Rey keeps expecting Finn to come awake with a start, adrenaline picking up right where it left off, but when he comes to consciousness again it's surprisingly peaceful. She looks up, and his eyes are blinking open, for all the world like someone waking from a nap. He focuses in on her, and she smiles uncertainly.

"Are you all right?" he asks, without hesitation. It's so unexpected and nonsensical that she laughs out loud.

"Of all the questions," she says. But then, he's always done that. "You're the one everyone's worried about."

She sees his brow contract -- confusion, perhaps, about that everyone, unless it's pain -- but all he says is, "I know how I'm feeling, though. And I don't know what..."

He trails off, unfocused. She leans forward, covers his hand with her own, and he focuses in on her face.

"That was your idea this time," he says.

"What?"

"Taking my hand."

She laughs, but she feels tears start in her eyes all the same. "I'm fine," she says. "A bit bruised, is all. Nothing like..." Nothing like what he did to you. She feels her heart twist painfully just at the memory, and she makes herself look at his face — eyes hazy, but still locked on her — and then away, at his hand, instead. "I was so scared for you," she admits, running her thumb over the knuckles.

"Hurts so much he has to've missed my spine, right?" he says.

"That's one way of looking at it," she says, and when she looks at his face again, he's smiling.

"Got you to smile," he says.

"You did that already!" she protests. "Several times!"

"Yeah, but it helps distract me." His eyes flutter shut. "Keep doing that."

"I'm trying, but if you're going to sleep again..." He opens his eyes. "No, ignore that," she says. "You should sleep."

He turns his hand over, palm to palm with hers. She laces their fingers together, and he presses her thumb with his. "You still gonna be here when I wake up?" he asks.

"Where would I go?"

"I dunno, you seem really obsessed with Jakku..."

"I told you, my family—" That's not the point, and it's not even the plan anymore. Maz Kanata was right. "I'm not going back to Jakku, Finn."

He presses her thumb again. "Good. Didn't like that place."

She thinks of the lightsaber, the strange place of calm she reached in that fight — the way the blade felt light in her hand, the way its path seemed clear and Kylo Ren's movements slow and clumsy and easy to read, to dodge and counter, while fear and grief and worry were distant, watching her from the ground as she soared away. She thinks of maps, and the way General Organa squeezed her shoulder and said "We'll talk afterwards" before she walked into this room.

"I'm not sure how long I can stay here, though," she says. She runs her thumb over the pad of his index finger, unaccountably soft; her own hands must feel like leather to him.

"Wait, so where..." He flinches, suddenly, and she half-stands in alarm. "Sorry," he says, for some reason. She squeezes his hand, which she hadn't let go of. "Dunno where that came from."

"Most likely from the giant lightsaber gash on your back," she says, which gets a strained smile from him. "The med droid told me to call when you woke so he could explain — there's some sort of tool here to let you administer more anesthetic when you need it—"

"That sounds good," he says. "Let's do that. Do you need your hand?"

"Afraid so," she says. "There's a call button you can use somewhere, but I don't want to jostle you looking for it. And the comm they showed me is on the wall."

"Damn. I was afraid you'd say that." He squeezes her whole hand this time before he lets go. "Call the doc. And... promise me?"

"Yes?"

"Stick around for me to wake up after this, okay? After that you can leave while I'm sleeping if you want."

She'd wonder how he knows, but perhaps she's just that transparent. "It's not about sneaking away without saying goodbye, you know," she says. She walks the few steps to the comm; she's unaccustomed to letting anyone see her soft spots, and she'd rather not look at him as she says the next part. "It's that if you're awake I'd like to be here for it."

"If you're trying to encourage me to get some rest," he says, but the second half of the sentence is lost as the comm transmits the droid's query in Binary: Patient is alert and responsive?

"Yes, he is," she says, unable to suppress a smile as she continues, "Alert, responsive, and sarcastic."

Observation noted. Opinion query: Assessment positive?

"Yes," she says.

Unit en route, it responds. Patient contact necessary.

"It's on its way," she tells him. And then, surprising herself almost as much as him, she leans over and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. "I'll be right back," she adds, taking in the surprised O of his mouth, the hand moving tentatively up to touch the spot; she resists the urge to touch her lips. She resists the urge to wonder if she did it wrong.

She's not fleeing the room. She'll be back to it shortly, after all.