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thorongil82 · 5 years ago

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A Broken Heart Bleeds Tears - Chapter 1 - The Big Announcement

Fandom: Spider-Man, MCU

Chapter: 1/?

Words: 4090/?

Summary: Peter should be happy with his life. He has a great job helping people alongside a smart and wonderful man, Spider-Man is still needed and supported by the majority of Queens and New York, the Avengers are happy to have him part of their group, and his friends and family are all living healthily and happily. He should be happy, right?

But he's not. Because the love of his life loves someone else. And it feels like it's killing him.

Tag-list: @forasecondtherewedwon @seek-rest

Can also read on AO3 here.

AN: Just a quick thing to say, yes, I’ve seen FFH (went to see it today), but there won’t be any spoilers for it. Not in this chapter, anyway. If there will be within a reasonable time of FFH’s release, then I’ll post a warning beforehand. Hope you all enjoy!

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System Check Failure. Receptor Efficiency Levels at 28%

Peter Parker groans as he stares at the interface blinking defiantly in front of him. Another component that didn't want to cooperate with him. So many little pieces of technology that couldn't work together for some inane reason, piling together to cause one big mess that needs fixing in a weeks time. Preferably earlier to get the testing done beforehand. Peter's certain that the man waiting for his prosthetic arm would prefer to have it as soon as possible, with minimal glitches, if any, circulating through the system. There's so many problems that comes with helping people – if anyone would know, it would be Spider-Man.

Why can't doing right by people be easy? Maybe to make sure people who think they're doing the right thing when they're causing the opposite can't harm too many innocents.

Peter runs his hands over his face, drawing large circles that squeeze and push his sweaty skin out before it snaps back into place, as he stares intently at the screen of the laptop in front of him. Maybe staring long and hard enough will get it to work. It hasn't been his experience so far, but you never know. With a hiss he throws his hands up to aimlessly reach for the rafters as he stretches out his arms and back, the cushioned chair beneath him creaking as it arches back, before they drop back down to brush lightly through the soft brown curls of his hair. Still the system failure blinks back at him, unfazed at the intensity of his stare.

Pity, he'd been working hard on becoming more intimidating. Many a remark has been said about how he couldn't frighten anyone if he wanted to. Clearly, they haven't witnessed him walking on the ceiling without the mask concealing his identity. Though, criminals didn't seem scared of him either. Sure, they were afraid of the prospect of being caught, but of Spider-Man himself? Not so much. And this system was proving to be in agreement with the majority. Six hours of working, fuming, contemplating and attempts at glaring resulted in receptors that weren't responding to begin with still not responding. If only he was more like one of the women most prominent in his life. He was sure that Pepper, Aunt May or Michelle could easily glare this stupid program into submission. Hell, most of the Avengers team could too, though he doubted Shuri would even need to.

Maybe it's just a female thing. Or he finds them more intimidating because he's a man. Maybe both – they'd all have a field day torturing him if they found out he only thought they were intimidating because of gender stereotypes and identities. They'd never let him hear the end of it.

“Why are you such a pain?” Peter mutters to the laptop as he presses a few keys, pulling out from the system for the receptors responding to the nerve signals of the patient and running a full diagnostic check.

Seeing the assessments start up, he gets out of his chair and double-checks that the cables are secure as they snake from the laptop to the jet-black and graphite-grey metallic arm dangling lifelessly off to the side. If all goes well, it could potentially function better than the real one that it was replacing. Peter reminded himself to talk to Shuri about how she managed to get Bucky's arm to work so well. He had asked Bucky, but the White Wolf couldn't explain how any of the arms made for him had worked, only that it was second nature like any other limb. Maybe the next time they talked …

“How're the receptors coming along, Pete?” asked a raspy male voice from behind the pile-up of dressers and parts in front of Peter. Walking around the cluttered shelving is an elderly balding gentlemen with a tuft of greying hair wrapped around the side and back of his head, a pair of thin spectacles over his eyes, draped in a long white lab coat identical to the one covering Peter's clothing, save that it says Dr Otto Octavius across the right side of his chest, whereas Peter's has his own name.

“They're more frustrating than they were when I left them last night,” Peter answers, shooting a side-glance off at the screen.

“Why? What's the matter?”

“There's still complications in transferring messages,” Peter explains as Dr Octavius walks over and has a look at the running diagnostic check.

“Uh-huh.”

“Also, the response time is still way too slow, and that sudden energy drop still seems to be an issue.”

“Well, that's not good,” Otto murmurs, standing up straight and placing a hand on his chin. “How did the movements look when I sent the signals through?”

“They seemed to move fine, though I think some of the joints aren't fitted quite right,” Peter answers as he moves closer to the limb. “Parts seemed to be grinding together throughout some of the flexes.”

“Yes, I did hear that screeching,” Otto replies as he moves next to Peter. “Whereabouts do you think the rubbing parts are?”

“Along by the elbow joint,” Peter says, pointing at the hinge, “along with some in the wrist. I'm not sure if that means some pieces have loosened, or if they were too big to begin with.”

“Well, at least it's a hardware issue,” Otto remarks. “That'll be easier to deal with than the software.”

“It just feels like we're running out of time,” Peter admits with a sigh, leaning up against the bench and crossing his arms over his chest.

“We've still got time,” Otto replies with a warm smile, moving back over to the laptop. “This is just progress. Sometimes it's not as fast as we would like, but nothing that's ever worth doing will be done quickly. What was the efficiency levels on the receptors?”

“28 percent.”

“See, that's better than it was yesterday,” Otto grins. “Going from 12 percent efficiency to 28 is progress. And pretty significant at that.”

“It's still not good enough,” Peter glumly admits, wandering over as a loud beep sounds out from the laptop indicating that the complete diagnostic check has finished.

“Nothing ever will be,” Otto points out as he leans down to read the report. “There's always going to be a bigger problem that our solution can't fix. But that doesn't make what we do and the people we help any less important. Take a look at this.”

Peter leans down beside Otto and begins looking over the information.

“Everything's responding better than yesterday,” Otto summarises. “Energy levels, range of movement, stability, reception.”

Peter takes a slight glance at the older scientist and catches him looking back at him before he continues, “Here; able to operate at 54 percent capacity, efficiency at 63 percent. Everything's progressing fine.”

“There's still some system failures,” Peter points out, taking in the flashing orange and red errors that have also popped up. “Still some critical that'll disable the entire network.”

“Perhaps, but there's still less than what there was before.”

“Don't worry about it, Peter,” Otto says as he claps a hand down on the younger scientist's back. “The receptors were always going to be the most complicated part. And the energy drop. Once they're solved, everything else will fall into place. Don't worry about it.”

Peter looks over and gives his mentor a tight lipped smile before looking back at the screen.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, copy the receptor program down and work on it over the weekend,” Otto sighs, his comforting hand rising away from Peter's shoulder. “Just make sure you do get some sleep. A good night's sleep can work wonders. You might even find that you've been staring at the solution all this time.”

“That'll be more annoying than anything it that does happen,” Peter says as he reaches into his backpack that had been lying beneath the bench where he was sitting, rummaging through and pulling out a hard drive. “But thank you, Otto.”

“Don't mention it, Pete,” Otto chuckles, walking over to the mechanical arm.

Peter plugs in the hard drive and starts the process of the program downloading before he gets a buzz in his pocket. Pulling his phone free from the pocket, he looks down to see a bright notification flashing back up at him – a message sent from Aunt May.

Reminder that dinner is in 30 mins

Peter slowly smirks as he unlocks the device and quickly shoots back a response.

So ordering Thai in 15?

“Plans for the evening?” Otto inquires, his voice filled with a warm, humoured tone.

“Yes, for once, but not like that,” Peter clarifies. “May's invited some friends round for dinner.”

“Ah, well, it's better than spending it alone,” Otto admits, turning his attention back to the mechanical limb, gently prodding and moving the fingers to test the joints.

Peter had mentioned details of his personal life to Otto many times during their projects, simply making conversation to pass the time as they worked on their experimental projects, both funded or otherwise. Otto knew that Peter had moved out from May's, though he still sometimes stayed over – though not always for the reasons he gives. Otto knew that Peter lived in an apartment with his best friend Ned Leeds, who occasionally helped them out with coding and programming if they couldn't quite grasp it. Otto knew that Ned had been spending more and more time away with Betty, his beautiful girlfriend, which was more than okay – it was their lives to live and who would Peter be to keep them from being happy. But even then, coming home to an increasingly empty apartment was lonely, especially after some of the things he'd have to see as Queen's favourite neighbourhood superhero. Not everything comes down to giving directions to lost tourists and old ladies, or rescuing cats stuck up trees. Otto knew of the times, few and far between, that Peter had been set up for a date, blind or otherwise, by his concerned friends. And Otto knew that those few setups and occasional one night stands after a night out remained short term were because Peter didn't feel a connection. They had been kind, and funny, and attractive, and sweet, but the young Parker didn't feel a connection. Otto and his friends knew there was no spark, because young Peter Parker couldn't stop picturing and comparing them to someone else.

The one he could never get over. The one that he could never get.

Hopefully not

The phone in Peter's hand buzzes off again – another message from his aunt, just as the program finishes downloading onto his drive. When he goes to reach for it to unplug it, his phone vibrates again.

It does look edible this time And no burning

Not always a good sign

Peter quickly shoots off the response with a grim smirk, remembering the many times his aunt's attempted cooking ventures had failed spectacularly, the Parker boy returning home after a late decathlon session or a patrolling swing-about as the man in red-and-blue to find smoke billowing out of whichever door or window was opened. Miraculously, the apartment never burned down – how, Peter could never figure out. There was no formula for how May could constantly mess up a recipe, regardless of if it was inspiration or from a recipe book – it was always difficult to distinguish between the two – nor for how the apartment managed to survive each and every disaster. It even fended off the charred cereal fire of 2024, and the inexplicably boiled whipped cream incident the year later, when nary a lit flame could be found in either scenario. Maybe there was something more to his survival skills than he thought.

Hey!!! I do manage to cook some things right

I know

Peter disconnects the drive and places it in the backpack before the short break between the messages is broken by May's response.

The menus are on standby

Peter chuckles to himself and shakes his head, pocketing his phone before turning to his mentor. “Do you need a hand cleaning up?”

“No, no, you go on ahead,” Otto answers, shaking his head with a smile. “I wouldn't want you to keep May waiting.”

“Are you sure? Because I don't mind helping clean-”

“Peter,” Otto says sternly, the way Peter's realised only someone who's dealt with children a significant part of their lives before can do. There's always a slight warmth to it that means they don't mean the tone, but you shouldn't push your luck else disaster strikes your youthful life. May always had such a knack for tapping into it more than enough times for the Parker boy to know that trouble was abound, even before gaining his wondrous spider-sense.

“You could probably come along as well,” Peter squeaks out, “I-If you want?”

“I wouldn't want to intrude,” Otto declines, his hands raised up and shaking the idea away. “Not uninvited, anyway. You just worry about getting there on time.”

“Okay. Thank you, Otto.”

“Don't mention it, Pete,” Otto says as he brings his assistant and prot��gé in for a quick hug before letting him break away to grab his backpack and sling it over his shoulder. “Give my best to May, won't you?”

“I will.”

---

“Peter!” May exclaims as she opens the door right on his third knock and embracing him in a tight hug.

“I haven't been gone that long,” Peter chuckles, deliberately tightening the constriction in his voice to humour the vice grip her embrace would have been were he not an all powerful superhero. “How did cooking dinner go?”

“The Thai been picked up,” hollers Ned's voice from further within, causing May to send a soft glare over her shoulder.

“It wasn't that bad,” she stresses, letting go of her nephew and allowing him to enter the apartment. “But we figured it was probably better to order takeaway. Just in case.”

“Sticking to what you know?”

“Precisely,” May grins, walking into the kitchen and allowing Peter to take a breath.

Instantly, he grimaces and pulls his head down, the coarse scent of ash, burnt meatloaf and vegetables seared to charcoal wafting over and bristling his nostrils. Admittedly, not the worst smell he's come across in this apartment, but still pretty bad in terms of cooking ability. There was definitely a reason why he took a cooking unit back in high school.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” Peter coughs up, the dry air choking his throat. “Otto sends his regards.”

“He's a sweet man,” May says, scrubbing away the blackened remains out of her pan with a metal scour. “You could have invited him.”

“I did offer. He said he didn't want to intrude.”

“Well, he'll just have to come around next time. Sit down, sit down. I'll go grab the dishes. Ned, can you unpack the containers?”

“Sure thing, May,” Ned answers from the dining table, standing up from beside Betty as she untangles her arms from around him and pulling out the many containers from their bags, setting them side by side in the middle of the table.

“Aw, my Neddy-Bear's such a gentleman,” Betty coos from her chair, her arms folding over on top of her backrest before leaning her head onto her limbs, sending a bright wide smile towards her partner.

“If you had told me, I could have grabbed the food on the way-”

“Oh, nonsense, sweetie,” May says, hurrying over and pressing a kiss to Peter's cheek while ruffling his messy brown curls. “Guests shouldn't have to pick up food.”

“But I'm family.”

“You're still a guest when you're not staying here,” May points out, before ducking into the kitchen

“At least you didn't burn the place down,” Peter calls after her, chuckling softly to himself.

“Yeah, right, Parker. Like none of us know about your chemistry exploits,” drawls a voice behind him that silences his laugh in an instant, matching neither the one that emanated from Ned nor Betty beforehand. A voice that pulls on one of the many coils threaded tightly through his chest, wrapped tightly around his heart and squeezing it like a vice. The voice lathered in honey and laced in silk that drags upon his beating centre, wrenching it down into the unbounded dark pit within himself. The voice that both fuels the hope and fire in his heart, yet also tortures him in the eternal night with sharp pains and throbbing aches.

“Or would you prefer accidents?”

“W-What?” he stammers as he slowly moves through the apartment, circling round the happy couple snuggling by the dining table. “W-What accidents?”

“You know, spontaneous combustion, suddenly exploding drawers when there shouldn't be anything inside even remotely volatile,” continues the agonisingly beautiful voice from the couch. “Like when we're just taking a theory lesson, for example.”

Finally, as his feet haul the rest of his being round the dining table and the long end of the couch in the adjoined living room, his eyes confirm what his ears had suspected, not that he can completely trust them after so many false leads and wishful thoughts tricking his heightened senses. For lying down on some mass across his Aunt's couch, head buried inside a book as thick as a wizard's tome – hardcover, as to make sure not even the most ignorant fool would ever dare try to attack her, long brown curls elegantly cascading down like the spray erupting over a waterfall, is one Michelle Jones. Very close friend, former decathlon captain, eerily observant person capable of discerning any secret that you would dare to try and hide from her, and, ultimately, a thief.

Yes, Michelle Jones is guilty of theft, and of destruction of property, but not even his alter-ego can catch her. For Spider-Man cannot catch someone who has taken something so intangible, regardless of the pain it leaves. Nor punish them for breaking something they do not know they have broken, let alone prove that the damage is done.

“I-I don't know what you're talking about ...” he lies, hoping that the look on his face didn't give away the truth, both of the fib and the other secrets he's held inside.

“Of course not, just like how you conveniently forgot when we had decathlon practice,” she jabs, her eyes not darting off of the pages laid out in front of her, yet by the slight drawl in her tone and the prickly pinch crawling along his skin, Peter was fairly certain that she saw right through his immediate fabrication. “Time and time again.”

“Come on, the man's always got a lot on his plate. He's allowed to forget some things,” interjects a smooth masculine voice from beneath MJ's form, alerting Peter to his presence. Tanned, strong arms are wrapped around her waist, while his legs lay tangled together with Michelle's. His head peers out from behind her mane of hair, his own short brown curls slicked back with gel. “I'm sure you've forgotten things before when you're busy.”

“Nope,” she answers bluntly, turning her head away from her book to look at him. “Must be a guy thing.”

“Of all people who could make a stereotype ...” he chuckles as he trails off, smiling a bright smile showcasing his pearl white teeth. One of his arms leaves her waist and travels to her face, gently brushing away her hair.

“Harry? You're back?” Peter inquires.

“In the flesh,” he replies, shuffling out from underneath MJ and stepping up to Peter, grabbing his hand for a shake before pulling him in for a bro-hug, both patting each other's backs. “Flew in a couple of hours ago.”

“How was France?”

“Pretty good. Would have been better with you guys but, hey, that's the downside of business.”

Harry Osborn, close friend to the lot of them, carefree, relaxed, charming, heir to his father's many ventures and darling in the eyes of the media. In all fairness, Peter did really like the guy. He wasn't Ned, but he was a great friend to have. He was always looking out for his friends, cared about other people's problems, and could have a good laugh with anyone. And, if he tended to say something that wasn't quite right, he would generally realise it very quickly – though it does help having Michelle as a friend to keep that ingrained. Overall, they got along really well. There was just one thing that irked Peter about him …

“I'll just have to take you guys with me next time,” Harry continues as they pull apart before sauntering back to his formerly shared place on the couch that was now fully occupied by MJ, having returned to her book. “You mind moving over, babe?”

“I thought you hated pet names?” Peter directs towards Michelle.

“I do. He knows that.”

“Maybe, princess, but I'll get you to break eventually,” he smiles.

When she doesn't move, he shrugs and goes to sit on her long legs, flopping down on them and prodding and poking them with his fingers till she eventually squirms them out from under him, drawing them close to her body.

“Get off,” she huffs, a strand of hair falling across her face.

“Come on, MJ,” he persists, leaning over and resting his head on her raised knees. He reaches a hand out and gently pushes down on the binding on the book, dragging it down. Undeterred, she continues to read, her eyes tracing the lines and words quickly. That is, until he reaches his other hand out and cups her chin, slowly raising it up and getting her to look to him. “Hey there.”

“I hate you.”

“I know,” he smirks, before pecking her lips with his own, Peter turning away just before it happens.

There are some harrowing things he can endure, but some things even his mighty Spider-heart just can't take.

“Gross,” she mutters when Harry pulls away, yielding his hands away from her book and letting her continue reading. Her stoic expression seems to remain intact, though Peter does notice the corner of her lips have curled up and, had he been as close as he yearns to, he would have seen a slight tinge to her usual colour tone.

“Come on, dinner time!” May calls out from the table, followed by a metallic clutter as the cutlery rattles along the surface. “Wash up and get over here.”

With everyone cleaned up and sitting at the table, they start to dish up their food. All bar Peter, patiently waiting for the others to get their share. At least, that would be his excuse if he was asked. His heightened metabolism does need a lot of food, but he's not about to take all the food from everyone. In reality, he was just captivated watching Michelle, taking in everything about her that he could and engraving it all into his mind. Her laugh, her smile, her quirks and ticks. Everything. And desperately hoping that he wasn't being obvious.

He had wondered if her being taken just made him want her more; the temptation of the forbidden fruit. He wondered if being in love with MJ made him a bad friend to both her and Harry, partners that seemed quite happy with each other and have been since their last year in high school. As much as he loved Michelle, being jealous of Harry and wanting to be beside her instead of him, he just couldn't do anything that would hurt them both. They were some of the best friends he'd ever had. He didn't want to throw that away in a petty move.

“Peter, you going to eat?” May asks, her voice cutting through his lost wondering and shaking him from his reverie.

“Huh?” he squeaks, suddenly noticing all the eyes on him. “O-Oh, uh, yeah.”

He reaches forward and pulls the container of larb closer while the heads turn towards Michelle and Harry.

“So, MJ, you said before that you wanted to tell us something?” May asks.

“R-Right. Uh ...” Michelle falters nervously, shuffling a little closer to Harry. He leans in and whispers something into her ear, whatever it is making her giggle softly before looking towards everyone. “So, Harry and I ...”

From underneath the table they lift their held hands up and lay it down on the surface, with hers on top. But all Peter could find himself looking at was the sparkling diamond sticking out from the shiny golden band on her ring finger.

“We're getting married.”

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AN: As a quick heads up, the next chapter will involve some Endgame spoilers. If it’s up quickly, then I’ll post a warning at the start of the chapter.

Please feel free to let me know what you think; constructive criticism, thoughts, anything. And feel free to just hit me up for a chat if you want. I’ll try to get the next chapter up as quickly as I can. Until then, adios!

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millercrystal · 7 years ago

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Home Is Where the Heart Is

Fandom: Star Wars sequel trilogy

Finn appreciation week 2018 - day 4 (Apr 12): home

Warnings: 1 very short scene at the beginning that is about Finn being taken by the First Order, some snippets of Finn’s life in the First Order in the 1st half of the fic, and also recounts the Finn vs Kylo Ren lightsabre duel in The Force Awakens. I tried to write these scenes with as few graphical descriptions as possible, but I’m tagging warnings for kidnapping, violence and injury just in case.

If there’s anything else you need me to tag for, please let me know.

Rating: teen and up

Genre: friendship and family

Word count: 3562

Remarks: I'm rather captivated by the idea of Finn chipping away the necessary walls he has built around pre-stormtrooper memories for surviving within the First Order, and re-learning his freedom for expressing emotions and affection to connect with his newfound family.

Who let Finn wander around by himself on an unfamiliar ship freshly woken up from a coma? And how did he manage to stagger past the hangar at the same time Poe saw him? That's too coincidental, I have so many questions.

---

One of the earliest memories that Finn has, is being hugged tightly as a young child. The hug was warm, like a cookie fresh out of oven.

Then, a voice, presumably his father's, urged him to run and hide in the nearby cave until they go find him.

He ran as fast as he could on his short stubby legs, but was lifted off the ground by strong arms. He tried to kick himself free, but all he managed was a grunt from his captor, who must had given him an anaesthetic patch as he had no recollection of the following events.

---

The next thing Finn remembers, is waking up groggily in a hall with dozens of children, all around the same age as him.

People in white armours and helmets slowly patrolled up and down their lines; the children, seeing the blasters in their hands, wisely stayed quiet. A man in a funny hat, dark tunic and knee-high boots went up on stage, talking about restoring order to the galaxy and loyalty to the First Order. Finn did not recall hearing about the First Order until now, and wondered when his father would come get him.

When the man on stage finished, a child a few rows away asked hesitantly, 'Where're Papa and Mama?' The voice rang through the quiet room.

The man searched through the room until his gaze landed on the child. He replied indifferently, 'From this day onwards, you will not have parents, but only comrades. The First Order is where you belong.'

Order, comrades, loyalty. What big words. Finn did not understand them, nor did the child who asked for their parents either, as they repeated in confusion, 'Mama? Mama?'

The man on stage gave a single sharp nod to one of the armour-clad, who reached the child right at that moment. The armour-clad pressed a patch to the back of their neck; the child soon crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

None of the remaining children spoke up afterwards.

---

Finn was remarkably calm during the first month. Although, the time was spent on memorising their designation numbers, easing into prescribed routines, and working on classes and duties, so he did not have a significant reason not to be. The supervisors for his batch seemed to have experience in training recruits during their first weeks, so punishments were just heavy enough to keep them in line without being too harsh. Extra laundry folding duties here, vacuuming duties there, or meal bans if a more severe punishment was needed. All of this, Finn could manage.

However, he could not quite comprehend the coldness, or rather, lack of warmth projected by any supervisor. Although there would be rare praises of 'Good.' or similar variants, none of them smiled when he or his batch mates did things correctly. He had come to the conclusion that success was expected.

On the last evening of the first month, a supervisor gave a short speech congratulating the batch on making pass a month. She then stressed their loyalty to the First Order, now their official family.

That night, after his batch mates had dozed off, Finn muffled his face in the pillow and quietly sniffled for the home he was taken from.

---

The initiates quickly learnt to hide how much they missed their real homes, for whenever supervisors caught wind of it, additional loyalty lessons would be scheduled.

It was only when they prepare for bed and no supervisor would be present, that they had relative privacy to talk about home. Finn was sure every one of them dreamt about home. They would trade stories, some of which were exaggerated in childish imagination.

Finn shared a few stories of his own, though he could not differentiate between memory and wishful imagination.

---

The cadets did not find out how severely they were discouraged from thinking about their birth families, until rotated training with a newer batch of trainees.

This particular introductory exercise was about the priority of mission completion. Finn, finding it easy to deduce expected actions of the trainees, did not struggle with the exercise. He completed the mission quickly and then sat down to watch the other trainees going through the scenario, with the stimulation projected onto a screen in the waiting room.

A young initiate from the newer batch was next. He made good progress until the last hurdle, where he froze.

On the projected screen, a middle-aged woman with red hair gathered into a bun kneeled on the ground, in front of an astronomical map marked with trade routes and schedules of the New Republic. That must mean the cadet had red hair, as the simulated woman was designed to resemble them.

He slowly raised his blaster with shaking hands.

She pleaded with tears in her eyes, 'Don't you remember your mama? My baby, what have they done to you?'

'Mama?' he attempted, the word foreign to his tongue.

'Yes, it's me. Don't you remember how I tucked you in every night? Come here, give your mama a hug.' she opened her arms cautiously.

The blaster paused in mid-air. Then, the cadet lowered it and walked to the woman. 'I miss you so much, Mama.'

The simulation ended immediately, with harsh white lights turning up to regular brightness. The supervisor for this exercise stepped out from the control room and addressed the trainee. 'FR-3056, were you clear on your mission?'

'Yes, Ma'am.'

'Summarise the mission.'

'Yes, Ma'am. The mission is to extract the map with trade information of the New Republic. Get rid of enemies protecting the map as needed.'

'Exactly. And yet, you chose not to continue your mission. Why?'

'Sorry, Ma'am, I could not kill my mother.'

'So, your personal interest interferes with the mission.' she stated with a blank expression.

Every cadet held their breath, waiting for her decision. Finn felt a sudden chill racing down his spine, even though the room, like every part of the starship, was temperature controlled.

The supervisor consulted her datapad, then continued, 'FR-3056, this is your second incident. Report for recondition tomorrow.'

When Finn saw FR-3056 again in the next training session 1 week later, the trainee fired his blaster at the red-haired woman without a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

The cadets whispered about FR-3056, and stopped talking about the homes they never knew.

---

Eventually, Finn rarely allowed himself to dwell on the voice from his memory. He told himself that, it was because there simply was no time between all the classes and duties when he had the luxury of not being too bone-tired to think for himself.

Deep down, he knew it was only part of the truth.

He had not thought of the voice in a long time, because pretending a home had never existed for him was less painful than knowing he had one but then lost it.

---

Years later, on Finn's second real-world mission, Jakku happened.

He looked into the eyes of scared villagers, young and old. The fact that they were humans, very much alive, struck him. This was not a simulation anymore; if he pulled the trigger, these families would be torn apart.

Around him, his squadmates shot left and right without hesitation.

He had always felt like an outsider among them even when he acted like a model trooper. Now, he refused to fit in. He would not kill for the Order; it would never be where he belonged.

It had never been a 'family' since the beginning.

He lowered his blaster and mentally prepared for an opening to slip away.

---

The Resistance pilot was on his knees before the warrior of the dark side. Finn could not hear their exchange from his position halfway across the squad, but he could see the 2 troopers who searched him brought him onto the ship back to base.

Finn had heard about interrogation methods, he hoped the pilot would not suffer too much at Ren's hand.

He must have projected the thought, for Ren abruptly spun to stare at him. He squared his shoulders and trotted nervously behind his leaving squad, feeling Ren's eyes on him the whole time.

Back at the base, Captain Phasma requested him to submit his blaster for inspection. Waiting for a subtle opening to run away was no longer an option, he had to make one himself.

He gave himself a quick pep talk and marched through the interrogation wing to the imprisoned pilot.

The Force was on his side. He bluffed past the trooper guarding the pilot and took him out of the cell. 'This is a rescue. I'm helping you escape. Can you fly a TIE fighter?'

'I can fly anything.' the pilot smirked. 'I'm Poe. Poe Dameron. What’s your name?'

---

Why did Poe want to go to Jakku again? Oh right, he had to get back some map. Unfortunately, they crashed and Poe was nowhere to be found, his leather jacket the only proof he had escaped with Finn.

Finn hated the planet; all he could see was sand all over the horizon and the blinding sun. The scorching heat drained him quickly; his mouth was dry and his bodysuit was drenched in sweat. He was convinced Jakku was determined to snuff out his existence before he could enjoy his newfound freedom.

When he met the scavenger girl after walking for the whole morning, he had just lost the first person who was kind to him in years (no, don't think of the pilot; losing his first friend - if he can count him as a friend - kriffing hurts). It must be the galaxy sending him a note not to open himself up to another person.

With the scavenger, came a droid. One assumption led to another; before he knew it, he was caught up in the girl's plan to reunite the droid with its owner. And then, he tripped and fell down. She ran to him, offering a hand to help him up. He stared at the outstretched hand like a simulation he could not figure out; surely, she was not really offering? If there was one thing Phasma partially succeeded in drilling into his head, it was that strength is only as strong as the weakest link. That was not wrong from the point of view of an army, though he refused to believe it was the whole truth.

Warily, he looked into Rey's eyes but only found sincerity. Maybe, she was like him, refusing to stop helping others even though a lifetime of teaching had taught him otherwise. He decided to take a leap of faith and took her hand.

He was pulled up and running alongside her and the droid.

This time, he was determined not to lose his new friend.

---

He had failed Rey.

After confessing to her about defecting from the First Order because he did not want to kill innocents, she was initially mad at him for hiding his former involvement with the Order. However, once she calmed down, she forgave him.

He noticed her following Solo around like a lost puppy. He had asked if she knew Solo; she replied no, but he felt familiar. She wished she knew if her father was like him. When Finn gave her a puzzled look, she looked down at the engine she was fixing and explained that she was left on Jakku as a child, with only blurred memories of the people who walked away from her while she cried for them to come back.

Rey had no family, just like Finn. He felt a surge of protectiveness; how dare those people willingly leave a defenceless child behind to fend for herself?

And right when he felt he had known her for his whole life, she was abducted. By Kylo Ren, the First Order's resident ill-tempered dark warrior, no less.

He vowed to get her back, the Order would not take away another friend from him.

---

It turned out Finn had not lost his first friend after all.

As the Millennium Falcon landed on the Resistance base, he looked out of the cockpit to see the ground bustling with activity. Pilots in orange flight suit talked with mechanics in earth brown overalls and droids. In the distance, officers and crews hurried into and out of the compound. Solo directed Finn and BB-8 to go ahead into the compound, while he and Chewie shut down the Falcon.

Strolling down the stretch of the runway taking in the base, Finn saw a pilot climbing down the side of a black painted X-wing. BB-8 knocked into the back of his knees and sped towards the starship with a series of excited beeps and whirls. The pilot talked to a mechanic while taking off their helmet, revealing a wave of black hair. Then, they turned towards BB-8 and a familiar airy voice carried over.

No, it couldn't be! Finn made himself blink once, twice, and was elated to find his eyes and brain were functioning properly.

His feet started running on their own accord. Before his very eyes, Poe stood up from talking to the droid, a wide grin breaking out on his face upon locating him. Poe stepped forward and rushed to meet him halfway, tackling him in a bone-crushing hug. Finn only hesitated for a fraction of a second before hugging back just as fiercely.

If all hugs felt as peaceful and safe as this one, maybe he could get used to them.

---

When Finn told Poe about Rey, who saved BB-8 first, and her subsequent kidnapping, Poe took him to General Organa directly. Unlike First Order officers, she was understanding and sympathetic, readily agreeing to help upon learning the Order's involvement. Finn offered whatever knowledge he had about Starkiller Base and everything else needed. In a short time, a planned mission was approved for the next day. They would soon be off to rescue Rey and stop the planetary weapon.

That night, Finn started awake in a cold sweat and could not manage to get back to sleep. His quarters for the night had no window, too similar to First Order-issued bunks for his liking. He put on Poe's jacket - no, his now - and slid silently out of the room.

Not wanting to get lost around the interconnecting corridors, he pressed onwards to the few zones he was introduced to during the day. His feet took him to a bench right outside the command centre, where they discussed out the mission plan earlier in the day.

Needless to say, he was surprised to find the General seated at a desk near the entrance, still up alongside the night shift officers.

General Organa looked up from the pile of charts she was studying. Not used to friendly interactions with officers, he greeted her and pass it off as simply walking past the centre on a stroll.

'Finn,' she halted him with a tired smile, catching up to tell him 'good work' for proposals on how to destroy the Starkiller. She then reminded him to try and rest enough for the mission while on the Falcon.

'Rey would be back before we know it.' she reached up and patted his arm.

Finn tried not to think about how much of an open book he must be for her to read, idly wondering if that was a skill all mother figures picked up.

---

Flying at light speed to Starkiller took a few hours, which Finn spent half of it fidgeting. Solo and Chewbacca shared a look, then Chewbacca shrugged. Solo sighed and addressed Finn.

'Look, I'm anxious about Rey as much as you do. But she'd survived on Jakku for so long, she's tough. I'm sure she can hold on until we get to her.'

'I know.' Finn glanced at him, then back at the wall panel he had been staring a hole into.

A few beats passed, then Solo made up his mind.

'Tell you what, I've been meaning to fix this squeaky panel in the cargo bay. How 'bout you give me a hand?'

Finn got up and followed him.

They sat on the floor fixing the panel in silence, until Finn asked tentatively, 'Do you ever miss home when you're flying around the galaxy?'

'Well… Sometimes, but I try not to think about it.'

'Where's your home?'

'What's a home? Is it where you were born? Is it where you grow up? Is it where you settle? Or is it a person?' Solo gestured around with the screwdriver still in his hand, then raised an eyebrow at him.

'So, which is it?' Finn tilted his head, frowning.

'That, you have to decide for yourself. You'll know when you've found yours.'

---

Finn was awed to find Rey broke out all by herself.

It was a whirlwind of finding out truths, each more shocking than the previous. Ren was actually Solo's son; him killing Solo for some twisted access to the Force; him choosing power granted by the First Order over genetic family.

And the most worrying turn of events? Ren had been waiting for them as they trekked through the forest back to the Falcon, wanting to turn Rey to the Order's side. He had made his intentions crystal clear.

To Finn's eternal relief, Rey rejected the 'offer' outright. She did not waste one second in insulting Ren, calling him a monster. Kriffing right she was.

Ren responded by knocking her into a tree by Force and Finn's heart nearly stopped. He ran over and dropped to check her pulse. It was only when she groaned that he knew she'd be alright and his brain restarted.

A few crackling swishes and 'Traitor!' reminded him that Ren was still preying on them.

Rey had defended Finn; it was now his turn to return the favour.

He knew there was no way he would stand a chance against an experienced Force user, but Force if he would let anyone else be taken away from him. He was not going down without a fight.

He fired up Skywalker's lightsabre and charged Ren.

He held his own relatively well for a first time user, until Ren swept the sabre from his hands and punched his face so hard, forcing his back to be exposed. Ren followed up with a heavy upwards slash.

Instantly, a fiery pain exploded across Finn's back. He collapsed onto the snow.

If he was going to die, at least he had fought back against the organisation which had manipulated him since he was a young child. He could only hope Rey and Poe would forgive him for not succeeding.

Too exhausted by the overwhelming pain, his vision grew dark.

---

When Finn regained his senses, he was in a transparent bacta suit strapped inside a clear tank.

Thinking the First Order caught him again, he kicked open the cover and scrambled out, gaining his bearing to formulate an escape plan. It was then the interior decoration theme finally caught his attention - the Order's default colour theme was dark grey and black, not light grey and white.

A nurse parted a sliver of the privacy curtain to investigate the commotion. Finn took note of the Resistance emblem over her lapel and relaxed slightly.

'Ah, you're awake! That's good, it means your spine's nearly healed.'

'My spine?'

'Yes, do you remember what happened?'

'Not really. Where am I?'

'We're on the Resistance fleet, this ship's called the Raddus. Better let the doctor check you over first though, just sit here while I get her. Dr Kalonia!' she strode off without waiting for his reply.

For his part, Finn padded out of the medical bay to find Rey and Poe, taking the opposite route from the nurse. It was admittedly not the best idea, as he had no way to know if they would be on the same ship.

He wandered around with a stiff spine and occasional funny looks thrown by passing staff. It was a miracle that he managed to ask someone who knew where Poe would be and could give him the right directions.

He was stumbling past the hangar scanning for Poe when a loud voice exclaimed, 'Finn, buddy!' followed by a heavy thud. When he turned clumsily towards the voice, he was greeted by Poe's thick dark curls suddenly sticking up everywhere right in his face and a hand on his arm. 'You were in a pretty bad shape, I was so worried about you.'

'Good to see you too. Where's Rey?' he squeezed Poe's shoulder in return, not realising water was sprouting from his suit until Poe got busy covering up the disconnected tubes with his bare hands.

'It's a kinda long story, buddy. Let's get your bacta fixed first before I update you, yeah? Bee, go on ahead and tell Dr Kalonia to prep for Finn.'

---

It feels like a whole month of jumping through the galaxy with the Resistance before Finn finally sees Rey in person on Crait; he cannot help himself from crashing into her and burying his face into her neck. She's alive, she's come back for him, she's hugging him as tightly as he's hugging her. Then, he is openly sobbing into her tunic. Poe comes up and puts a hand on his back, mindful of his still healing spine.

This must be what a home feels like, Finn muses. Maybe, he has found himself a new home without realising.

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