Preface:

The main female character of this story is an OC that I have written in the hopes that any girl who loves Poe Dameron can project herself onto. In addition, I've also aimed to make it a good fit in the Star Wars universe with more focus on romance, as well as adventure and shenanigans. I'm not a big fan of writing 'Y/N' for a character, and found giving a character a name and some actual characterization to be way more helpful. That being said, once she starts popping up more, and if you really love Poe Dameron, just copypasta chapters, then find/replace your name over the main character's. But otherwise, I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading.

A pair stood before an enormous glass observation window. The first was a towering, obstacle of a woman. Her deep set eyes held a solicitous look, their darkness only rivaled by the patently black uniform that adorned her figure. She stood erect with an egalitarian grace and fortitude present only in veterans of both warfare and politics. Her platinum hair sat neatly pleated in a thick braid about the back of her head, its dullness amplified by the array of colorful ribbons she wore pinned upon her chest. Her fingers toddled in a rhythmic fashion upon the table before her; a small tick of anxiety and impatience.

The woman's companion was a man curter in stature, but not by much. His dark hair laid in waves atop his head, muddled by the residual depression of the helmet that sat on the table before him. He boasted a friendlier disposition than the woman, dark olive skin radiating almost as warmly as his smile. He wore only plain navy pants, a t-shirt, and a beaten brown jacket.

The edges of the glass in front of them sparked red and green with diagnostics and analytical outputs, far to minute for either of them to care about. Behind them, however, many individuals dressed akin to the woman hurried to make note of whichever readouts they were assigned to that day, rapidly inputting keystrokes on their tablets. None of them spoke nor paid much mind to the pair on the observation deck, far too absorbed in the importance of their individual assignments.

Grey steel, sterile and withholding, encompassed the entirety of the room. The observation deck was usually reserved for strategic simulations and real training exercises, the bland décor of it forcing every individual within to be drawn to the glass forefront to the room. For now, it was a sheer black.

"I really owe you for this one, Admiral." The man said, crossing his arms. "I know the New Republic doesn't exactly have pilots to spare after the loss of Hosnian Prime."

The Admiral scowled. "The tragic destruction of that day brought a premature end to countless, precious lives- the members of the fleet stationed there being no exception. But infinitely more were saved thanks to the courageous actions of the Resistance. The way I see it, we owe you."

"We're both fighting for the same cause now, Admiral Stanton," replied Poe, gripping the admiral's shoulder.

"Indeed, we are. Indeed, we are..." The two locked, in solidarity with one another. The Admiral nodded and continued. "I digress; shall we begin?"

Poe smiled eagerly at her. "Please!"

Admiral Stanton typed several keystrokes into a slim, holographic dais in front of her, prompting a number of call signs and corresponding fighter jets to digitally populate on the glass in front of them. Each had a designated color. "There are ten pilots. Ten of the best who I have personally asked to be here today. They're an assorted group; everything from long term veterans to fresh out of the academy. Each one of them brings a unique skill set or style to the table. And each of them, rather overwhelmingly so, have assured me of their desire to fly for the Resistance."

"Fantastic," Poe uttered, his eyes bright with curiosity as he examined the list. Though the list provided no specific details on the individual pilots, Poe could generally predict the persona of each based on their nickname and craft. For example, one pilot who went by the call sign Warhead flew a heavy y-wing, a notorious bomber craft, which pointed to him being a big hitter. Another flew an e-wing, the craft originally intended to replace x-wings, but had been unable to compete with the x-wing due to it's extravagant price. That pilot went by the call sign Deluxe.

"Ready to begin?" The admiral questioned, hand lingering over the dais.

"More than ready," Poe replied, his face bright like that of a child receiving a gift.

With a flick of his wrist, the Admiral cleared the glass of the lineup, and switched on the com. "Pilots, prepare for start. Each of you should see individual instructions on your dashboard. You must complete them before the exercise time is up. Communicate as needed and don't forget that the objective can only be achieved through team wide success. Best of luck."

The two stood silent and observant as the pilots took off into the training environment that had been laid before them in the dead space above Chandrila, each on a mission to accomplish their own goal without hindering those of their allies. In that way, from the start, Poe could clearly see why this group of individuals had been presented to him. They were not only talented personal entities, but team players who knew how to observe, play strengths, and defend weaknesses.

Throughout the training, the admiral would call upon the computer to focus in on specific starfighters during significant moments of their missions, giving Poe more detailed insight on each pilot, and answering his questions as needed.

"It would be great to have an e-wing class pilot in our forces," Poe mentioned, as he watched Deluxe blast and navigate through a tight opening with ease. "We could use the tech and the pilot's skill with that type of craft. Especially since we don't have the money for it."

The Admiral chuckled. "Strength through diversity, as they say. Deluxe is an expert strategist and good in tight spots." Admiral Stanton confirmed. "Anyone else piquing your interest yet?"

Poe considered the screen for a moment, eyes catching on a pilot flying his own favorite starfighter. "What can you tell me about the pilot of that blue x-wing?"

"Ah yes, Nova. Just two years out of the academy but amazingly skilled. I thought you might take a liking to her."

"Why's that?"

"The first time I saw her fly; I could have sworn it was you in that cockpit. Just based on her sheer recklessness and seemingly overconfident attitude," the admiral replied, smirking.

Poe chuckled. "And you put someone like me into your top ten? I'm flattered, Admiral."

"Fortunately, she only seems like you on the surface. The more you watch her, the more you see out how calculated everything she does is. When it looks like she's about to do something outrageous, it means she's already analyzed the situation, found the best solution, and is enacting it as precisely and effectively as possible."

"Interesting. And she's..." Poe trailed off.

"Organic? Indeed. Human, actually."

Poe raised his eyebrows and nodded.

The showing soon drew to a close; the pilots chosen by Admiral Stanton had completed their objective proficiently and dedicatedly as promised by his appraisal of them. Now all that was left was for Poe to choose. And that was arguably the hardest part. He stared adamantly, at the list of call signs that was once again listed on the screen, while the admiral signed off on some paperwork before her. He used the dais to recall segments of the exercise and focus in on specific maneuvers.

"So," Stanton began. "What are you thinking?"

"That they were all unbelievably gifted. The Resistance would be so grateful to have any one of them. That being said…"

The admiral let out a deep sigh. "How many of them do you want?"

"How many can I have?" Poe asked with a coy smile.

"Well, I'll get you the files of any pilots you are interested in. But I would appreciate if you didn't take all of them."

"Fair enough," Poe chuckled. "Let me see Deluxe, Chance, Tens, Laces, Spiral, and Nova."

The admiral entered several more keystrokes to bring up the six files on the observation glass. Each included the pilots name and photo, their known call sign, their official New Republic ranking, and a summary of their service and other various statistics. "Take your time thinking it over."

Poe was eager to assess each file, but he quickly found his attention dominated by one. Brow furrowed, he hurried closer to the glass. He shook his head. "Damn it. I should have known. Damn it, damn it, damn it." He kicked the panel beneath the screen.

"What's wrong?" Stanton asked, made curious by his unexpected reaction.

Poe turned to her and heaved a sigh. "Oh nothing. Just my irresponsiblity finally coming to bite me in the ass."

The admiral smirked. "It's about time."