letters ; stormpilot au

( C. )

" -- was in the Battle of Yavin. Killed everyone and everything I saw. Didn't even flinch. Regretted everything since. Everything."

Finn sidles in incospiciously, taking a seat in the circle, earning a nod from the support group leader seated diagonally from him, a late-sixties, ( really, really, really ) tall man with round spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose. His hair falls down to his shoulders in strands of grey and white.

The man who's talking is a war hero in the Empire. In the Resistance, he's a wanted fugitive. Almost everyone here is a war veteran, save for the group leader -- nicknamed Chewie for one reason or the other -- and perhaps Finn would be exempted from that group, considering his short yet traumatising experience in a war zone.

Without saying, there is a silent conflict between the Resistance fighters and the agents of the Empire. Bonding over similar issues and diagnoses is one thing -- actually liking each other was another. ( Support group was more lowkey-at-war group than anything else. )

Finn stares at his hands in his lap, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he stares at the beads of perspiration forming on the tips of his fingers. He quickly loses interest and wipes his hands on his pants, fidgeting in his seat as he waits silently for the session to end. ( He remembers where Poe touched him, and he shudders, ice clawing at his spine, Finn taking a deep breath to calm himself down. )

Chewie's watching him from afar, his expression soft as he looks at Finn, while the remaining support group members disperse as the meeting draws to a close. Chewie and Finn stay in their seats. He looks up, and notices that Chewie is trying to get his attention. Finn nods, signalling to Chewie that he's watching.

Chewie begins a series of hand gestures -- sign language -- small lifts and curves spelling out letters, and eventually -- words.

H O W A R E Y O U T O D A Y ?

Finn smiles. He says, "I'm alright. How are you?"

S P E C T A C U L A R.

Finn laughs, and Chewie throws his head back, his mouth open, no sound emmited. ( He's laughing. )

D I D A N Y T H I N G S P E C T A C U L A R H A P P E N T O Y O U T O D A Y ?

( 'Spectacular' was probably Chewie's favorite word. )

( It was. )

"I met a cat. "

Chewie's eyes widens, clearly excited as he gestures C A T over and over again to Finn.

"And his owner was nice. He's called Poe. The Cat Crusader."

Chewie is agressively signs C A T again, making Finn laugh.

"Thank you," Finn smiles at Chewie from across the room.

F O R W H A T ?

"For making me laugh. Only you and Rey can do that." Finn stands, appreciating the distance between them both - not because he's afraid of the seven feet tall guy, but because he understands. He understands. And Finn is okay. He isn't the only one like this.

H A P P Y I C O U L D H E L P , S O L D I E R.

Finn laughs, again, his laughter small but filled with what could only be described as pure happiness. Finn lifts his hands, and begins signing:

S E M P E R F I D E L I S.

Chewie stands to attention, clicking his feet together and saluting Finn. Finn does the same, and leaves, his heart slightly lighter in between his lungs.

He begins to steel himself for facing another battle of Gruelling Public Transport versus Finn, the PTSD, anxiety-ridden twenty-four year-old, when he sees Rey leaning against a beaten up car, her head tilted back, the sun hitting her cheekbones at an angle just right that she looks as if she's reflecting rays of light. Finn breaks out into a jog, a small smile spreading across his face as he approaches his best friend.

Rey notices him, and she's smiling too, pushing herself off the car just as Finn reaches her, just a few steps away that Rey could reach out her fingers and touch him. ( But he knows she won't. ) Instead of hugging, she lifts up her hand, as if she was waiting for a high five, and Finn matches her gesture and spreads his fingers against hers so that their fingertips touch gently.

He pulls away first and then turns his attention towards the car. The car was easily hanging on a thread, the tires worn and cracked, the metal forming the frame of the car rusted and falling to pieces, and the cherry on top of that pie? What was left of the car was painted a hideous puke green. He lets out an audible groan.

"You did not buy this."

"It was only 50K, Finn."

"Only 50K? Rey, come on, this thing is basically rust and foam duct taped together to make this," Finn gestures at the mess of the Millenium Falcon, "whatever this is."

Rey strokes the car, shushing and humming, all mother-like. Her brown hair brushes against the hood. "Shh, it's okay, Finn is just being a dickhead."

Finn protests, "I am not a d -- "

"He clearly," Rey said, louder now, to emphasize her meaning, "doesn't understand what having you means." she began ticking off reasons, counting them off with her fingers, "No public transport."

Finn looks up from the car.

"Which means evading people. Getting to places without having to buy ticket stubs all the time, because with you, no one has to hand stuff over to Finn ever again. No one has to accidentally touch Finn ever again. No one," she says with a grin, "has to ask Rey to accompany them on train rides during peak hours."

She places the car keys on the hood of the car, just in Finn's reach. He eyes it precariously and looks back at Rey. "I hate you."

Finn takes the keys, and walks around the car to get to the driver's seat. Rey opens the car door, and leans her head against the top of the car. "No, you don't."

Finn rolls his eyes, smiling. "Get in the goddamn car, Rey."

She complies with a smile, the seats creaking and groaning in protest as they sat inside.

"Finn?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you have cat fur everywhere?"

Finn smiles to himself, keying the ignition. "Long story."