Poe didn't notice the frown, didn't even notice if there was a pause - as he wasn't able to see Finn's face and wasn't paying attention even if he could. After all, he was used to the wounds, now. He saw them, felt them, every day. He would be scarred for the rest of his life.

At least he had a life to worry about. He watched his mother as the vid changed to another one, of him in his mother's lap in the fighter, the first day that she began to teach him how to fly. A familiar, if old - if worn - grief grew in his chest. But it wasn't the sharp, helpless grief of his child hood. Just a small, bittersweet longing.

He hoped wherever she was, she could see how happy he was right now - Finn's arms around him, fussing over him as they sat in bed. A purpose that was worthwhile.

Upholding her legend, even if he didn't even know that legend until after her death.

"Brother?" He said, pulled from his own thoughts, before his brain caught up. "Oh - BB-8? You haven't been fighting with him. You're fine."