[ A flash, the foreign feeling of what he knows isn't quite his, all the pieces Finn's already coming to-- expect, at least, to brace himself for, despite never knowing exactly when it's going to happen again. Being on edge isn't new. Adapting on the fly is part of getting by.
But the rest of it, the content, there's no bracing for. Can't be ready for what you don't know.
It's like stepping into a puddle and finding that it has no bottom. Like stumbling onto the edge of a ragged hole in the universe where something was, and it doesn't make sense, and at first that's all that it really is. The same numb-but-not sting that comes first after taking a solid hit to the face; a senselessness that makes Finn think of the skirmish on Jakku, the feeling of reaching out for something that should be there-- and the edge of that hole caves in, and the almost-numbness dies out, and loss blooms out it--
And he's blindly fumbling for Poe's hand, not sure if it's for him or for Poe or maybe both of them at once, holding a breath in. A barely-registered anchor while loss folds into something white-hot and far more familiar. Something that hasn't left, just been tempered by necessity in this place, sitting idle.
Which Poe probably understands better than anyone, he realizes, since Poe's been pretty much doing the same thing.
For a moment, he starts to think that this one just isn't gonna end. The loss and the anger and the helplessness and the lingering image of ships going down. Too big a hole to climb back out of. That's a pretty wild moment. It's followed with unquestionable relief when he blinks and is, in fact, still standing in their completely necessarily chic apartment. And concern still, that steady baseline they seem to keep circling back to.
He should maybe try to say something about it. Or cut to the chase and trade out the hand grab for another hug, or add to their pile of "are you okay"s when they both know they're not, or something. Because the flash is over but it leaves bits and pieces in its wake, sort of an aftertaste that's hard to shake off, and something would be a very good thing to have in his arsenal right now.
Or, consider. Blurting out the first words that manage to pop into his head and not trading the hand grab out at all. Sometimes the best solution to not knowing what to do with yourself is to sound offended and a little salty about the situation at large. ]
When this is over, we're not telling each other what we think about anything for a week.
[ A bold strategy. (A blatant untruth.)
It's gonna be okay, and it's gonna end just like the other times, and they can do this and it's fine. It's fine. ]
no subject
But the rest of it, the content, there's no bracing for. Can't be ready for what you don't know.
It's like stepping into a puddle and finding that it has no bottom. Like stumbling onto the edge of a ragged hole in the universe where something was, and it doesn't make sense, and at first that's all that it really is. The same numb-but-not sting that comes first after taking a solid hit to the face; a senselessness that makes Finn think of the skirmish on Jakku, the feeling of reaching out for something that should be there-- and the edge of that hole caves in, and the almost-numbness dies out, and loss blooms out it--
And he's blindly fumbling for Poe's hand, not sure if it's for him or for Poe or maybe both of them at once, holding a breath in. A barely-registered anchor while loss folds into something white-hot and far more familiar. Something that hasn't left, just been tempered by necessity in this place, sitting idle.
Which Poe probably understands better than anyone, he realizes, since Poe's been pretty much doing the same thing.
For a moment, he starts to think that this one just isn't gonna end. The loss and the anger and the helplessness and the lingering image of ships going down. Too big a hole to climb back out of. That's a pretty wild moment. It's followed with unquestionable relief when he blinks and is, in fact, still standing in their completely necessarily chic apartment. And concern still, that steady baseline they seem to keep circling back to.
He should maybe try to say something about it. Or cut to the chase and trade out the hand grab for another hug, or add to their pile of "are you okay"s when they both know they're not, or something. Because the flash is over but it leaves bits and pieces in its wake, sort of an aftertaste that's hard to shake off, and something would be a very good thing to have in his arsenal right now.
Or, consider. Blurting out the first words that manage to pop into his head and not trading the hand grab out at all. Sometimes the best solution to not knowing what to do with yourself is to sound offended and a little salty about the situation at large. ]
When this is over, we're not telling each other what we think about anything for a week.
[ A bold strategy. (A blatant untruth.)
It's gonna be okay, and it's gonna end just like the other times, and they can do this and it's fine. It's fine. ]