"Poe."
The voice made him jump up, a salute halfway done before he'd even found his feet. The unforgiving stiff mattress that had been his perch for hours now had dug in to his skin and made standing painful. He stifled a groan and searched for the right words, trying his best to appear professional though he probably looked like some greaseball mechanic who'd run out of wash water rations.
"General Organa. To what do I owe the honor?"
Even though he often spoke with her, about missions, about Resistance resources, about whatever relevant things currently on the docket, personal visits were rare. For the first time he saw her face without the overlay of a map distorting it, as they all crowded around the war table and peered at the details of their next mission.
"At ease." She told him, a little smirk on her lips. It wasn't cruel, just amused. He sat once more on the edge of Finn's bed, the sound of the ventilator picking away at his patience. "You've spent a lot of time here, haven't you?"
So much time that I know the droids by designation. So much time that I don't even mind the sweat-disinfectant-blood smell. So much time. And in all that time, nothing from Finn. No twitching. No sounds. Nothing.
She took one of the chairs, a little sigh escaping once she settled. The crow's feet around her eyes and the smile lines around her mouth seemed etched by laser point; Han's death had hit her hard. He wondered about those smile lines, too; his entire time in the Resistance, he'd never seen her smile. Not really. She smirked, or she quirked a single eyebrow. But never a real, wide smile, the kind that came naturally hand and hand with joy.
"Yeah, I guess." Poe said, reluctant to speak on this even with General Organa, whom he trusted implicitly. Why the hell was he here? Finn didn't deserve to struggle with an injury as serious as a lightsaber to the back —Finn, paralyzed, waking up to a nightmare where he had to rely on machines to sleep and shit and breathe — but he had to admit his constant vigil must seem strange to others. Even he thought it strange. He ought to be in his X-wing, his X-wing that had sat in the hangar for who knew how long, his X-wing that gleamed with polish after obsessive polish. You could always tell a lazy pilot by his clean X-wing.
"Finn is very brave," General Organa said, the overhead lights glinting off her golden earrings bringing a false glow to her eyes. Poe felt heat rise in his face as surely as the lava coating Mustafar, and the urge to cry and the urge to howl in rage battled it out mercilessly. He remembered the battle outside Maz Kanata's fortress, and frowned. "Yeah," he choked out, dragging his hand over his forehead and down his face. Cold sweat beaded up on his fingers.
"And you obviously care about him a great deal."
"It's stupid," Poe said before he could consider his words, "I barely know the guy." Even as he spoke, the moments he and Finn had shared in the commandeered TIE fighter's cockpit flashed through his mind. Maybe...
General Organa frowned, and for a long moment she said nothing. Only the soft whirring and beeping from the medi-droid broke the silence.
"Han and I didn't know one another long, you know. We didn't need to. When you're in a situation with another person and it's life or death, you can forge a connection in moments."
Gods, that was exactly what had happened. Finn, escaping from the First Order. Him, going from sure he would be executed to a heart pounding chance at a rescue, and a rescue from the unlikeliest of quarters. He'd needed someone like General Organa to name it, before he could admit it to himself.
"What can I do?" He managed, throat as dry as a ritual offering left out in the elements.
"I have a possible answer for you, Poe, or I wouldn't have come," General Organa said, a little life coming in to her expression then; she wanted him to succeed. His heart swelled and he lifted his head. If General Organa believed in him, he could do anything, fly anything, accomplish anything. "Tell me, have you ever heard of bacta?
