#working in vet med means things are bound to get tough like this

[lampfacedstudios]

have really rough couple of weeks filled with death and emotional trauma and other fun things out of your hands?

draw self indulgent nonsense

[n3rdybird]

Pilots and Penance

Star Wars

Poe Dameron x Reader

Prompt: I need a hug

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Depression and Angst

Written for @fictionalabyss​ 3K Celebration! Congrats!

The heat and humidity of D’Qar did little to warm your numb limbs.  You squinted as the light filtered into the hangar.  It had been a while since you had seen proper sunlight, your mission had kept you confined to nights on Coruscant.  Although known as a bright spot in the systems, the underbelly of the Galactic City was still rife with black market shops and smugglers.  Without the full support of the New Republic, the Resistance needed your contacts and knowledge of the less savory parts of the galaxy.  It was dangerous work, sometimes too dangerous.  If only you had-

You were brought out of your thoughts when a hand touched your shoulder.  You looked up to see the familiar face of the resident flyboy, Poe Dameron.

“(Y/N), the General is ready for debriefing.”

You felt the eyes of other Resistance members staring at you, you could feel their questions, their shock, their anger.  You straightened and nodded mutely.

------------------------------------------------------

In the middle of the night cycle, you found yourself in the showers.  It was quiet, most of the staff asleep, only a skeleton crew up and running essential functions. You weren’t sure that the numbness in your limbs was from the cold water blasting from the showerhead or the crippling guilt in your heart.

Was it your fault?

You heard the whispers ever since you arrived, semi-conned into joining the Resistance when the bounty you were chasing saved your life.  Even if you were vetted by the poster boy of the rebel group, Poe Dameron, who you were seriously regretting listening to.

“What’s a bounty hunter doing here?”

“She can’t be trusted.”

“Bounty hunters have no honor. She’ll sell us out to the highest bidder.”

And now the new ones.

“Bounty hunters only care for themselves.”

“She probably let him die.”

“She’s so cold, I bet she doesn’t care.”

“She just left his body there.”

You didn’t blame them.  You followed the mission.  When one of the Resistance members on your command messed up, it was on your head.  It had been an impossible choice.  Let one die to save the rest of your mission.  This was why you preferred to work alone.  You weren’t used to being responsible for others.  You weren’t used to having to make a call for someone else’s life.  You were a solo bounty hunter; rarely worked with anyone more than a contact, not wanting to share the reward.  And bounty crews were more trouble than they were worth.  Arguments about how the money should be divided, crews getting too large, having to go after bigger and better scores just to keep everyone paid well.  It was too much.  It was simpler on your own.  If you made a mistake, it was only your ass on the line.

The General didn’t seem to blame you, though you knew she took every loss to heart.  During the briefing, you went over the mission over and over again.  High Command went through your reports, trying to figure if there was a leak or traitor. If you were a traitor.  While it was to be expected, you tensed with every question.  You tried to keep your eyes from straying to the dark-haired commander of Black Squadron, waiting for him to step in, maybe even come to your defense.  But he was all “Commander Dameron”, not the friendly pilot who had wormed his way under your skin and bypassed your icy exterior.

You had been cleared of any misconduct officially, Jannak Kirhen died in the line of duty, but you did not feel any relief.  You slipped away from the main part of the Resistance base, keeping to yourself until it was well into the night cycle before you chanced a shower in the barracks.  You could have used the sonic shower on your ship, but that would mean going through the hangar.

You turned off the water and toweled yourself off, wincing as you accidentally pulled at the bacta patch on your side.  You peeled the corner, checking on the angry wound.  It was too deep for the patch alone, but it would hold until you got back to your ship.  You had a micro suture kit stashed somewhere, and you didn’t want to visit the medical unit.

After dressing, you made your way back to the hanger.  It was blissfully silent, even the mechanics who seemed to have a never-ending to-do list had retired for the night.  You crossed the bay to your ship, a modified stealth gunship.  You ran your hands against the cool metal and lowered the ramp.

“Don’t tell me you are sneaking out of here?” a voice asked.

You spun to see Poe Dameron behind you, BB-8 at his heels.  At Poe’s question, BB-8 beeped angrily at the thought, crossing in front of you, keeping you from stepping onto the ramp.

“Not leaving, though the thought did cross my mind,” you said curtly, stepping over BB-8 and up the ramp.  He followed at your heels to Poe’s amusement.

You dug through storage bins, ignoring the throbbing pain in your side and the burning gaze of the Resistance pilot.

“Are you going to talk to me?” he asked.

You scoffed.

“Now you want to talk? I was under the impression you were mute, especially during the briefing,” you snapped.

Poe sighed and rubbed his neck.

“I knew you didn’t do anything wrong.  I was afraid if I said anything, they’d think I was just trying to cover for you.”

His logic was sound.  Poe did spend an inordinate amount of time talking his way out of trouble.  But you still felt betrayed by his silence today.  This is why you didn’t do feelings.  It made things difficult and unreasonable.  You pulled the old kit from a box and tossed it to Poe.

“Make it up to me,” you said pulling off your shirt, leaving you in a breast band.  BB-8 whistled and spun around, giving you privacy.

Poe looked at the micro-suture gun in his hands before focusing on the scarlet-tinged bacta patch on your side.  He fished a pair of skin-gloves out of the kit and put them on.  He kneeled in front of you, prodding your skin.  You bit your lip as he peeled the patch away.

“Why didn’t you say anything? This should have been taken care of hours ago.”  He wiped away the weeping blood and cursed under his breath.

“Micro sutures might not be enough, especially with an older model like this,” he said as he tried to pinch the wound closed.  “We should go to the medical-”

“No.  We’ll do it here.  I can do it myself if I have to,” you said firmly, reaching for the gun if he wasn’t going to use it.

Poe looked up at you before nodding in agreement.  He scooted closer, his palm warm even with the sterile gloves.

“You don’t have any numb-spray, so this is going to hurt,” he warned you.

The suture gun let out a hiss for every stitch placed, and you gripped Poe’s jacket as each one went in.  It took 12 sutures for your wound to be closed.  Poe wiped the stitched skin and put another bacta patch on top.

“It’ll probably scar a bit, but it’s closed,” he said, pulling off the gloves and tossing them aside.

“Appreciate it,” you thanked him, and eased your tunic back over your head.  You felt Poe’s fingertips against the hem of the shirt as he gently pulled it back into place.

“So why did you have me mangle your skin, instead of having one of the medics take care of this?”

“Jannak, his husband is a med-tech.  And I came out of this mission with only a scar,” you said simply.

“So you’re punishing yourself?” he asked.

“I’m alive, and he isn’t.  I should never have agreed to take on a partner,” you confessed.  “I didn’t think he was ready.  He wasn’t ready for this.”

You blinked rapidly, swiping at your face with your hand.  Poe caught it and held your cheek.

“It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t,” he said earnestly.  He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I don’t think I can handle this,” you admitted, turning your head away.

“You can.  I know you can,” Poe said, taking a step back, moving his hands to your shoulders.

“I’m not made for this.  No one trusts me. They think I don’t care.”  BB-8 rolled over to your feet, nudging your legs affectionately.

“If you’d let them see you, the real you, they would never believe that.  You can let down your guard around others.”

You sniffled a bit, nodding.

“This is going to ruin my mystique a bit.  The tough bounty hunter has a heart,” you joked.

“Hanging around me, it’s bound to happen,” Poe said with a laugh.

“I should have never tried to collect your bounty.  I would be far away from here, not dealing with cocky flyboys and pushy astromechs.”

“Ah, but where is the fun in that?”

BB-8 whistled and bumped Poe’s legs.

“BB is right, this moment deserves a hug.  I need a hug, don’t you need one?”  He held out his arms welcomingly.

“Well, if BB-8 says so,” you agreed.  You kneeled next to the chatty astromech droid and wrapped your arms around his round body.  He beeped happily and spun around in a circle.

Poe pouted and crossed his arms.

“Aw, come on?  BB gets a hug and not me?  After I stitched up your side?”

“You’ve seen me without my shirt today.  A hug deserves a drink first.”

Poe’s eyes glittered in amusement.

“I can do that.”