Chapter Text
The roar of the engine of your modified racer floods your ears as you tear toward the finish line, kicking up a storm of sand and dust in your wake. Months of fine-tuning and numerous tweaks made after each one of your races have turned your ship into an extension of yourself. Your heart pounds with the familiar rush of adrenaline as you navigate the twisting, treacherous course, hands moving instinctively to adjust the controls with precision. Each maneuver is a dance, your racer responding to your every command.
The landscape blurs past, the dry desert terrain a streak of coppers and beiges. Deftly, you dodge rock formations, weaving through the tight spaces between opponents with an ease that borders on reckless. These are the moments you live for, the ones in which you feel truly free, unburdened by expectations and responsibilities.
As the finish line accelerates toward you, your grip tightens on the controls. The racer vibrates with effort as you push it to its limits. The thrill of the race reaches its peak as you bring it over the line, a heady mix of excitement and triumph thrumming through your veins. The crowd’s cheers are a distant roar, barely audible over the rush of your pulse in your ears.
It’s an intoxicating, unfettered high that only comes from these victories. One that you crave more than anything. You slow your ship, the world gradually coming back into focus as you land in your usual underground hangar. The exhilaration lingers, a warm, electric buzz that leaves you with your senses sharper than ever.
You remove your helmet, hair damp with sweat as you climb out of the cockpit, expecting to see Karael waiting to greet you like she usually does. But your mechanic friend is nowhere to be found. Instead, you spot a figure leaning against a nearby pillar that makes your stomach clench and your satisfactory delight dissipate in seconds.
“Commander,” his title slips out of your mouth hoarsely.
Poe Dameron steps forward, arms crossed and a stern, penetrating gaze on his face. The pleasant warmth you were feeling is immediately engulfed by the fiery heat rising to your cheeks. Not him. Anyone but him.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, pilot,” Poe says, his voice low and tight with barely contained anger. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
A wave of dread washes over you as you try to maintain your composure. Poe is the most frustrating man you know—cocky to the point of irritation, an insufferable philanderer of the highest order, and critical of anyone who didn’t live up to his impossible standards. But worst of all, he’s your boss, and the fact he’s here can only mean a world of trouble for you.
“I can explain—,” you start.
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this,” he says, tone dripping with sarcasm. “How long have you been sneaking off to these races? How many times have you risked your life just for a thrill?”
You bristle at his words. “I’m not risking my life. I know what I’m doing. And it’s not just for a thrill. It’s—,”
“It’s a distraction,” he cuts in again sharply. “A dangerous, reckless distraction from your duties. Do you have any idea what could happen if you let even one mistake slip?”
A scoff bursts from your lips as you meet his gaze defiantly. As if he’s one to talk about being reckless. Honestly, what a fucking hypocrite.
“I’m a good pilot, Poe. You’d know that if you threw me a few meaningful assignments once in a while. I can handle myself, believe it or not.”
“Being able to handle yourself doesn’t make yourself invincible. You’re a part of the Resistance. You have responsibilities. You can’t just throw that away because you want to prove something.”
You’re not certain, but it seems like a flicker of concern breaks through his anger for just a moment. It cuts through to your core, dampening your prickling annoyance at him. Damn him and his stupid face.
“Maybe, I’m tired of always having to prove myself to you,” you snap, taking a step closer. “Maybe, I’m tired of you always looking over my shoulder, waiting for me to screw up.”
Poe’s jaw clenches, drawing your attention to its loathsome sharpness. There’s no way he’s going to let you off the hook for this, and this is definitely not the time to be admiring the squareness of his jaw.
“You’re coming back with me to headquarters, and that’s final,” he says. “We’ll deal with this there.”
Well, there it is. A boldness threads its way through your ribs and up your throat. It’s not like you have anything left to lose at this point. He’s probably going to see to it that you get kicked out of the Resistance once and for all. One less thorn in his side.
“And what if I say no?”
His deep-set eyes narrow at you, lids lowering dangerously. “Then, I’ll drag you back myself.”
Silence stretches between the two of you, tension hanging heavy in the air. After a while, a bitter laugh finally claws its way out of your mouth. Maybe, you won’t be able to appeal to his sympathy, but you can certainly try baiting his ridiculously large ego.
“It’s not even like I’m neglecting any of my work for the Resistance, considering how little you trust me to manage without screwing up. But fine. You want to make a big deal out of this? Let’s at least make it interesting,” you say.
Poe’s eyes follow the movement of your hand as you lift it and jab one finger into his chest, goading. It takes him aback, his arms falling to his side and mouth opening in protest.
“This is not subject for debate, pilot,” he says.
“You enter the next race with me,” you say, ignoring his attempt at pushing back. “If you win, I’ll come back and face whatever punishment you think I deserve.”
He lifts one brow at her. “And If you win?”
“You let me go,” you shrug innocently. “And, you face whatever punishment I think you deserve.”
For a moment, he just stares at you in disbelief. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Let’s not spoil any surprises,” you say in a low voice, brushing your finger gently down his chest.
Stars, what in the hell are you even thinking right now? You might be resigned to the fact that you could lose your job as a Resistance pilot after this, but now you’re signing yourself up for utter humiliation as well. At least, that’s what you think until Poe lets out a shaky breath and the slightest of trembles beneath your featherlight touch.
Huh. Interesting.
“You’re serious?” he says, quickly recovering and plastering on a look of indifference.
You lift your chin, defiant to the last. “Dead serious. What do you say, Dameron? Think you can beat me?”
A cocksure smile breaks over his face. You’ve got him right where you want him.
“You’re on. You’re a decent pilot, kid, but you don’t stand a chance against the best pilot in the Resistance,” he says. “This is your last chance, so do your best not blow it, alright?
Kriff, you want to strangle him.
“Sure, flyboy,” you say with as unamused an affect as possible. “Now, can you tell me what you did with my mechanic?”
~
Karael, you learn, had been indisposed during your confrontation with Poe because he’d had the stroke of genius to offer to pay her tab at the cantina for the day. Some friend she is.
When you found her, an impressive amount of drinks deep at the bar, she was too far gone to get started working on the racer right away. Figures. At least, she managed to drive Poe into a small amount of debt. That had to be satisfying enough for the day.
The next morning, nursing one monster of a migraine and a hangover to end all hangovers, Karael managed to drag herself out of bed and immediately confined herself in her workshop. You’re a little touched that she’d been sentient enough the previous night to pay attention to your cathartic ranting.
“You sure about this?” she asks for about the hundredth time when you come back after a trip to the market in the afternoon.
“I have to do this, Kara. I could be discharged for this,” you say, dropping into a seat on top of one of the crates next to her workbench.
Karael shakes her head, pausing in her work to rest her hands on her hips. “What would be so bad about that? You know I never wanted you to get mixed up with the Resistance in the first place. It’s dangerous, starshine. More dangerous than these races.”
You wave off her concerns dismissively and hand her one of the meilooruns you managed to barter for from one of the import stalls. “You’ve seen me race. I know the course inside and out and won a bunch of times at this point. If anyone can beat Poe Dameron at this, it’s me.”
“If you hadn’t gotten such a big head and won so many times, maybe he wouldn’t have caught on to your antics so quickly,” Karael mutters teasingly before taking a bite out of the fruit.
She might be right, but you scowl at her words anyway. At some point, maybe the racing itself became not quite enough. Breaking the rules is just so much more satisfying when it comes with the win at the end.
“He would have caught on eventually,” you say, scoffing. “He’s always on my case, like he doesn’t trust me.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m more than familiar with all your little gripes,” Karael says, leaning lazily against her workbench. “But have you ever considered he might just keep such a close eye on you because he likes you more than he lets on?”
You blink at her. “What? No way.”
Poe is nothing more than an overconfident show-off. You’ll concede he’s an impressive pilot, but most of his successes as a commander were a result of luck, in your humble opinion. And he’s always running his mouth, with his ridiculous boasting and his ridiculous flirting.
Karael shrugs, setting down her half-eaten meiloorun and returning to her work with a grin. “You complain about him so much I feel like he’s my boss, starshine. But I think, deep down, you enjoy the challenge.”
You can feel the blush creeping up into your cheeks. Even though her back is to you, you feel the need to roll your eyes dramatically, just for your own sake.
“It’s definitely not like that, Kara.”
“Sure, sure,” she says in a playful tone. “Just remember, you’re the one who got yourself into this mess. Don’t let your feelings get in the way. I don’t think your pride could take it if Dameron actually won.”
~
The sun blazes overhead the day of the race, painting harsh shadows onto the desert landscape. The atmosphere in the hangars is electric as ever, the buzzing of spectators in the stands feeding your anticipation. It’s part of your ritual to take in the excitement before a race. It fuels your ever-growing determination to win.
Karael had done an excellent job on your racer, as always. The two of you spent a long time perfecting it together, and you’re more confident than ever in its capabilities. Smoother than your X-wing, perhaps more difficult to handle, but you understand it inside and out.
You get into the cockpit, admittedly a little more nervous than you’re used to, and slide your helmet over your head. With a few flips of the switches, the engine awakens with a satisfying purr. The comms crackle to life in your ear.
“How’s everything looking?” Karael asks.
“She’s all set to race,” you tell her, eagerness oozing from your voice.
“Go get ‘em, starshine.”
As you roll your ship out of the hangar, you notice Poe’s racer a few spaces down. A loaner that Karael was gracious enough to find from one of her contacts. You’ve seen him doing practice runs with it, and—well, what did you expect? He’s Poe Dameron, after all. Of course, he makes flying a brand new ship look easy after only a few days.
“You ready for this?” Poe’s voice comes through the comms, startling you.
“More than you know, Dameron,” you bite back as you bring your racer to a stop at the starting line. “Try to keep up will you?”
He chuckles. “We’ll see about that.”
As the countdown begins, you take a measured breath and place your hands on the controls. Relax your grip, clear mind, trust in your instincts. You’re right at home in this cockpit, and you’re going to make your commander eat his words.
The signal flashes, and you launch forward, racer speeding ahead with a roar. You never aim for the early lead, but you happen to come out ahead immediately.
“Nice start,” Poe’s voice crackles in. “But don’t get too comfortable.”
A smirk pulls at your lips, eyes fixed on the path ahead. The course is a blur of sharp turns and narrow passages. It demands constant concentration, even for a practiced pilot like you, but you can’t help throwing a quip back at him.
“Worried already? Thought you were supposed to be the best.”
“Oh, I am,” he replies smoothly. “Just making sure you don’t forget it.”
All the other racers fade away. Your mind is laser focused on you and Poe. This is a race between two people. Everyone else is irrelevant.
You don’t need to look to know he’s on your tail. His proximity almost feels like a taunt. It’s like he’s waiting for you to make that one mistake that will let him overtake you. Your determination increases tenfold, spurring you on. Racing is always an electrifying experience, but today, it’s almost transcendent.
“Watch out for that turn,” Poe says, his bravado wavering.
You’ve already anticipated the turn he’s talking about and take it with ease. Your racer skims dangerously close to the rocky outcrop, and admittedly, you might have been showboating just a little, but the maneuver buys you just that much more distance between you and him.
“Thanks for the tip, but I’ve got this,” you tell him sarcastically.
Poe emits a noise through the comms that sounds almost like an indignant grunt, though it’s hard to tell now that your heart is pounding. You bring your racer low to trail dust in your wake. If he wants to get in your head, two can play at that game.
The harsh sun beats down, making the course’s sandy stretches shimmer with heat. Your mind is a razer’s edge of focus, each maneuver executed with the expert precision you’ve honed over the past months. The race has a rhythm to it, an ebb and flow of speed and danger that you know by heart.
Your breath catches when the final canyon comes into view. There’s a narrow passage through it only the initiated would know about. One that takes you straight to the last stretch before the finish—your chance to leave Poe in the dust once and for all.
“Hey, Dameron,” you say into your mouthpiece. “Watch this.”
The engine of your racer screams as you thrust forward, darting toward the slender pass. It’s a stunt you’ve done only once before in a real race and something you’ve poured countless hours of practice with, always coming out unscathed just barely by the skin of your teeth. But Poe doesn’t know that.
“Don’t, kid—it’s too dangerous!” he shouts.
There’s an urgency in his voice that almost makes you falter, but you’re already committed. You can’t afford to fuck up the split-second timing on this. The walls of the pass press into you as you speed forward, rushing past in a blur. You’re holding your breath as every instinct screams at you to pull up, but you hold your course. Gradually, Poe fades into the background with everything else.
The exit looms ahead, blindingly bright. With a final burst, you shoot out the other side of the canyon and soar into the open air. You can’t hear the roar of the crowd’s cheers as you cross the finish line, but the sound of your pulse filling your ears is more than satisfying enough.
You’ve done it. You won.
Slowing your racer, you land a little less than smoothly. That rattle coming from the converted starship dampener is… a little concerning. It’s possible you pushed it a bit hard. Karael’s gonna kill you if you’ve finally managed to break it completely.
Poe’s ship rolls in next to yours, and your stomach twists almost pleasantly in anticipation. His eye catches yours as he powers down the engine, and you can’t quite read his expression. Karael breaks your focus as she grabs you in a crushing hug from behind.
“Didn’ doubtya for a second, s’arshine!” she slurs, giggling.
You wrinkle your nose through a grin, giving her a pat on the shoulder. “Have you been drinking, Kar?”
“That might be my fault,” Poe says, jumping down from the cockpit.
“‘S whatcha get for leavin’ your tab open, flyboy,” Karael says, pointing one finger roughly in his direction.
At least, she won’t notice if the dampener’s broken until later. Much, much later.
“Sorry,” you mouth to Poe sheepishly as you wrap one arm around your friend to prop her up. “C’mon, Kara. Let’s get you a nice cup of water. Or five.”
“Wait,” he says, putting himself between you and the door to Kara’s office. “You pulled it off. I can’t believe you actually did it, but you won.”
“Told you I could handle it,” you say. “Guess you’ll have to pay up later.”
He sighs, face falling. You didn’t actually think he’d take it so hard, but you probably should have. Considering his ego.
“Yeah,” he says simply.
You linger for a moment, watching him closely, and lift one eyebrow at him. “Do you mind closing up out here? I’m gonna take care of Kara real quick.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“Thanks,” you say hesitantly.
With that, he steps out of your way, gaze averted in a way that seems almost demure. As you pass him toward the door, you wonder if he’s even going to still be here when you come back or if he’s contemplating making a run for it. Not that it matters—you still haven’t even settled on what you’re going to do to him yet.