Fire Meet Gasoline | Poe Dameron

Three

Hope

By late afternoon the hanger's quiet enough that I can work on my x-wing in peace, which thankfully hasn't been repurposed. Although Mom knows if she ever gave my x-wing to anyone I'd probably blow it up out of spite, and she knows this because I'd threatened as much.

Major Brance ducks in and out of the entrance several times in the hours that pass as I run maintenance, as if ensuring he isn't hallucinating and looking disappointed each time he realises he isn't, speaking with greater levels of panic into his comm each time.

"We had six months of peace after she left and then Dameron was recruited. Now there's two of them," I hear him ranting as he exits the hanger again, thinking I'm out of earshot. "Two of them!"

I can't help but smile to myself a little in intrigue, finding myself growing increasingly curious about this commander who seems to give Brance the same headache as I do. That might just be enough for me to overlook his rank. Almost.

His ship sits on the other side of the hanger, the orange and black paint noticeably standing out from the rest, and I'm chuckling to myself in satisfaction at noticing the paint's been touched up since I called it beaten up. Although now mine is the one that needs a touch up by comparison.

The next time Brance comes in Statura accompanies him and gives me an awkward wave from across the hanger before pulling Brance back out, thankfully that's the last time I see them. 

"Gee R2, you'd think they weren't happy to see me," I remark as I get to work installing the new parts after finishing general maintenance and he beeps at me. "Alright maybe I'm enjoying it a little."

At least my infamy's still feared by high command, even if that doesn't extend to a commander who should very well know exactly who I am. All things considered I should be more concerned by the thought that Mom could arrive here at any moment, but I can put off that anxiety for a little longer. 

My hands are stained with soot and engine oil, but my mind seems to quieten as I tinker. Something I always thought came from my father, until my grandmother's surviving handmaidens told me it also came from my grandfather, among other things. Thankfully with the years I've found some level of acceptance with that fact, even if the memories sharpened with Ben taking the mantle Vader left behind. At least Lando can share my humour at calling him Grandpa Vader even if Mom looked like she wanted to hit me over the head the first time she heard it. And every time afterwards. Turns out dark humour only goes so far.

My mind's focused on the adjustments to the thrusters, transferring over the parts I'd taken off my N-1 at the lakehouse so the modifications are similar, making it far faster than ties and any other navy starfighter. Faster than any other x-wings on base as well. I was tempted to get R2 to pilot the N-1 here for me but considering what I've been using it for I thought it best it stays in storage on Naboo. I'd forgotten how old these x-wings are in comparison to the newer models of ships, my N-1 was average in comparison to the models I grew up flying, but still newer than these. So while some of these parts might be a little overpowered for my neglected x-wing I can make them work, it'll make it highly illegal, but fast. 

Just how I was taught.

At least I don't have to pay to replace the proton torpedo I'd used up now, it might have been a bit overkill considering they're generally used to attack larger capital ships or freighters but I'd always wondered what would happen if I shot them into a bunch of tie-fighters and now I know.

I'm quite content working while talking to R2 until a now slightly familiar voice calls out to me in the empty hanger.

"Need any help up there?"