The softer, more genuine smile returned at the sight of the homestead, it suited her in a way he couldn't quite quantify, but it was obvious that it was something that a lot of work had been put into, and it reminded him of his family homestead even despite the fact that the two looked nothing alike.
"Looks like you've been here a while." He said by way of observation, because while he wasn't positive that she was from somewhere else, the house seemed too new for her to have grown up in it, which didn't necessarily mean she wasn't a native, but was usually a good indication.
"A few years," she confirmed as they reached the front door, which she opened without the use of a key. There was no point in locking doors here, and she had little of value to be taken anyway. "After my husband died in the war, I needed a fresh start. A quiet life seemed best."
It was a patchwork of truths that were easy to craft into not quite a lie. Luckily, few of the locals had ever inquired too deeply into her past, the pain she still felt over Anakin's loss aiding in the deception. She let it show now as well, a weariness in her expression as she stepped into the house and then moved aside for her guests.
There wasn't much to the house. One large room that held a dining table chairs and a cluster of worn armchairs in front of the fireplace. A kitchen was off to the side of that room, herbs drying at the window, and there were two doors at the far end - one for the fresher and the other for a bedroom that was hardly more than a closet. It wasn't much, but it was more than many had, and just like the outside, she'd done her best to make it feel like a home.
He nodded, because he knew better than to ask questions about a statement like that, though mostly that was because it didn't even occur to him that her war and his -while essentially stemming from the same sequence of events- weren't the same war.
The first thing he said was: "Thank you. Not a lot of people would do this." That said, he set both the bag of supplies and the projector case down just inside the door, digging a cleaning cloth out of the supply bag, ready to wipe the smudge off of BB-8's dome, when the droid snatched the cloth with a manipulator claw and trundled over to Eirtaé with an entirely too forlorn hoot.
It was something that made Poe have to bite the inside of his cheek again to keep from laughing, though the smile was threatening to break through all the same.
The fact that other people wouldn't do it was exactly why she felt she had to. There had to be some good left in the galaxy, even if it was only of her own making. In times such as these, everyone needed reminding that there was something worth fighting for.
She very nearly laughed herself at the droid's dramatics, the performance utterly endearing. "I didn't forget," she offered as an assurance before kneeling down and taking the cloth. Getting right to work, she decided to share a little story that the droid might appreciate.
"You know, this isn't my first time cleaning up an astromech. That was almost two decades ago, when one saved my ship during an attack. I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for R2, and I've had a fondness for astromech droids ever since." She leaned back, studying that spot on the dome that had been 'damaged', then smiled. "You're good as new."
Poe straightened at that particular designation, and BB-8 chirped a query. Certainly there were other R2 units out there, not just the one that the General had more or less in storage, hoping that Commander Skywalker would come back and claim it someday.
He was sure that some of those other units were likewise referred to as 'R2' with that same sort of fondness, but something still pushed him to ask: "R2-D2? White and blue? Silver trim? Likes setting things on fire?" That one he didn't know from personal experience, only from stories, but it didn't surprise him any given as how astromechs only had limited defenses to work with, it was part of why BB-8 took an arc welder to anything it perceived as being a threat.
Padmé was so at ease with the two of them that she didn't notice her slip until that inquiry was posed, and then-- Her facade slipped, the mask cracking to reveal affection at the pyrotechnic antics she remembered hearing about, followed quickly by a wash of fear across her expression. If he knew R2-D2, what else did he know? Who else? Had he known Anakin during the war? Had she been right to worry that the Empire had finally found her?
Standing, she stiffly turned toward the kitchen, her usual abilities completely abandoning her as she tried to convincingly explain away the misstep. "Yes, that's the one. I was fourteen at the time, and it's been years since our last meeting."
That just left Poe even more confused, having fallen still himself, running over mental calculations again, how old he thought she was against how long he knew R2 had been in low-power mode, hidden away and none of it was quite adding up.
What he finally said, a little quieter, genuinely confused, the kind that started to border on concern was: "I... get the feeling I'm a lot more lost than I first thought, and I realize that this is going to make me sound like I hit my head, but what year is it? Galactic standard, not local."
She'd been about to move into the kitchen proper and use the distraction of making tea to pull herself together when he... Well, when he asked what he did. And yes, it very much did sound like he'd hit his head, which left her worrying over injuries she couldn't possibly treat on her own.
"It's been four standard years since the formation of the Galactic Empire," she answered, glancing back at him over her shoulder with a concerned expression. It seemed the best measurement to use when she wasn't sure of his allegiances, and most of the village spoke in those terms regularly, leading her to believe the rest of the galaxy might as well.
He made a startled, choked little noise at that, and BB-8's dome spun around to look at her, giving the impression of reeling back in surprise just briefly before the droid rolled quickly to Poe's side, as if the pilot needed support due to the shock, "But then that's... but I'm... but... no."
It wasn't that he didn't believe her, the problem was that he did, and he knew that he wasn't going to live this down if it was some kind of prank orchestrated by Snap and Jess and the rest of them, but he didn't think it was that, either.
Very quietly, a moment later, he said: "I think I need to sit down."
Something was wrong. The concern Padmé was feeling swelled up like an ocean wave and she immediately moved to Poe's other side, her own worries completely out of mind. Her instincts had always been to look after others, and even after the end of her world, that hadn't change.
"Have a seat by the fireplace. I'll get a fire started, it's cold here at night." Keeping her tone calm and soothing, she raised a hand to his back and gestured toward the plush chairs with her other in an attempt to guide him over.
"I can do that." He said, sounding just a little distant, but something to focus on, something to do would help get him out of his head, even if it was only for a few minutes, "You were about to go do something, I think?"
She'd certainly been moving with a purpose when he'd asked the question that had yanked the metaphorical rug right out from under him, but that was one of the things he wasn't letting himself think about just yet, mostly just hoping that those whirling thought processes had settled a little bit by the time he got back to them.
"I'll make us something to drink," she confirmed gently with a nod, completely understanding the need for a few minutes to process everything happening. Whatever was the matter would keep until they were settled, and perhaps they'd both be better prepared to face it then.
With one last glance between her guests, she moved into the kitchen, navigating the space with relaxed ease. The kettle was filled and set to boiling, a canister of loose leaves and herbs taken down from a little shelf. She tried to focus on what she was doing, intending to give him the space he clearly needed, but her gaze wandered to him more than once.
Perhaps surprisingly, Poe actually knew what he was doing as far as starting a fire. Fire in a fireplace was different than a campfire, a little, and he knew how to do either. With a Pathfinder for a father, it would have been difficult for him not to know how to set a campfire properly, at least.
When BB-8 moved in to help, Poe said something quiet to the droid, gesturing towards the bag of supplies, which sent the little astromech off digging through it, coming up with a carefully secured package of koyo fruit, which it then trundled off into the kitchen with, apparently asking for a dish for them.
With the fire started, Poe finally peeled out of his jacket, leaving it hanging on the back of a chair, and while he was still reeling a little, his thoughts were no longer running around each other in circles. He was no closer to knowing what had happened, but he wasn't quite as overwhelmed by it.
"Thank you," she murmured to the little droid as she took the package, understanding the request despite her rusty binary. The tea had steeped by the time the fire was crackling to life, and with a deep breath, Padmé carefully carried the two cups and dish of fruit to the small table beside the chairs.
"Feeling better?" There was a knowing look in her eyes as she settled into a chair, wrapping her hands around her own cup. The tea was strong but soothing, and she hoped it would help him through this, whatever this was. He looked as if his world had just been upended and her heart went out to him for it.
He nodded a little, holding onto the cup much the same way, brow creasing just a little, "Still confused." He admitted, "But there's not much that losing my cool over it is going to help."
His brow creased then, rolling the cup slowly between his hands before taking a sip, looking at her once more, "I'm going to say something, and it's going to sound crazy, and I know it is, but it's the only thing that makes sense." He pressed the tip of his tongue against the edge of his teeth just briefly, as if he had to brace himself before continuing with: "I think I'm from the future. Or, I mean, this is the past, to me."
It does sound crazy. Completely crazy, like some of the holodramas that had been popular in her childhood. But the way he said it, the visible tells of his own struggle with the theory, leave her wondering if perhaps somehow it might be true.
"Tell me about this future." There's something of her old self in the words that were meant to be request and instead came out gentle order. Firm enough that she might be taking this as seriously as he seemed to be. Returning her cup to the table, she shifts in her seat, turning to better face him and curling her legs up onto the chair. He has her full attention.
"Well for one thing? That Galactic Empire? Defeated, when I was two or three." He shifted his grasp of the cup to one hand so he could scratch at the back of his ear, not sure if telling her this would change things in the future, but he figured if that were the case, it already would have happened anyway, "Though, they're trying to come back, children of the Empire-that-was, wanting to bring back the former glory." The sarcasm in just that one word was practically thick enough to cut with a knife.
He didn't bother trying to explain that the Republic refused to see the First Order as an actual viable threat, because that was something that always frustrated him, and he was trying to keep this as uncomplicated as he could, "But they're going by a new name now, the First Order, and the Rebellion is still around, but since the Empire's using a new name, so are we, the Resistance. And being part of it, that's just... it's in my blood."
The Empire had been defeated. That singular thought echoed in her mind through all the rest of his words, nearly drowning out his talk of this First Order. Others would succeed where she had failed, and perhaps her children would--
"How far into the future is this?" There was an urgency in her tone that betrayed how desperate she was for the information, punctuated by the way she leaned in closer, barely able to resist reaching out to him. "How long does it take the Rebellion to succeed?"
"Thirty, give or take? From where I was before that half-calculated hyperspace jump, that is. So twenty-five or so before the Empire falls."
He was making a guess as to her alliances, but he was fairly certain that she wasn't an Empire sympathizer, if only because of how she'd treated BB-8, let alone taking the pair of them in when it probably would have been safer not to.
"Twenty..." The breathless murmur fell unbidden from her lips as she stared at him with wide eyes. Over two decades from now, the Empire would finally fall. It seemed like such a short time, yet it felt like a lifetime away. Twenty-five years of hiding herself away, being of no use to anyone. Twenty-five years of not knowing whether her children were alive or if she would ever see them again.
The tears that slide down her cheeks were startling, breaking the brief trance that had fallen upon her. She straightened slightly, steeling herself against the onslaught of emotions, and quickly and efficiently brushed the tears aside with the back of a hand.
He set his cup down, shifting forward in his seat a little, just far enough to catch her hand lightly between his own, he could understand that feeling of being unsettled, even distraught, and as she gathered herself again, he gave her hand a brief squeeze before sitting back again, picking up a slice of fruit to nibble at, if only because getting his blood-sugar back up after the shock was a good idea.
"It wasn't an easy road. I mean, I just know the history, not like I was there myself, not for the Empire, but I was for some of the aftermath, and definitely there for the First Order's rise." His brow furrowed a little then, debating, "There were a few splinter factions, they either did each other in or absorbed each other, but the First Order is the strongest of them."
It had been so long since she allowed herself to accept comfort from anyone, it felt almost strange to have Poe hold her hand. Strange and wonderful, his touch an anchor in a storm that she desperately needed, and she was so grateful to him for it.
Even after defeating the Empire, it wouldn't be over. There would be another thirty years of battles ahead, and who knew how many after that. The weight of it all threatened to crush her, and Padmé had to lean back against her seat to keep from feeling ill.
"I tried so hard to make the galaxy a better place," she said suddenly, more to herself than her companion. "To make it safer for my children." She gave a slight shake of her head, looking as utterly lost as she felt. "How could we have failed so terribly?"
"Thirty-some-odd years of mostly-peace isn't something to scoff at." He said, sounding earnest as anything, "And even then, something my ma' used to say was that even in the darkest of times you can find a light, and if you can't find it, it's up to you to be it."
A soft huff, amused, but not really a laugh, "And General Organa likes saying that if you can only believe in the sun when it's shining, you'll never make it through the night."
His mother sounded like a wise woman, like someone Padmé would have gotten along with well. Someone who got things done and didn't stop for any obstacle.
"General Organa?" She couldn't hide the effect the name had on her even if she tried. Immediately sitting up, she leaned across the space between them to grab Poe's arm, pleading with this man she'd only just met. "Do you mean Bail Organa of Alderaan?"
He was a little startled by that, but shook his head all the same, even as he placed his hand over hers on his arm, "No, his daughter. Leia." He didn't think he'd ever get used to using her name, mostly because she'd been 'the General' even when he was growing up, and using her given name just struck him as wrong.
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"Looks like you've been here a while." He said by way of observation, because while he wasn't positive that she was from somewhere else, the house seemed too new for her to have grown up in it, which didn't necessarily mean she wasn't a native, but was usually a good indication.
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It was a patchwork of truths that were easy to craft into not quite a lie. Luckily, few of the locals had ever inquired too deeply into her past, the pain she still felt over Anakin's loss aiding in the deception. She let it show now as well, a weariness in her expression as she stepped into the house and then moved aside for her guests.
There wasn't much to the house. One large room that held a dining table chairs and a cluster of worn armchairs in front of the fireplace. A kitchen was off to the side of that room, herbs drying at the window, and there were two doors at the far end - one for the fresher and the other for a bedroom that was hardly more than a closet. It wasn't much, but it was more than many had, and just like the outside, she'd done her best to make it feel like a home.
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The first thing he said was: "Thank you. Not a lot of people would do this." That said, he set both the bag of supplies and the projector case down just inside the door, digging a cleaning cloth out of the supply bag, ready to wipe the smudge off of BB-8's dome, when the droid snatched the cloth with a manipulator claw and trundled over to Eirtaé with an entirely too forlorn hoot.
It was something that made Poe have to bite the inside of his cheek again to keep from laughing, though the smile was threatening to break through all the same.
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She very nearly laughed herself at the droid's dramatics, the performance utterly endearing. "I didn't forget," she offered as an assurance before kneeling down and taking the cloth. Getting right to work, she decided to share a little story that the droid might appreciate.
"You know, this isn't my first time cleaning up an astromech. That was almost two decades ago, when one saved my ship during an attack. I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for R2, and I've had a fondness for astromech droids ever since." She leaned back, studying that spot on the dome that had been 'damaged', then smiled. "You're good as new."
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He was sure that some of those other units were likewise referred to as 'R2' with that same sort of fondness, but something still pushed him to ask: "R2-D2? White and blue? Silver trim? Likes setting things on fire?" That one he didn't know from personal experience, only from stories, but it didn't surprise him any given as how astromechs only had limited defenses to work with, it was part of why BB-8 took an arc welder to anything it perceived as being a threat.
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Standing, she stiffly turned toward the kitchen, her usual abilities completely abandoning her as she tried to convincingly explain away the misstep. "Yes, that's the one. I was fourteen at the time, and it's been years since our last meeting."
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What he finally said, a little quieter, genuinely confused, the kind that started to border on concern was: "I... get the feeling I'm a lot more lost than I first thought, and I realize that this is going to make me sound like I hit my head, but what year is it? Galactic standard, not local."
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"It's been four standard years since the formation of the Galactic Empire," she answered, glancing back at him over her shoulder with a concerned expression. It seemed the best measurement to use when she wasn't sure of his allegiances, and most of the village spoke in those terms regularly, leading her to believe the rest of the galaxy might as well.
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It wasn't that he didn't believe her, the problem was that he did, and he knew that he wasn't going to live this down if it was some kind of prank orchestrated by Snap and Jess and the rest of them, but he didn't think it was that, either.
Very quietly, a moment later, he said: "I think I need to sit down."
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"Have a seat by the fireplace. I'll get a fire started, it's cold here at night." Keeping her tone calm and soothing, she raised a hand to his back and gestured toward the plush chairs with her other in an attempt to guide him over.
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She'd certainly been moving with a purpose when he'd asked the question that had yanked the metaphorical rug right out from under him, but that was one of the things he wasn't letting himself think about just yet, mostly just hoping that those whirling thought processes had settled a little bit by the time he got back to them.
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With one last glance between her guests, she moved into the kitchen, navigating the space with relaxed ease. The kettle was filled and set to boiling, a canister of loose leaves and herbs taken down from a little shelf. She tried to focus on what she was doing, intending to give him the space he clearly needed, but her gaze wandered to him more than once.
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When BB-8 moved in to help, Poe said something quiet to the droid, gesturing towards the bag of supplies, which sent the little astromech off digging through it, coming up with a carefully secured package of koyo fruit, which it then trundled off into the kitchen with, apparently asking for a dish for them.
With the fire started, Poe finally peeled out of his jacket, leaving it hanging on the back of a chair, and while he was still reeling a little, his thoughts were no longer running around each other in circles. He was no closer to knowing what had happened, but he wasn't quite as overwhelmed by it.
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"Feeling better?" There was a knowing look in her eyes as she settled into a chair, wrapping her hands around her own cup. The tea was strong but soothing, and she hoped it would help him through this, whatever this was. He looked as if his world had just been upended and her heart went out to him for it.
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His brow creased then, rolling the cup slowly between his hands before taking a sip, looking at her once more, "I'm going to say something, and it's going to sound crazy, and I know it is, but it's the only thing that makes sense." He pressed the tip of his tongue against the edge of his teeth just briefly, as if he had to brace himself before continuing with: "I think I'm from the future. Or, I mean, this is the past, to me."
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"Tell me about this future." There's something of her old self in the words that were meant to be request and instead came out gentle order. Firm enough that she might be taking this as seriously as he seemed to be. Returning her cup to the table, she shifts in her seat, turning to better face him and curling her legs up onto the chair. He has her full attention.
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He didn't bother trying to explain that the Republic refused to see the First Order as an actual viable threat, because that was something that always frustrated him, and he was trying to keep this as uncomplicated as he could, "But they're going by a new name now, the First Order, and the Rebellion is still around, but since the Empire's using a new name, so are we, the Resistance. And being part of it, that's just... it's in my blood."
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"How far into the future is this?" There was an urgency in her tone that betrayed how desperate she was for the information, punctuated by the way she leaned in closer, barely able to resist reaching out to him. "How long does it take the Rebellion to succeed?"
Were her children alive to see that day? Was she?
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He was making a guess as to her alliances, but he was fairly certain that she wasn't an Empire sympathizer, if only because of how she'd treated BB-8, let alone taking the pair of them in when it probably would have been safer not to.
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The tears that slide down her cheeks were startling, breaking the brief trance that had fallen upon her. She straightened slightly, steeling herself against the onslaught of emotions, and quickly and efficiently brushed the tears aside with the back of a hand.
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"It wasn't an easy road. I mean, I just know the history, not like I was there myself, not for the Empire, but I was for some of the aftermath, and definitely there for the First Order's rise." His brow furrowed a little then, debating, "There were a few splinter factions, they either did each other in or absorbed each other, but the First Order is the strongest of them."
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Even after defeating the Empire, it wouldn't be over. There would be another thirty years of battles ahead, and who knew how many after that. The weight of it all threatened to crush her, and Padmé had to lean back against her seat to keep from feeling ill.
"I tried so hard to make the galaxy a better place," she said suddenly, more to herself than her companion. "To make it safer for my children." She gave a slight shake of her head, looking as utterly lost as she felt. "How could we have failed so terribly?"
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A soft huff, amused, but not really a laugh, "And General Organa likes saying that if you can only believe in the sun when it's shining, you'll never make it through the night."
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"General Organa?" She couldn't hide the effect the name had on her even if she tried. Immediately sitting up, she leaned across the space between them to grab Poe's arm, pleading with this man she'd only just met. "Do you mean Bail Organa of Alderaan?"
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only a decade late
shh shh is fine (and omfg popover menu sorry about that)