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The first time it happens is distressingly unplanned.
The bored Twi'lek at the cantina entrance just stares at him, unwilling to prompt him further or fill the silence that is rapidly becoming awkward and suspicious.
"Dameron. The name's Finn Dameron," he says. Relief soothes the tightness in his chest as the bouncer nods toward the open weapons locker and makes a note on his grubby datapad.
"Put your blaster in there. You can retrieve it when you leave." The Twi'lek eyeballs him as Finn places the weapon inside the metal box and shuts the door. An electromagnetic lock snaps to life as soon as his hand is clear. Finn edges past some rowdy, exiting patrons and ducks under the low entrance.
The crush of bodies, fur and skin and cloth and hidden hard plates of scavenged armour, would be overwhelming save for his brain screaming at him.
What the hell are you doing?! You can't use his name! It's his! He didn't offer that one to you! It's NOT YOURS!
An elbow to the ribs, too carefully placed to be an accident, focuses his attention back on where he is--what he is doing. He locks eyes with the source of the elbow: a tall Noorian man with a mouth pursed in annoyance. Finn opens his mouth to speak, but the Noorian shakes his head slightly and flicks his blue and silver striped eyes to a table in the middle of the dimly lit room. A decrepit old man sits there already, head bowed over a single-player card game spread out in front of him.
Finn takes the chair facing the door, fanning his broad hands on the tabletop. The Noorian eases himself into the chair opposite. "Who sent you?" he asks casually as he pokes one of the cards. The old man grunts and pushes the rectangle of flimsiplast back into position.
"The General," replies Finn, desperately trying to sound relaxed and confident. He is relieved his voice doesn't break.
The Noorian dips his head, but says nothing. Silence weighs on the table for over a minute. The old man slides a card under Finn's fingertips without taking his attention away from the game. Finn palms the card and pokes it into his sleeve with his other hand. Not subtle. He would have to practice that.
"Hey, what's your name?" The Noorian's gaze is intense, stopping Finn before he can push his chair away from the table.
"Uh, Finn," he answers, but cannot stop his tongue from continuing, "Finn Dameron."
Damn it! Not yours!
"We've all heard of your…exploits." The Noorian raises his eyebrows and offers him a gesture that Finn thinks means respect. He will have to check on that later. "Now get out of here."
As Finn rises, the old man murmurs, "May the Force be with you." His voice, gravelled with age, carries a Mandalorian accent. He does not look up from his cards.
The lie comes a little easier the more he says it. "Finn Dameron," he tells the bouncer, who checks his datapad and unlocks the weapon locker. Finn grabs the blaster and holsters it as he walks out into the spaceport. He doesn't know what is chafing him more--the sharp edges of the flimsiplast card containing intelligence against the First Order or the name "Dameron," waiting to sever at least half of all his friendships.
*
The second time it happens gives him an accomplice. He finds himself telling her about his ridiculous assumption, because he cannot keep anything from her and it has been nagging at him for two weeks.
Rey does not say anything when he finally stops talking and presses his lips together so hard it hurts.
Please say the right thing. Please don't tell me I failed him.
She opens her mouth and closes it again without making any noise. Her nervous fingers drumming on the edge of the medical bed still. Another moment, agonizing in its length and silence, and she leans her body toward him.
"Sorry for the wait," a young medic interrupts their moment, not sounding at all apologetic. She palms the door closed without glancing up from the datapad in her hand. "It's flight physical season."
"No problem," Finn replies. He finds small talk entertaining, now that it is no longer frowned upon or forbidden for him.
The medic whirls to face the unexpected male voice, then furrows her brow at the data reader. "You're not my appointment," she accuses.
"That would be me," Rey says, lifting her hand and wiggling her fingers in greeting.
"Then what's he doing here?" demands the medic. Her body is radiating irritation and displeasure.
"I--" Rey drops her hand, curling it in her lap. She stares at the brightly lit white floor.
"She's never been to see a medic before," Finn offers in a gentle tone, trying to convey the importance of what he is saying to the humanoid healer who is still looking annoyed. The medic's face softens.
"Okay, that's fine." Rey lifts her head to glare at the medic through her dark lashes. "Really, dear, it's fine. We'll go slow. He can stay until you say otherwise."
Rey's features relax, and Finn offers her a smile. He is so proud of her, proud to have such a brave friend.
The healer checks her datapad and pops a stylus out of the top of the device. "Just to confirm with your records, what is your name?"
Rey's tanned face splits into the widest, happiest, cheekiest grin Finn has ever seen. "Dameron. Rey Dameron."
Maybe? Can we, if we do it together? Maybe if he never finds out, we can share the burden of this lie.
*
The third time it happens, Finn thinks his heart will stop.
He's sitting in the commissary, poking at unfamiliar cubes of--meat? Some kind of stringy, tough vegetable? His culinary experiences before consisted entirely of ration bars and micronutrient-laced fluid replacement. While others complain about the boring, repetitive menu offered in the base kitchens, Finn shows up to every meal with an eager and adventurous attitude. Texture takes some getting used to, but he is willing to try everything more than once.
Rey is picking out tiny orange cubes from the broth with her spoon. She does not like to eat more than one item at a time; she says it is too much going on in her mouth. Poe had chuckled once, when she picked out individual grains of something called rice out of a casserole and called her "the galaxy's slowest eater." She had shrugged and kept eating her individual bits of white starch. Finn had retorted, "You're a pilot. You eat so fast you don't even taste your food."
Unless there is an emergency, they sit with one last morsel of food on their plates, pretending to still be eating, until she has finished her meal. Meal times for her, at first, had caused her some anxiety. She had started to relax after Poe had followed a line of insects in her quarters to her secret stash of fruit and told her that the food was free, every day, three times a day. Finn had shown her where the snacks were kept in the commissary after hours. They had tucked some protein bars under her pillow with a note that read, "In case they make fried nerf again."
"I have a few days of leave coming up," says Poe as he wipes his mouth with a napkin. He seems to enjoy watching them try new foods, like a concerned chef. He often points out offerings at the service counter that he thinks they will enjoy, and steers them away from food that is not meant for human consumption.
"Grantz told me there is a cave nearby. He said stuff in there glows in the dark," Finn offers. "I'd love to go see it."
Poe nods, interested. "What do you think, Rey?"
She pauses her spoon halfway to her mouth, her expression thoughtful.
"Well, I'll be damned. If it isn't all the Damerons!" A bright, falsely cheery voice cuts through their peaceful lunch. "Poe Dameron, and Finn Dameron, and Rey Dameron!"
Finn freezes, his heart stuttering a beat, and sees Rey's hand tremble. Her spoon is in danger of losing its orange contents. Two pairs of eyes, dark brown and hazel, slide to watch Poe's face. He leans back in his cheap chair and crosses his arms over his chest. "What do you mean by that, Snap?"
Oh no, oh, please no—
"Nothing, Poe. Just that these two have been telling half the galaxy that their name is 'Dameron.'" Snap Wexley glares at Rey and Finn, slowly moving his disappointed gaze to both of them.
Finn jumps and Rey flinches when Poe lets out an ear-splitting guffaw.
"Of course they are Damerons, Snap! Don't be ridiculous!" Still laughing, Poe casts his arms around both of his friends and squeezes their shoulders. "What else would they be?"
Poe does not stop smiling for a ten-day.
Author's Notes:
This was my first foray into SW fic that I will admit to. It's been a very long time.
I based this little ficlet on a Tumblr post I came across that speculated about how Poe would feel if Finn used his last name and, of course, Rey thinks it's a spectacular idea, and Poe adores them. Not, perhaps, the most in-character thing she could do, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. I literally woke up in the middle of the night thinking about it.
I would like to gift this fic to flamethrower, whose fic is manna and who has inspired me to write again.