Nyra hummed thoughtfully as she worked, the gears in her arm whirring and clicking along as she twisted the wrench in her metal hand. It was an unexpected but pleasant bonus to loosing her dominant arm, no more cramps. She cracked a goofy grin as the bolt fit snugly into place, giving it one last jerk for good measure. The cool air of the open hangar was a welcome relief as she backed out of the engine compartment and balanced precariously, yet comfortably, atop the right wing of a sleek, black X-Wing. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she stretched her arms above her head, back arching deeply into the stretch. Her hand may not cramp any more but her shoulders sure did.

She was rudely pulled from the bliss of her relaxing muscles with a dirty rag to the face. Stretch ruined, she snatched the rag from where it dangled from her forehead and shot a glare to the mess of dark curls peeking out from under the wing.

"Quit lazing about, we've got to get her working by morning," Poe drawled with a cheeky grin, wiping his grime-coated hands on a fresh rag.

She sputtered in response, clutching the front of her green overalls dramatically.

"Poe Dameron, you...you doubt me?" She wailed, her green eyes swelling.

He rolled his eyes, chuckling deeply as he leaned on the workbench to look up at her.

"Now sweetheart, that's just puttin' words in my mouth." He returned her half-hearted glare with a lopsided grin and a wink.

"You know I'll always get her flying for you," she said, pointing her wrench at him.

"I know." He looked at her for a moment, batting his eyelashes. "That's why I need your help." He turned back to the right landing strut with a flashy grin.

"Ah," she sighed, sliding down the wing with surprising grace. "Of course. What can I do for you princess?" She purred, sidling up behind him to peer over his shoulder.

He shot her a playful look before returning to his task.

"This-" he said, jerking the wrench attached to a rusted bolt stubbornly refusing to break free of the crusted mixture of dirt and burnt oil that had congealed around it. "You always have super secret mechanic tricks."

He pouted pitifully at her over his shoulder as she giggled through her hand.

"Aw, poor baby." She patted his cheek with her metal fingers affectionately. "Don't worry, mama's got this."

She traded places with him and leaned forward to inspect the damage.

"Yup, mama's definitely got this." Refusing the wrench he offered her she grinned slyly at him, a familiar 'hold my beer' look they had given each other on many occasion. "I may have discovered I have superpowers."

He let out a snort before dissolving into a fit of laughter.

"I'm serious!" She shouted between giggle fits of her own. "Watch!"

He wiped the corners of his eyes and watched her movements over the gleam of her right shoulder. She clutched the offending object with her fingers, tightening them with a whir. With a grunt, she twisted, stopped, took a deep breath, set her shoulders, and twisted again. The bolt came free and she cried in victory, raising her left fist over her head triumphantly.

"It worked!" She giggled happily. "I'll never get tired of when it actually works." She spun it out of it's socket and turned to offer it to Poe with a brilliant smile that faltered when their eyes met.

He stared at her, eyes wide and lips parted slightly as he took in a sharp breath.

"What?" She asked after a long moment, raising a questioning eyebrow at his complete change in demeanor.

Her voice broke his trance and he snapped his mouth shut, clearing his throat.

"Nothing," he croaked, snatching the bolt from between her fingers. "Thanks."

He turned from her to adjust the knot the arms of his flightsuit made low on his waist.

"I'm, um..." He tossed the bolt onto the workbench with a clatter. "I'm gonna go check on BB-8." And just like that he darted across the hangar to droid repair.

She gawked at his retreating back, blinking in shock at how quickly the atmosphere had changed. He had never talked to her like that, never ran away from her like that.

"Oooookay weirdo," she mumbled, bending over to retrieve the filthy bolt from where it had bounced off the table top and skidded across the floor.

Her eyebrows drew together as she idly traced the spiral pattern along the side with her fingers. That was odd. What could she possibly have done? Four years, four years, of teasing banter between the two of them. Of late nights on the tarmac as she pieced his precious Black-One together and he brought her food and reminded her to eat in between filling her in on the latest mission. They would do it in order of repairs, she would find a new dent or hole and turn to him expectantly for the explanation that followed. He had been the one to pull her from the wreckage that cost her an arm. He had held her as she broke down, exhausted by fits of rage as her new hand refused to obey. He insisted on being her first high-five after completing her first repair after therapy. Her eyes shifted unwillingly to her right hand as she clenched it into a fist before stretching her fingers open.

Suddenly, the repairs didn't seem so important. Suddenly, she remembered she was Chief of Flight Line Maintenance and there were, I mean there had to be, other mechanics that could possibly use her help. Suddenly, she didn't want to be anywhere near Black-One when Black-Leader returned.

Snatching her data pad from the workbench, she sent a message to Ven, her trusted number 2. She set about quickly gathering up her tools, shoving them roughly back into her belt and willing the acid back down her throat. This is impossible. He stood by her through countless surgeries, therapy sessions, and crying fits of both the happy and sad variety.

"You called my lady?" A velveteen voice called lightly as Ven sauntered awkwardly into view, his own green jumpsuit almost hanging off his bean-pole frame.

"Take over," she ground out, not waiting for a response before scrambling away.

She charged down the corridor, determined to be behind her own door before the tears came as she tugged aggressively on the cuff of her right sleeve. A startled yelp left her throat as lithe hands closed around her bicep, tugging her harshly through a doorway before the door slid shut.

"Rey!" She howled, snatching her arm back.

Her friend shushed her, snapping her chocolate eyes to Nyra's wide green ones threateningly before taking her sleeve and rolling it back up above her elbow, sun kissed fingers dancing along her metal forearm.

"What happened?" Rey asked quietly, fussing with the cuff one last time before releasing her.

Nyra snorted.

"I'm probably just over reacting." She mumbled, picking at her nails absently.

The taller woman fixed her with a hard stare. Nyra heaved a sigh and moved deeper into her friend's room to collapse in her desk chair.

"Poe thinks I'm a freak," she mumbled into her hands.

Rey scoffed.

"Poe thinks you hang the stars," she countered incredulously, folding her leg under her neatly as she sank into her bed.

Nyra groaned, fisting her hands in her auburn hair in frustration.

"No, oh for goodness sake you'll hurt yourself." Rey launched herself off her bed and pried Nyra's filthy hands from her hair, preventing her from her habit of beating her fists against her scalp. "What happened?" She demanded, grasping Nyra's wrists firmly in her hands.

With a deep sigh, the mechanic relayed what had happened, stifling a sniffle as she unconsciously tucked her right hand beneath her.

"He just, looked at me," she hiccuped, wistfully remembering how enormously proud she had been of herself the first time she had actually twisted a rusted screw in a fit of rage and gasping as it sprang free under her fingers.

Rey's eyes flashed dangerously as she paced the length of her room.

"You don't know that's what he was thinking. I mean, that doesn't make any sense. He's your best friend." She paused to chew on her thumb.

"What else would it be?" Nyra spat out angrily. "He thinks I'm hideous." Now she was just being dramatic and self indulgent, but she just couldn't stop herself.

"Stop it." Rey demanded a bit more harshly than she intended. "He does not. He's just...an idiot. I'll get to the bottom of it." Her hands landed on her hips for emphasis, head nodding in counter to how frantically Nyra shook her head.

"Rey no, he's my best friend, I should talk to him." She chewed on her bottom lip, stomach twisting just thinking about that conversation.

Rey walked closer, placing her hands on Nyra's shoulders and forcing the older woman to look up at her.

"You're my friend too. You're hurting, and I know you love him, don't look at me like that you know you do, but I can't promise the next time I see his stupid face that my inside thoughts won't become my outside thoughts."

Nyra smiled through the wetness of her cheeks, fondly remembering the conversation she had with her friend after a particularly friendly new recruit had gotten a little loose with his tongue at a certain scavenger. Her face soon fell as she sighed. Rey was right. Four years of friendship, and almost four years of unbearable unrequited love. He was her best friend, and no matter how many times Rey scoffed and snorted when she said it, she was just glad he was in her life.

"I suppose I can learn to live with that." Rey laughed, a light, tinkling sound.

"Like I was giving you a choice." She would see him. Knew exactly where he'd be.

It seemed a certain hot shot pilot needed to be taught some manners. Scavenger style.