Radio Silence: A Poe Dameron Series

Chapter Two: Off the Air

Poe doesn't know what to do with himself. It's been days since the sendoff. The suns rise and fall in different corners of the galaxy, he gets shipped off to different parts of the system in the hopes that doing something will make him feel anything at all. Nothing seems to register with him, nothing except the fact that Acer is gone. What is he supposed to do now?

He is supposed to continue on. He is supposed to swallow the loss and keep moving. He's a commander of the Black Squadron, he's closer to General Organa than half the guys on her staff. The issue isn't finding things to do, it's trying to put his heart into them. Poe knows his duty, and he knows that whatever mess he's wallowing through right now isn't the most efficient or effective use of his time. But it's not that easy to turn your heart on and off like a droid, is it?

He can still hear her laugh echoing from his speakers. His feet keep unconsciously directing him towards that one recording room in the back, where he should have gone day after day. His eyes latch onto the chronometer on his wall, and he always feels that familiar rush of panic- it's twenty standard hours, he's going to be late and Acer's going to tease him for it- but then he remembers. There's no channel to open, and Acer can't say anything to him at all if she's locked in a dingy cell in some unknown part of the galaxy.

He can't break the habit of expecting to talk to her. The first day after the connection severed, he was actually standing in the doorway of the receiving room before he realized where he was. He hadn't remembered because of the nagging knowledge that Acer wouldn't be there, or even a newly labeled placard on the door designating the room to some other scrawny operator. No, it took the sight of someone else sitting in his chair, using his same navicomputer, for the truth to finally sink back into Poe's brain.

It hurt, in a way, to see that room reused. Just like that, Acer's memory was wiped clean. The Resistance had to move fast to survive, he knew that, but the facts still don't ease the leaden weight on his chest. Just seeing that guy there, listlessly spinning in the same chair Poe had always used, dusting off that spot on the console where Poe kicked his feet up even though he knew he shouldn't, felt like watching someone walk over your own grave. The guy had looked up, confused, and Poe was forced to murmur some excuse about leaving his blaster parts lying around before leaving the room at last. He still wanders over there from time to time, and still has to force himself away.

He can't help but wonder where she is, how she's doing. Acer was tough, he knew that. If anyone could make it out of a First Order cell with nothing but the shirt on her back and enough wiles to command an entire base, it would be her. But hopes can't take down a squadron of stormtroopers guarding your cell block, and they won't get you a ship. Like it or not, Poe has to face the truth: Acer won't be making it out, and mulling over this all the time won't do her any good.

Poe thought he was doing a good job of keeping his feelings to himself until Finn walks up to him one night. Poe is bent over his X-Wing, methodically fiddling with the latches and panels in the hopes of getting distracted over his favorite ship. He's always turned to the X-Wing for a diversion from his problems, and especially as of late. Leia's been kind enough to keep offering him piloting missions, even though he's sure there's a list of pilots waiting for parsecs for a shot to fly their ships and take down some TIE fighters.

Poe just knows that he needs the jump in his stomach when he's looping around in uncharted space, trying his best to keep his problems on the ground while he soars around in the air. Maybe he takes more risks than he usually does while he's out flying, but that's nobody's business but his own. He's doing good for the Resistance, and he's not stuck in his head. Are a few scrapes and close calls really that big a price to pay?

Finn saunters over, taking in the grease on Poe's hands and the frenetic focus surely lining his eyes. Finn leans his back up against the ship despite Poe's protests. "I got us a mission. We leave in two days." Poe raises an eyebrow. "Exciting. Are we patrolling again?" Finn can't help a proud grin. "No, we're flying into First Order airspace in an old Mandalorian Needle." Instantly, Poe's attention is caught. He drops the multitool in his hands into a bag, turning eagerly to Finn. "You got us a Needle? We're going where, the Unknown Regions?"