[ she doesn't reply. not in words, anyway, not immediately; for a long moment, rey is quiet, content to simply peer up at him, to soak in the sincerity of his words and the reassurance in his gaze. he talks, and for now, she does not interrupt him, simply letting her eyes close once he finishes with a small nod before leaning in, curling into an embrace that lets her cheek settle against his chest, his hand trapped between them.
it's only once she can hear the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath his skin that she lets out a long-held breath, a little shaky for the adrenaline still racing in her veins. ]
Sometimes I hate having to share you. [ not like this, but. with the resistance, with the people that depend on him, with the fight they all have to pitch in to keep alive. there may not be massive battles on the horizon or death tolls to bury them, but there were dangers still ever-present, and no one rested simply because one enemy was gone. there was always something. ] I — I've never had anything that was just mine.
[ and waking up alone, sometimes, reminds her of that sharing, the temporary loss sharp in her chest. ]
[ At times Poe thinks about his parents, how soon after the war was over that they ended up retiring, and about the fact that he doesn't see any such end in sight for himself. The way things turned out after that war is a big part of it, even though he wasn't thinking about that when he swore he would see things through to the end this time. It's not really over, and he's not sure if it ever will be, in some ways. At the very least he can't even consider stepping back until he's confident that he's passing his title off to someone he can trust with it, and someone he could leave to it, and that's just not possible yet.
But that doesn't mean he hasn't thought about it, what things would be like if neither of them had to be a part of this. No emergency meetings, no dangerous missions, no pacing and waiting for the other to come back when they're half a galaxy apart. Just them, and something like a normal life. It's what his mother would have wanted for him. What his father thinks he'll have, eventually, and he barely knows what it would look like. Just that he's considered what shape it would take. With Rey.
He's comfortable with her in his arms, leaning into his chest, where his free hand easily settles on the back of her neck, his arm resting against her back. They may not be able to stay out here forever, but the way he holds her implies that he wants to. Even as things stand now, he won't pry her away before she's ready to let go. ]
You don't share everything. [ He has to remind her, his fingertips circling through the strands of loose hair that are too short to have been caught up in her knots. ] I'm still yours, even when I have to go be General Dameron.
[ As if he ever stops, but she knows what he means. ]
[ it's a correction, but not an unkind one. it's hard to be snappish or curt when his fingertips are tracing gentle patterns in her hair, his palm warm against her skin. it's hard to do anything but let her own hand pry his from between them, bringing it up to her mouth for a soft press of lips against skin before she releases it. ]
I don't — I don't want to own you. [ she has seen that. slavery is not so eradicated from the galaxy as some people might want to think. she has seen it on jakku, seen it even now as she continues her work amongst planets, rooting out the last traces of the sith or the first order or any that might want to pick up their work. the darkest corners of humanity still thrive in the shadows. ] I just miss you when you're gone.
[ and, in return, when she's away and he's on base, she misses him still. he's become such a part of her that it's impossible not to miss him, even with holofeeds and communicators and all the technology between them. she just misses him. his warmth, his smile, the weight of his body pressing against her own in sleep... being alone is hard to readjust to. ]
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no subject
it's only once she can hear the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath his skin that she lets out a long-held breath, a little shaky for the adrenaline still racing in her veins. ]
Sometimes I hate having to share you. [ not like this, but. with the resistance, with the people that depend on him, with the fight they all have to pitch in to keep alive. there may not be massive battles on the horizon or death tolls to bury them, but there were dangers still ever-present, and no one rested simply because one enemy was gone. there was always something. ] I — I've never had anything that was just mine.
[ and waking up alone, sometimes, reminds her of that sharing, the temporary loss sharp in her chest. ]
no subject
But that doesn't mean he hasn't thought about it, what things would be like if neither of them had to be a part of this. No emergency meetings, no dangerous missions, no pacing and waiting for the other to come back when they're half a galaxy apart. Just them, and something like a normal life. It's what his mother would have wanted for him. What his father thinks he'll have, eventually, and he barely knows what it would look like. Just that he's considered what shape it would take. With Rey.
He's comfortable with her in his arms, leaning into his chest, where his free hand easily settles on the back of her neck, his arm resting against her back. They may not be able to stay out here forever, but the way he holds her implies that he wants to. Even as things stand now, he won't pry her away before she's ready to let go. ]
You don't share everything. [ He has to remind her, his fingertips circling through the strands of loose hair that are too short to have been caught up in her knots. ] I'm still yours, even when I have to go be General Dameron.
[ As if he ever stops, but she knows what he means. ]
no subject
[ it's a correction, but not an unkind one. it's hard to be snappish or curt when his fingertips are tracing gentle patterns in her hair, his palm warm against her skin. it's hard to do anything but let her own hand pry his from between them, bringing it up to her mouth for a soft press of lips against skin before she releases it. ]
I don't — I don't want to own you. [ she has seen that. slavery is not so eradicated from the galaxy as some people might want to think. she has seen it on jakku, seen it even now as she continues her work amongst planets, rooting out the last traces of the sith or the first order or any that might want to pick up their work. the darkest corners of humanity still thrive in the shadows. ] I just miss you when you're gone.
[ and, in return, when she's away and he's on base, she misses him still. he's become such a part of her that it's impossible not to miss him, even with holofeeds and communicators and all the technology between them. she just misses him. his warmth, his smile, the weight of his body pressing against her own in sleep... being alone is hard to readjust to. ]