Poe let the hours slip by. He'd chosen to stay in the pilot's chair way past his allotted time, but he figured Jess could use the rest. Or if she wasn't sleeping, maybe she needed time to think. He sure did. Broken, flaming X-wings spiraled towards an explosive end in the vacuum of space, filling his mind; every flight, they lost more pilots, and beyond that, good people who had lives and hopes and dreams. It had to be on her mind, too, despite the good feelings that had come with starting a new mission.
I'm sorry, Muran, he thought as he stared out the viewscreen, leg propped on the console. He couldn't help it; the black brought out his black thoughts, always.
That day back during their stint in the Republic had started like any other day, like the one on D'Qar, where there were no hints as to the events to come. One moment he could still taste the caf, the next half the fleet...just gone. Like Alderaan, like Scarif, like Jeddha, the Empire, the First Order, snuffing them out like stars going dark, as if cities and planets were things that just...went away sometimes.
Muran's X-wing, caught in the slipstream. Breaking apart, like a child prying the wings off of a toy. That final cry over the comm—what was it supposed to be? Did it have words submerged in it, drowning in surprise, anger, fear?
Something meant for him?
"You look like shit," Jess said as she stomped in to the cockpit. She was one to talk, with the dark circles under her eyes and her hair tousled round like a womp rat's nest.
"I look like shit?" He demanded, twisting in the chair to get a better look. "I guess you didn't pass any mirrors on your way here, buddy."
"Well yeah, that's a bad policy," Jess grumbled, flopping in to the co-pilot's seat. "What the fuck is the point of that? I know I'm not a Twi'lek dancing girl."
Jess always woke up rough, like a bear with a toothache.
"You think we'll get far with that attitude?"
"I'm supposed to be a smuggler and a bounty hunter. Those jobs don't make people nice and cuddly." She pointed out, propping her feet up on the dashboard and staring sullenly at the passing features of deep space.
"Why do I have the sneaking suspicion you have something terrible planned?"
"Well...I do like to embarrass you, Dameron." She turned a wide grin on him, and he felt it like a tangible warmth.
"Hey! I'm the squad leader, you know."
"Not out here, you're not."
"What am I then?"
"I don't want to spoil the surprise..."
—
Poe flexed his hands to keep them from falling asleep; Jess had fastened the stun cuffs a little too tight. On purpose, probably.
"Who wants a go at this fine piece of ass?" She shouted, driving him forward with a slap to a very sensitive spot. He yelped and a hot blush bloomed on his cheeks; the crowd took notice and some bystanders wolf-whistled as he went by. He'd managed to argue well enough that he'd kept some of his clothes, but he hadn't quite convinced Jess to give him a shirt.
"Why didn't you tell me you had a whole other life?" He hissed, sidling away from a Duros trying to pinch him. Plenty of hands ghosted over him even so but luckily, no one else tried to rough up the merchandise. The murmur and roar of the crowds made him dizzy; so much stimuli at once. Others wearing the same stun cuffs passed through the gauntlet of admirers. What would their fate be? He was just playing at being a slave, but for them it was reality. They didn't have a Jessika Pava to run interference for them; they lived and died on a whim, their bodies currency, something to use instead of respect.
