Yeah,” you shut your eyes tight briefly, “and I always had to lie. Tell him I couldn’t get time off. Couldn’t find transport. A lot of excuses.”

“That’s how I found out what you really did. I was trying to track you down, surprise your dad by bringing you to wherever we were at the time. D’Qar, I think. I kept hitting roadblock after roadblock. Always a step behind you. Finally, I started thinking something was up and I had to ask Leia directly. She called me the biggest snoop in the galaxy and then told me you were a mole in the Order.”

“I’m glad we finally met, Poe,” you say to him.

“Me too.”

The light from the setting sun filters through the jungle behind the house, casting thin rays of warm light into Poe’s kitchen. His golden, tan skin almost shines. The open back door ruffles his hair in the evening breeze.

You feel more at home here than you’ve felt anywhere in a long time. You can’t tell if it’s the house, or Yavin, or the man sitting at the table with you.

As if he feels the same way, Poe’s hand inches forward on the table, just enough to touch your fingertips with his.

“Stay the night,” he says quietly.

Your eyes meet his just in time for you to see him grimace.

“I have guest quarters in the building behind the house. I didn’t mean you have to stay in my bed with me. Probably didn’t need to clarify that. You know what I mean, right?” He pulls his hand back and scratches the two-days worth of stubble on his chin. “I swear, I’m not usually so ham fisted about talking to someone I like.”

His makes an almost pained sound, letting his hand lift to cover most of his face.

“Fucking hell, can you pretend you didn’t hear that last part?” He says.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. “I’d love to stay,” you say, surprising yourself. “It’s pretty adorable, that you’re so charming, but so awkward sometimes. And for the record, sleeping in your bed isn’t off the table. I wouldn’t want you to feel like you have to, though. Like you owe me anything.”

Poe’s big, brown eyes get huge. “You think I’d sleep with you out of guilt? You really overestimate me. I haven’t even been on a date in months. And it was horrible. Turns out he just wanted an in with the new government. It was a whole thing,” Poe brushes it off, but you can tell it really bothers him.

“The downside of being famous, I guess,” you say, your heart hurting for him. “Seems like it might be as difficult as being anonymous.”

One of Poe’s dark eyebrows raises. “You’re not anonymous to me.”

“And you’re not famous to me,” you say with a smile. “You’re someone who saw my dad for who he was. A pilot. Even if he was decades older than most of the Resistance fighters.”

You rest your hand over Poe’s. His skin’s warm. He turns his hand so he can hold yours, like you had this morning. At first, your palms lightly rub together. Then, your fingernails gently scrape his skin. Poe threads his fingers through yours, pushing and pulling, his eyes mesmerized by the way your hands fit together.

You flex your fingers, trapping them in yours.

“Poe,” you say quietly, heat burning over your skin, into your gut and your heart.

You see Poe’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. He pulls his hand away. “Let me show you to the guest house.”

He pushes up from the table, shoves his hands in his pockets and stalks out the back door.

BB-8’s charging pad beeps and he rolls off of it, head turning like he’s stretching after a long nap.

He chirps at you.

“Poe’s outside,” you say as you get up. “I’m going to stay the night if that’s okay.”

You assume it is, from the little droid’s happy circle around your feet. You laugh, bending down to look at him.

“Thanks, buddy.” You plant a kiss on the dome of his head.

He rolls out ahead of you.

The sun warms your face as you walk outside. You have to shield your hand over your eyes so you can see Poe opening the door to a small two-room hut by the house. BB-8 motors over quickly to join his friend.

Next to the hut is a large barn and attached workshop. Judging from the huge doors on the front, you think Black One might be inside. Sweat beads on the back of your neck. You’ve avoided thinking about starfighters since your father had died.

He’d taught you to fly, but you weren’t a natural like he was.

Now, the thought of an X-wing makes your fingers and toes feel numb. You push away thoughts of Poe getting in it and flying away once or twice a month. You redirect your attention back to the guest hut.

“It’s not much,” Poe says apologetically as you approach, recomposed and smiling.

It’s two rooms and a bath, simple, but neat and homey.

“I love it. Really. The view alone is beautiful.”

Poe looks out the small window at the small field and the trees beyond.

You shrug self-deprecatingly when he looks back at you. “It probably doesn’t look special to you, but I’ve spent a lot of time in cities and on ships over the past few years. Before that, during the war, well, there wasn’t much nature left on my home planet once the First Order was done with it,” you say.

“I’m grateful to be here,” Poe says seriously. “For so many years, I only felt at home in an X-wing, out in space. Gravity didn’t sit right on me. Part of it’s just my nature. Your dad was like that too. Pilots need to fly. But part of it was restlessness. I didn’t feel like I could come home. Nowhere felt right.”

Poe leans against the doorway to the outside, watching you carefully.

“How did you know when you’d found home?” You ask him, picking your thumbnail against the table by the door.

BB-8 beeps loudly.

“You heard him,” Poe says with a grin. He runs a hand through his curly hair, messing up the semi-neat waves. “Yavin always was, for us, and for a lot of others. We have a lot of new faces in town since the end of the war.”

He straightens from the door and reaches out to you. You take his hand, letting yourself settle into the feeling. You're both tactile people, though you haven't had anyone to touch in a long time.

“I stayed in this hut while I was building the main house. Did a lot of thinking right over there.” Poe jerks his head to the narrow, neatly made bed in the other room.

“Oh, so I am sleeping in your bed,” you joke.

Poe grins. “You’re never going to let me live that down. That’s okay. I always did have trouble keeping my mouth shut, but fair warning, it always seems to work out okay for me in the end.” He squeezes your hand, then lets it drop. “Breakfast at 8, if you want to join me.”

For a second, Poe looks like he wants to say something else. His eyes drop briefly to your lips and you almost close the two steps between you. Before you can act and press your mouth against his, Poe’s hand raises. He brushes his knuckles thoughtfully against your cheek.

He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He still has that boyish, handsome face, even with the gray in his hair and in the shadow of his beard.

“Come on, buddy,” he says toward the other room.

You watch Poe and BB walk back toward the big house, chattering to each other about chores the next day. You don’t close your own door until they disappear inside.

You turn on the datapad again, bring up the photo you’d shown Poe earlier. You set it on the little table near the bed, zoomed in on the two faces in the middle. Your father, who you’re sure is somewhere smiling so hard his face hurts. And Poe, whose face you don’t need a photo to think about.

You know the second you close your eyes, he’ll be all you see. He’ll be who you dream about.

You settle down in the bed, thinking, probably as hard as Poe said he had. You think about home. How you’d lost yours, drifting for years.

If it was possible to find a new home after only one day.

For a new place and one person to feel like the exact thing you’d been searching for.

:: Like Flying- Chapter 2 here ::