#wanted to get the cover posters scanned in a higher quality and ended up grabbing everything while i was at it lol

[why-its-kai]

Scans of the box, DVD case inserts, and discs from the 2010 Funimation Trigun: The Complete Series DVD set, featuring an autograph from Johnny Yong Bosch on the front cover!

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Under My Skin: Chapter 1

Series masterlist

Word count = 4,6 k

Chapter Warnings = swearing, canon-typical violence, bad writing

Summary = You hate Poe Dameron. Simple, right?

Edit = Cross posted to AO3

Part 1 of 4 (I think)

Poe Dameron didn’t like you and you didn’t like Poe Dameron.

“Because!” You grouse to Rose as you make your way to the cantina, “he thinks he’s so much better than everyone else, no one could ever come close to his skills, and he always gets the best missions, and he’s good, but he’s not that good, he acts like he’s god's gift to women - no scratch that - to the galaxy, and he’s so arrogant!” You’re growling in frustration as you round the corner, suddenly lowering your voice as much as you can because Dameron is right there at the end of the corridor, deep in discussion with General Organa and Finn.

Rose’s only response is to whack you over the head as she walks through the swinging doors in the centre of the corridor. You’ve never been so glad you don’t have to walk past Dameron in your life. “What was that about?” You hiss as you catch up with Rose, grabbing your own tray and helping yourself to dinner. “You didn’t have to hit me in front of General Organa.” Rose snorts. “Yeah the General was the one you were worried about.”

Trays full, the two of you spot an empty booth and hurry towards it, sitting opposite each other. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You won’t shut up about Poe.” She jabs her fork at you, causing bits of potato to fall to the table. You can only gape, words escaping you momentarily.

Momentarily.

“What! I won’t - Dameron - he - he and I - urgh! - never in my life - he’s annoying!” You settle on finally, fully aware that you’re now whining. “He frustrates me!”

Rose raises an eyebrow, “Well maybe you need to work out those frustrations.” You shake your head, deciding to ignore her for now as you concentrate on eating. “You do need to get laid.”

You yelp, coughing when you try to swallow too quickly in shock. And then- “I can help with that, sweetheart.” You whip round, eyes narrowing when Dameron’s behind you, his flight suit tied around his waist, exposing his dirty vest and irritatingly strong arms. The only person who can beat him in arm wrestling is Finn - you can no longer count the amount of times he’s beaten you.

You take another scoop of dinner before talking with a full mouth. “Ok, one, I’m not your sweetheart, and two, Rose is wrong, and even if she was right, I definitely don’t need your help with-” you pause, swallow, and gesture vaguely in his general direction. “That.”

This, annoyingly, only seems to make him grin more. “That? You’re not gonna call it what it is?” You lean back, pulling your most unimpressed look onto your face, as he continues, still smirking, even having the audacity to wink at you. “Hot, animal sex.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff, turning back to your dinner. “Whatever you say, Dameron.”

“Does it make you feel better, being mean to me?” Dameron asks as he squeezes onto the small piece of bench next to you. You huff, moving up so that you’re not touching. You don’t like him, but you’re not rude. 

Ignoring his question, you deflect. “Where’s Finn? Don’t you want to sit with him?” It takes more effort than it should to sound like you’re asking out of interest, and not because you want him to go away. Which you do.

“He’s still talking to Leia.” Your eyes flick to Rose, and she knows what you’re thinking. You twist your body to face Dameron, bringing a leg up under you. “Is this about the mission?” Her voice is low as she leans across the table, forgetting about the rest of her dinner.

The last few days have been hell. Rumours have been flying around base, centered around a box full of Jedi crystals. Kyber crystals, you’d told Rose the other day, not that the name cleared anything up. You’d poked around the base’s library on your datapad when you had the odd chance, but the Jedi were now the stuff of legend, just stories told to children about ‘the good old days’.  

The rumours made things worse - you’re not sure how much of it to believe - there were so few people who were even Force sensitive but as far as you were aware there were no Jedi left. Luke Skywalker was lost, and therefore probably dead. And even if Jedi did still exist, weren’t they supposed to be the good guys? Why hadn’t they come to help fight along with the Resistance?

But Dameron decides to play dumb. “What mission?” His eyes are too wide to be innocent and it annoys you. “Finn’s talking to Leia about…” he pauses, eyes desperately searching the cantina as he tries to think of a good excuse. “The quality of the food!” Turning to you, his eyes are intense. “I know you want more chocolate pudding.” You ignore how he knows that, instead focusing on glaring at him. “Dameron do you think I’m a good pilot?”

“Look,” he turns to face you, ignoring his own food even as you continue to eat, “it’s nothing to do with your skills as a pilot.” He pauses, but you interrupt before he can give you some empty platitude. “I think it is - otherwise why am I not being included?”

“Hey, will you listen,” he turns to you, poking his finger at you for emphasis. “This mission is top-secret and the risk of the First Order finding out is high so-” This time you properly interrupt, flicking his finger out of your personal space.

“So you just decide to talk about it in the corridor by the busy cantina, where everyone and their mother will see you?”

This shuts him up.

The two of you are looking into each other's faces, inches apart. And it’s annoying because Dameron is unfortunately handsome. Why? Why is he of all people so good looking? Rose coughs obnoxiously loud, causing the two of you to break eye contact and turn to look at her. You lean back from him, trying your best to look thoroughly unimpressed as he stands, picking up his tray and when he speaks, huffing, his voice is sharper than it was before.

“Look, I only came over to say that we’re going to have a mission briefing tomorrow at 6. Ok? So, just-” He leaves, mumbling the rest of the sentence under his breath as he walks across the cantina towards Rey, leaving you with your mouth hanging open, looking and feeling like an idiot.

“Well,” you say as you turn back to Rose. “That’s why I hate him.”

“You’ve got a mission, aren’t you pleased about that?” You can tell you’re annoying her now, but you roll your eyes. “Yeah, with Dameron. He’s just going to be hanging over my shoulder and passing judgement whenever he can. I’m not getting my hopes up.”

Every time you came back from a mission Dameron was there. Always. Just waiting to tell you what you should have done, how you should have flown, how he would have done it. As though the only reason he hadn’t done it was because he was too important.

You knew you didn’t fly how most people did, it had cost you marks in your final exams at school, and it cost you a place in a higher squadron, but it was hard to find the will to change when the poster boy for the Resistance saw nothing but incompetence when he looked at you. Bastard, you couldn’t help but think as you stabbed the last of your greens, wishing it was his face.

***

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

The mission had been going so well. You’d dropped into the planet’s upper atmosphere, bypassing the planet’s security, got inside the compound, obtained the uber-secret box (your briefing hadn’t quite covered what was inside, annoyingly) and you’d been about to sneak out when you’d decided a bit more snooping was necessary.

The box had been in the centre of a library/museum set-up and even you could tell that these were rare books. So you’d told Dameron to inspect the objects while you scanned the books, pulling out a few that caught your eye.

The first warning you had been given was a blaster grazing your arm, causing you to yelp in pain, dropping the books and duck to the floor as another shot had ripped through the shelves - an inch or two above where your head had been. So a crap shot then.

Paper had fluttered down around you as you looked for Dameron. The shelves would provide good cover but unfortunately it also meant you couldn’t see your shooter. Pulling your blaster out from its holder, you aimed a couple of returning shots into the darkness at the edges of the room as you looked for Dameron.

You found him near the exit, standing over a number of droids. He’d been holding the box with one arm, the other bleeding heavily, but you’d managed to escape, tangling with another droid who’d punched you as you left the way you came, avoiding the crap shooter on your way out. You didn’t want the First Order to know who’d been there.

So now you and Dameron were walking back to the ship, cutting through undergrowth as you desperately tried to remember the way, face throbbing in pain. Dameron had fallen quiet very quickly, and you were alarmed to see how much blood he had lost so far. His face was pale and all you could think was that it was your fault. If you hadn’t’ve tried to poke around and look for other useful bits and pieces, you would have got out with no trouble.

Oh shit.

You were definitely lost now. You’d taken a gamble on the last turn and this was wrong. There should be a stream somewhere to your left which led back to the ship. Where was it? This was so wrong. And how were you going to admit this to Dameron? “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You swore under your breath.

“What’s wrong?” Dameron’s voice wasn’t right. He’d lost a lot of his power, and you turned to face him, watching as a small drop of blood fell to the floor. You don’t want to say it, you know he’s going to hold this over your head later, your first truly important mission and you’ve fucked up so bad. “I -” you hesitate, mouth open, so unwilling to say it, especially to Poe, you have to force it out. “We’re lost...I don’t know the way back.”

And...oh god, you’re not going to start crying are you? You can feel the familiar burn on the back of your eyes so you blink, looking away from him. But Dameron starts struggling, using his injured arm to try and reach down, looking for something. You move closer, grabbing his wrist and forcing him to stop moving, to stop aggravating his injury. “What are you doing?” And your voice is mean and you don’t know why but his skin is cool, cooler than it should be causing your heart to skitter out of control.

Dameron looks up into your face and his eyes are a little unfocused. Shit. “Looking for a tracker - the ship -” His voice doesn’t sound normal. But you have to be the calm one, you have to be the one in charge so you push the panic down, trying to speak normally. “Where is it? You shouldn’t be using that arm.”

“In my pocket, I -” But you’re one step ahead, unceremoniously dropping his wrist and reaching in, pulling the tracker out. A thin disc with a central button, which you press, and a red light spins around the edge before settling a direction to your left, forcing you to turn about 45 degrees.

You set off, pushing through the undergrowth and snapping branches from trees, kicking any debris out of Poe’s path as he stumbles behind you. Panic is still rising in you, you can’t be the reason the Resistance’s best pilot dies. Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuckin’ motherfucker, please, please, plea-

You pause for a second, trying to get your breathing back under control, even as it skitters away from you. You glance back at Poe, who nods at you.

BB-8 is waiting back at the ship, preliminary checks before take-off having been completed. You help Poe lift into the co-pilot’s chair you’d been occupying earlier and squeezing into the pilot’s chair. You don’t remember the flight back, don’t remember dodging the planet’s security as you took off, all you remember is how pale and quiet Poe is. He watches you the whole way which would normally annoy you, but you don’t think his eyes are fully focused.

You’ve done better landings when you get back to the base, but you don’t really care, Poe’s breathing is different, you can’t stop the panic rising in you, and the second you’ve opened the door you’re yelling, voice already hoarse. “Medic! Medic! I need - I need a medic!” People swirl around you, when did they get here? But you don’t want to let go of Poe, one arm around his back, his uninjured one around your neck while you keep a tight hold of the box.

You fight as someone tries to unfurl your fingers, Poe’s weight disappearing and you’re crying now, hardly able to open your eyes. You don’t feel the sharp sting of the tranquilizer, instead blindly fighting the rising darkness inside you, unable to recognise it for what it is. Voices are all around you, muffled like you’re underwater and lights are appearing in bright spots above your head. You’re floating, falling backwards, further and further, until everything turns black.

***

The debrief was not fun.

Barely out of the medbay, you’d relayed to General Organa what had happened, how it had been your idea to stay back, how you’d got lost in the forest after, how you made a mess.

Due to your injuries, it had been just you and her, and even now, safely in your bunk, you couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than having to tell a whole command room. Sure, you’d been spared public humiliation, but at the cost of having General Organa’s full attention on your failure.

You’d pulled your curtain across your bunk, and you felt as though you might have to stay buried under your covers for at least a week to emotionally recover from the whole ordeal. The worst part of it was that General Organa hadn’t even seemed disappointed, or angry, just...like she expected it.

And Dameron was still in the medbay. It was coming up to 4 days later, but you’d maintained your distance, not sure your fragile heart could stand the pain of knowing his condition was your fault, no matter what anyone said.

You wanted to see him, to apologise, but at the same time the idea of facing him made you feel sick. It was your fault he was in the medbay, you should have prevented it. In fact, the only reason you even knew he was still in the medbay was because you assumed there would be some kind of announcement or celebration when he was better.

A knock on your door made you jump, and then frown, however the door began to open before you could respond which you supposed was kind of your fault, you should have locked it, now you were going to have to talk to someone-

And General Organa walks into the room.

You stand up so fast, you get a rush of blood to the head, your vision going black slightly at the edges. “General, I-” you start talking before you even know what you’re going to say, so shocked to see your hero in your room. Your eyes flick over to the mess of clothes you haven’t bothered to wash in the last week, tissues on the floor, half eaten snack bars and their wrappers littered around as you wished the room was a lot tidier.

“I wanted to check how you were getting on.” Her voice is soft, but still carries that familiar authority as she pulls out the chair from your desk and sits on it.

Your mind goes blank. General Organa...wanted to check...on you?

You manage to pull yourself together, sitting back down on your bed with a suddenly excellent posture. “Good, thank you General.” You can hardly look at her, it’s like she emits light, and it’s too bright, too much.

You’re hyper-aware of your every movement, this is the first time you’ve properly talked to her, you want her to like you, and oh my god she’s in your room? Her eyes never leave you, so you stare at your hands, fingers twisting in your lap. “Call me Leia.” She pauses, but it’s not enough time for the implications of that to sink in. “It’s understandable if you’re still feeling rough.” Oh stars you’re going to cry.

Your eyes are watery and you know looking down only increases the chances of them falling, but if you look up, she’ll see. “I wish I’d done things differently.” You say, and your voice sounds rough.

The room is swimming when you finally look up, but General Orga - Leia is smiling softly at you. “I think about every second of that mission and for every decision that I made, I wish, I wish I did the opposite thing.”

“Why?” The question is asked so simply, and there are so many answers, they crowd your mind. “You were successful, weren’t you?” Still you can only gape at her. Successful? Dameron is still in the medbay-

“I know what it’s like to blame yourself for a mission going sideways.” Leia continues, “But you retrieved the box, you’re both alive, Poe is healing well, the medics say the bleeding has stopped and his stomach is on the mend now.” His stomach? You frown, his stomach wasn’t injured, it was just his shoulder, but Leia mistakes your frown for further dissent.

“I know you think it was your fault because you said let’s stay behind, but what if you had found something important? And Poe agreed, didn’t he? It’s not just on you. You just have to learn when the risk is worth the reward.” With that, she stands, so you do too. “I’ll formally debrief the two of you together when Poe’s out of the medbay, but I thought you needed to know this.” You nod, unable to speak again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

It’s almost too late before you can speak again, Leia halfway out of the door, but she turns back when she hears your voice. “Thank you.” And you mean it. Leia didn’t say much, and nothing new, but she was right. The mission was technically a success. Things went wrong, but you were both alive.

Sitting back on your bed, you feel lighter, more like normal. And a part of that normality is annoyance towards a certain pilot. He was injured in his stomach? The more you think about it, the more a cold fury rises in you. Why wouldn’t he say? He was carrying that heavy box and - you let out a growl, surprisingly loud in the quiet room.

You make your way to the medbay, becoming angrier and angrier with each step. No wonder he had so much blood loss! How dare he not say anything! How could he not tell you? Did he not trust you?

You ignore the signs that tell you visiting hours are over, and maybe it’s the look in your eyes that stops any medics from reminding you as such when you march up to the front desk. “I need to see Poe Dameron, which room is he in?” You feel a tiny bit bad for being so demanding to an overworked medic, but you can’t think past how Poe Dameron lied to you.

You’re shaking as you walk to Dameron’s room, not bothering with pleasantries as you bang open the door. He’s lying in the bed, BB-8 charging in the corner and had you been calmer you would have noticed how Dameron jerked awake when you slammed his door shut. You ignore how he’s hooked up to various machines and drips, bandages covering his body.

“You were shot in the stomach?” Your voice is mean again.

Dameron just blinks groggily at you, a combination of drugs and tiredness, but you push down any pity, letting righteous anger flood your veins with fire. “What?” His voice is hoarse from misuse and sleep.

“You were shot in the stomach?” You repeat, keeping hold of that cold fury as you look down at his face. This extra minute is all Dameron needs to wake up properly and realise why you’re so upset. “No- just, just stabbed.”

“Just!” - and it’s like you’re watching yourself, no control over your actions and even to your own ears you sound hysterical, the volume of your voice rising.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You demand as he presses a button, lifting the top half of his bed up. Tears are once again pricking your eyes, but this time you will not be crying, so you wipe them away quickly, past caring.

“Because,” Dameron huffs, realising that's not a full sentence. “I don’t know - you...you had enough on your plate, I didn’t want to add to it.”

“You should have told me.” Your voice is dangerous now, your whole body thrumming with an unshakeable anger, even as you stand completely still. A strong undercurrent continues to carry you onwards in the conversation, and you know you’ll need to leave before it runs out. “You carried that box for fuck knows how long, and what? You were just hiding your injury? You just wanted to be a hero, or embarrass me?”

Dameron stays silent, glare heavy in his eyebrows. It’s too much, you want, you need answers.

“ANSWER ME!” You roar, lashing out in defence.

“I had to!” He’s shouting now too, pushing against the bed with his strong arm. “It was hard enough to snap you out of it when we were in the compound - I wasn’t going to add to it - I had to know you could fly us home!”

His words are like they punched you, a heavy exhalation, and it’s as though all the anger was tightly held in your lungs. “I flew us home.” Your voice sounds small as you take a step back. Dameron’s found the one chink in your armour again, just like he did when you first met, the one weak spot of your insecurity and smashed it to smithereens.

There’s silence in the medbay, pushing against your eardrums as though to emphasise just how the loud the two of you were. There’s a brief flicker of curiosity in the back of mind, wondering why the nurses haven’t intervened yet.

You can’t look at Dameron anymore, instead taking in the number of different machines he’s hooked up to, watching the drips, how his heart rate starts to lower as he forces himself to calm down. “So you didn’t trust me?” You don’t want the answer, but you can’t stop the words.

He takes his time answering again, but you still don’t look at him, hands playing behind your back with the hem of your jumper. “If you don’t trust me - you should have asked Leia to switch me out!” Shut up, shut up, shut up, why can’t you stop talking, you stupid-

“Maybe I should’ve!” His voice doesn’t change, there’s no difference in his heart beat, although it’s on the high side of normal, matching yours, but something changed. There’s a split in the room, a chasm separating the two of you that wasn’t there before.

“Well why didn’t you?”

“Because I felt sorry for you!” Your eyes snap up, looking at his face in terror. “I wanted to give you a chance! I didn’t think you’d fuck up like that.” If Dameron’s earlier words were a punch to your gut, these sent you sprawling. Short of an atomic blast inside you, any feeling left inside you was obliterated. Hot embarrassment crawls up your arms and you want Dameron to feel the same pain.

“Fuck you.”

The words hang there, each second an eon. Poe instantly regrets his words, knowing he’s gone too far. He opens his mouth to apologise, but the words don’t come.

Neither of you say anything, glares still spitting red-hot fire, when you suddenly want to leave. You don’t want to see Dameron’s face again, not for a long time. So you clench your jaw, throwing up your middle finger and slamming the door behind you.

***

Isolating yourself doesn’t seem quite so appealing once you’ve left the medbay, so instead you make your way to Rose’s room, grabbing a bottle of firewater from the cantina as you pass. You need a drink.

When you arrive, you’re not sure you want to talk about the recent shitstorm your life has recently become so the first words out of your mouth when Rose opens the door is- “Do you like Jannah?”

It’s a little mean of a conversation to spring on your friend, but you’re a lot of things, and blind is not one of them. You’ve seen how the two mechanics look at each other. Especially when they think the other won’t see. Holding up the bottle as a peace offering, Rose smirks at you before leaving her door open as an invitation.

Rose denies having a crush on Jannah as you work through the bottle, only conceding on the point that Jannah is very pretty. You’re probably a little too quick to agree, blaming it on the drink that’s currently making you feel like you’re floating a couple of inches above the ground.

Comfortable silence falls on the two of you as you sit there, the floor a little cold under you, leaning against Rose’s bed.

“I’ve been thinking-” Rose starts but you interrupt before she can get any further.

“Dangerous.”

Rose doesn’t dignify this with a response, instead waiting until you wave a hand at her to continue.

“We’ve got a coordinating day off next cycle, if you wanna go to Sanctuary III. They’ll have a festival then, I can’t remember which but it should be good fun.” You can tell she’s keen, so you’ll go with her, but you find it hard to inject any enthusiasm into your voice.

Rose picks up on this, sighing as she refills her glass. “Alright don’t seem too keen on the idea.”

Your shrug, not really wanting to talk about the real reason you can’t find any excitement. “Sorry. I’ll go with you. It’ll be fun.”

“What’s wrong?” Her voice is gentle, and her hand is on your arm, and it’s so reassuring, so warm, your skin sings under her palm.

You talk to your feet as you tell Rose what Dameron said. “-and he - it was horrible, Rose,” you sniffle, tears springing into your eyes again. “And I - we’ve never got on, he’s, y’know, annoying, we’re always bickering, but I just - I never thought that he actually - it’s my fault he’s injured, and maybe he does hate me and-”

You stop your tirade and for the first time, just let yourself cry and breathe for a second. Rose’s arm comes around your shoulder and you lean into it, slightly. “It’s fine - I mean I never liked him anyway, now I can just move straight into the dislike section, maybe even hate I dunno.”

“Ok you should know that that’s not healthy first of all.” Rose’s voice floats out from above your head. “Second, I’m sure he didn’t mean it, and anyway, who cares what he thinks? Leia thought you did well. And third, this is all the more reason to do something on our day off!”

You give a weak chuckle and nod. You spent the rest of the night, playing cards and chatting about lighter topics until both of your eyes start to burn and you make your way to bed.  

***

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Chapter 2