So I've seen Last Jedi four times now, and I absolutely love it! Claps for you, Rian! You blew me away! These past few weeks have just been the Star Wars motherload, not only because of that, but because I was properly introduced to my new friend Iden Versio via YouTube (somebody made a movie out of cutscenes and gameplay!), and I absolutely adore her! She is a beast! (And she kind of reminds me of a certain medic we all know and love.)

On a more somber note, I can't believe it's been over a year now. I remember exactly where I was when I got the news. This one's for you, Princess. Leia didn't just teach a little Mila how to be brave, but she taught me, too. May the Force be with you always. 3

Chapter 34: Do You Know Who I Am?

No matter how hard he fought, Poe couldn't escape the pain, and he couldn't ignore it. He couldn't even place where it began; it's heat radiated through his every last nerve like a strong electric shock. His head pulsed. He moaned. He shook the bonds of his unconsciousness, and a bit to his bewilderment, he broke them. His eyes flickered open; the harsh hospital lights poked a bantha prod between his brows, making his face scrunch in protest before he worked up the energy to take in his surroundings.

Apparently, he hadn't dreamed the landing. But that fog was the last thing he remembered. He found Mila sitting in a chair by his side, her sweet gaze fixed on his. Through the weight in her eyes, she managed a smile.

"There you are," she whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead. A weary grin involuntarily shot across Poe's face as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"How long have I been out?" he asked.

"A month."

Poe's eyes bugged. It had been that long? How much had he missed?

"We needed to convince your body to put itself back together," Mila explained softly. "We asked it nicely when we initially got back, but it just didn't want to listen."

His brow furrowed worriedly, Poe searched Mila's face, asking another question without forming the words. Mila read the cue.

"They're okay, flyboy," she reassured. "Karé's hardly left you. She and the others set up camp in here the night we got back, and they haven't moved. Look."

She nodded towards the other side of the room. Three cots hugged the wall, all with the blankets immaculately drawn up and with duffel bags stored underneath. A smile tugged at Poe's mouth.

"You really think they'd leave you through this?" Mila asked rhetorically, finding his hand and taking it in her own. "Dewbacks would fly first."

Poe chuckled, and the sound was honey to Mila's ears. She felt his grip on her hand tighten.

"How've you been, sweetheart?"

Mila's eyes dropped. She could have told him she'd hardly slept at all since they returned, that when she did the nightmares returned so forcefully it took her at least an hour to convince herself that the fiends in the dream weren't actually there.

But they had been.

She could have told him that she'd thought she seen Stormtroopers running down the stairs at her only half an hour ago, that the feeling that someone wanted to kill her hadn't left her body. Part of her doubted it ever would. She could have told him about the fear. The pain. The guilt. All of it.

But she didn't.

She didn't, because of what she was certain would happen if she did. She already felt alone, sucked into the vacuum of the destructive secret she carried with her with no visible way out. If she bared her damaged soul to him, Mila was convinced she would be trapped there forever. It'd be too heavy a burden for anyone to carry.

He'd leave.

Nothing good stayed for people like her.

The smile that strained across Mila's face was as forced as her reply:

"Good." She even nodded for effect. "I'm glad to see you awake."

She could see it in his eyes that Poe didn't buy it for a second. He knew her too well –she started to wonder if he knew her better than she knew herself – but he didn't push it. Mila silently thanked him for it.

"I thought for a while I'd have to operate again," she hesitantly went on. "With the battalion surgeon gone… that would have been tough."

Poe blinked. "You lost Sundar, too?"

Mila hastily nodded. "It was quick," she sighed out, and she almost sounded dismissive. "Nothing I could do."

By the drone in her voice, Poe knew this wasn't the first time she'd told herself that.

"Besides," a ghost of a smile faded across Mila's face. "I had orders to follow. His orders. His last ones."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Poe whispered, running his thumb across her knuckles soothingly. "I know he meant a lot to you."

Mila fell silent, and her grip on Poe's hand tightened. Worry ate away at her resolve like a cancer; he could see it all over her face, and he could see how hard she was hoping he wouldn't.

"You hear any more about your charges?" he asked.

Mila sighed shakily. She didn't look at him.

"On the general's desk now." She leaned her temple against two fingers. "Baby, it… it could go Senate level."

Poe's heart sank to his toes.

"I'm going to see Antilles tomorrow morning," she went on. "I'll find out then."

Any words of encouragement were dashed from Poe's mouth. No one came out of a Senate-level court martial with their command intact. No one.

"I don't regret anything I did, Poe," Mila started. "Don't you dare think that. This isn't your fault—"

"Mila," he softly cut her off. Finding he had the strength to lift his arms, he reached up and gingerly ran his fingers down the length of her jaw. He searched her worried face before she buried it in the side of his hand and placed a kiss on the inside of his palm. He held her there for a moment as his eyes drifted to the holo on the wall behind her.

"…this is nothing short of a tragedy. Republic Command is yet to release a full casualty list, but from what we have been able to gather, the numbers are high. Senator Erudo Ro-Kiintor is moments away from giving his official statement—"

Mila practically snarled at the mention of the Senator's name. Poe wondered what else he had done to earn her disgust.

"—what we do know about the nature of the attack is scattered at best. Republic forces offered humanitarian aid to the people of Rattatak, an independent world in the Borderlands. Those people, in turn, attacked them, and—"

"The hell?" Poe whispered. "That's not—"

He was too confused and far too tired to finish. Mila frowned deeply.

"You got a lot to catch up on, flyboy," she said dismally, tearing her eyes from the holo in search of a distraction, something to change the subject.

She glanced across the night stand Karé, Iolo, and Muran had set it up for him when he was still under. Something warmly glinted in the corner of her eye: a ring, far too small for Poe's hand. Mila's brow furrowed. She didn't know how she'd never seen if before, but she hadn't. Curiosity got the better of her, and she reached for it without thinking. But instead of protesting like she realized he might, Poe smiled affectionately as he watched her.

"What's this?" she asked.

Poe sat up on one elbow, and though the gentle expression on his face was hard for Mila to read, she couldn't look away from it. His brow quirked mischievously. "It's a ring, Mila."

"Laser brain," Mila lightly chuckled, rolling her eyes. "I knew that." She scrutinized it harder, noted the delicate engraving on the inside. Though she couldn't make out what it said, she had a feeling she knew what it stood for.

"Is this a wedding band?"

Poe nodded, his eyes meeting hers before moving back to the object in Mila's little hand. He smiled wistfully.

"It was Mom's."

A little gasp wavered between Mila's lips. The ring jn her hand – a simple gold band on an even simpler gold chain – suddenly felt a lot heavier, and in more ways than one.

This was the only tangible piece of Shara that Poe had left.

Mila thought about putting it back, but she couldn't follow through. The quivering starts of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She was mesmerized.

"Dad found it after the crash," Poe softly explained. "Gave it to me the day we buried her. He wanted me to hold onto it."

Mila's face softened. "Why?"

Poe's hand slipped under hers and gently cradled her knuckles in his palm.

"So… so I could pass it on, when the time came," he whispered. "Once I found the right girl."

Mila's heart fluttered and fell to her toes all at the same time. Maybe he thought he had, and that was the worst part. She loved him more than she could put to words – she knew he returned it – but this was different than anything she thought they would face. The woman she used to be – the one that he fell in love with, the one that fought so desperately to trick herself and everyone else into thinking she was still alive and well – was nearly gone. Sinking under the mire of everything she'd been through, searching for a hand to grasp and yet afraid to take it if it came.

He couldn't know. If all went according to plan, he would never know, and they could move forward together like Rattatak had never happened.

The war in Mila's eyes nearly overshadowed the weary smile on her face. Her gaze returned to the table, drifting across its contents and stopping on a framed flat holo. Her brow furrowed.

"Is this Yavin Four?"

Poe nodded. "Yep." He smiled softly as Mila took the frame in her hands and scrutinized the scene – a small ranch house tucked away in a rainforest, shrouded by mountains and basking in the glow of the dying day's light. Her expression gentled. Pined.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

"It's sticky," Poe grinned.

Mila chuckled, but her gentle laughter faded nearly as soon as it began.

"It looks so quiet," she said. Her eyes pooled yearningly as she ran a finger down the side of the frame. "Peaceful."

"It is," Poe replied, his hand finding hers again and taking it in his own. "Once all this sithspit calms down, I'll have to take you there. Hunker down for a while."

Despite herself, Mila started to smile. "And do what?"

"I dunno," Poe grew thoughtful as he spoke. "Start a family?"

Mila laughed – a real laugh, Poe noted, and the first one he'd heard since he woke up. "You've gotta ask me something first, flyboy," she giggled.

"I know." A bright grin warmed Poe's face, danced in his eyes like starlight. He glanced at the ring that was wrapped in Mila's fist.

"What would you say?" he asked, his face softening.

The starts of an intrigued smile parted Mila's lips. Her brow wrinkled questioningly. Poe's tender grin returned.

"If I really asked you," he wondered, "what would you say?"

Mila's eyes twinkled. "I'm not gonna tell you that," she said mischievously, standing from her chair and sitting on the edge of his bed. "It'd take the fun out of it."

She leaned forward and slowly kissed him, a radiant smile lighting her face from within once she pulled back. "But I think you know."

Poe found himself grinning. Whatever deep-seated exhaustion or worry or whatever it had been that had plagued Mila's gaze only moments beforehand had nearly disappeared, as far as he could tell.

She's okay, he told himself, and for the first time that day he believed it. Just tired.

"So," he started, happy to see Mila perking up again. "How long are you gonna have me back he—"

The door suddenly hissed open, and a winded med cadet halfway stumbled through the threshold. He stopped, mopping a gangly hand through his sandy hair as he tried to catch his breath. Mila jettisoned to her feet – unusually quick, Poe noted. Like she'd been startled, but there was nothing there to startle her… was there?

"Lieutenant Criss," the cadet fumbled. "Someone here to see you, ma'am. Said it was urgent."

Mila observed him unsurely. The cadet's apprehensive eyes stayed fixed on her.

"Intel back from Rattatak, ma'am. Said you needed to know."

The little gleam of light in Mila's eyes had flickered back out again. Poe's stomach knotted as he watched her stand, watched her freeze in the doorframe and look at him over her shoulder before she went out into the hallway. BB-8 warbled nervously.

"I don't know, buddy," Poe sighed, sitting up a little straighter so he could watch Mila through the observation window that looked out into the busy hallway. Through the passing people he spotted Calo, standing next to who Poe knew had to have been Damien. The two brothers embraced her at once. Poe wondered what had brought them there.

From the wrinkle in between Calo's brows alone, he knew it couldn't be good.

Damien's calloused hands found Mila's little shoulders and held them fast, support beams against what Poe could tell would soon be a crumbling wall. Poe noticed tears welling in Calo's eyes. The Rapier couldn't see what they were looking at, but it sent his heart straight to his toes.

No, he saw Mila's lips form the word. She shook her head, and all color drained from her face as the whites of her eyes reddened. Stop.

Poe saw her buckle a little bit, like whatever she'd just seen or heard had socked her in the gut. Damien's grip tightened. Poe clenched his teeth, searching the scene frantically for what had caused her distress, wishing he could stand up, walk to her, and calm her storm himself. Stuck in the bed, all he could do was wait.

He'd never felt so trapped.

Finally, the culprit walked into the frame. A tall, well-built soldier, decked out in his dress greens and high-ranking, whoever he was. He had something in his hands, but the windowsill kept Poe from seeing what it was. He may not have noticed it in the first place even if he could have seen it; his eyes were locked on the patch on the soldier's shoulder.

250th Pathfinders.

"Oh, no…."

The Pathfinder handed the mystery object to Mila, who stared at it hollowly, petrified in place. After several long seconds, Poe saw her mouth a thank you. The Pathfinder – his face nearly as stricken as hers was – laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, nodded apologetically, and left.

Overwhelmed, Mila didn't look up. Didn't move, hardly blinked, hardly breathed. After a few minutes she slowly turned towards his hospital room door, the rage and the heartbreak and the lost hope that floundered in her eyes nearly stopping Poe's heart.

He knew what she would say when he asked. He wasn't ready to hear it. Still he steeled himself.

That wall was falling. And he'd be damned if he didn't try to hold it back up.

The door hissed open and shut. Poe heard Mila gasp, almost like she was coming up for air.

"Mila?" he softly called.

Her footsteps tapped the tile as she came around the corner. The tears that she'd fought so hard to hold back poured down her face. He could see her shaking. She wordlessly, lifelessly stared at the object the Pathfinder had given her.

A folded, New Republic flag.

Mila finally raised her eyes to his, her crushed spirit begging him for help without making a sound.

"Jaren," she stammered.

Barking sobs strangled her body. Poe's heart shattered.

"C'mere," he whispered, holding an arm up for her to crawl under. He started to wince as he scooted over, but he stopped himself.

He didn't care how bad it hurt him. She needed him. Now.

Hardly able to breathe, Mila stumbled to him and fell into his arms, the sound of her soul shattering digging at his ears as her tears soaked his shirt. She held onto the flag almost as tightly as she held onto him.

"I could have stopped him!" she cried. "I-I should have—and then he wouldn't be—"

"This isn't your fault, Mila," Poe tried to soothe, stroking her hair and holding her as close to him as he possibly could. "Don't you dare think it is."

She clung to him and shook. Poe felt heat rising in his own eyes.

"You can only blame the guy with the gun," he whispered.

Mila fought to catch her breath and coughed. "They won't tell us how he died," she stammered lividly. "They know, but they won't tell us! How many others have they kept the truth from?"

It was rare that Poe found himself at a loss for words, but this marked twice in less than an hour that he'd come up short. Nothing he could say would soothe her – this wasn't something he could just fix – so he took her hand in his, held her close, and decided to just be there. It was the best he could do, the best he could think of. After a while – Poe didn't know exactly how much time had passed, but the sun had gone down outside – Mila quieted and went still, and her breathing evened out.

She'd fallen asleep.

Softly Poe brushed his hand across the top of her hair and kissed the side of her head. She needed the rest, and he was more than happy to let her have it. Solemnly he turned back to the holo.

"—though most of the survivors have resigned their commissions. Republic Command estimates well over two hundred soldiers have mustered out. There is no information on where exactly they have gone—"

Poe almost scoffed. Was it really that hard for them to admit it? He'd heard the rumors. Everyone had heard the rumors. Ever since Senator Organa left the Senate several years prior, they'd been flying in every direction. He hadn't quite believed them at first, but after Daxam IV – and even more so now – he did. With every fiber of his being. He had to. Those rumors let him know he wasn't alone, restoring something in him that had recently been in very short supply:

Hope.

He looked down at the woman in his arms. It wouldn't be long before both of them had "inexplicably disappeared," too. Along with the remaining Rapiers.

Above all, Poe wondered what was holding them back.

His door hissed open, but he didn't acknowledge it at first. The footsteps were far too light for flight boots. It couldn't have been any of the Rapiers – he didn't know where they were – though he desperately wanted to see them. He knew Mila could use that, too.

Finally he looked up, and what he saw surprised him.

"Major Deso?"

Deso nodded and smiled a little. "It is good to see you awake, Commander. Can I come in?"

Poe shrugged a little. "Of course."

A bit hesitantly Deso came towards him. "You gave us one hell of a scare. There were a couple of times we thought we'd lost you. Lieutenant Kun was prepared to send your final transmissions out." Deso genuinely smiled as he patted Poe's shoulder; relief swarmed his gaze. "Good thing she didn't have to."

Poe nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, sir."

There was a heavy silence before Deso spoke again. "Command's sent a recovery team back to Rattatak," he said solemnly. Poe looked up at him in disbelief. "They're treading lightly, but Antilles wanted to bring everybody home that he could. They're looking for Echo. Looking for Kit. I thought you should know."

"I'll tell the others when they get back," Poe replied, shocked.

Deso nodded, again falling silent. He almost looked guilty, but Poe had no idea what would make the major – usually a stoic man – carry himself that way. He must have missed it while he was under, and that created more questions than it answered. Added more to the list that had sprawled across his brain since the second he regained consciousness. Poe found himself tensing without knowing why. He saw Deso move out of the corner of his eye, and when the major finally spoke again, the tone of his voice was far more personable than normal:

"She yours, Poe?"

A smile involuntarily shot across Poe's face. "Yeah," he replied, looking down at Mila, who was still sound asleep.

"She must be worried."

"She is." Poe's grip around Mila's shoulders tightened. "It's been… rough, to put it lightly. She's… she's lost a lot."

The concern in Deso's eyes washed over the rest of his face as he glanced at the flag tucked under Mila's arm. Solemnly he nodded. He watched her for a moment; aside from her chest rising and falling in time with her breathing, she didn't move. All of a sudden his eyes popped.

"Is that…" he started, recognition blooming in his irises. "Lieutenant Criss. She's… I had no idea the two of you were—"

It poked his bruised ribs to do so, but Poe chuckled anyway. "With respect, sir, where have you been?"

Deso smirked, shook his head, and shrugged lightly. He looked back to Mila, and his eyes darkened sadly.

"You heard the allegations?"

Poe nodded, his face falling.

"They're pretty serious," Deso went on. Poe couldn't help but notice the major looked a bit disgusted as he spoke. "I don't know why in hell they were made in the first place."

Poe frowned. "I don't either, sir."

"Wedge is… conflicted," Deso said hesitantly, sitting in the chair that Mila had occupied when Poe came to. "She crossed a bunch of lines to save you, Commander. And the others. He can't ignore that." His gaze wandered to the sleeping medic's tearstained face yet again. "But she saved you, Poe. And several hundred others. Not to mention Lieutenant Anderon, back in the day."

Grief chipped at Poe's exhausted heart. "A lot's changed since then."

Deso nodded solemnly. "I don't know if she has any idea how much she has done for Rapier Squadron," he continued quietly, looking at a still-sleeping Mila as he spoke. "Hell, for this entire defense fleet. For the New Republic. People like her are what's keeping our heads above water."

He rose and gently put a hand on Mila's shoulder, in much the same way that Poe had seen him do with his pilots. The major spoke again, and Poe swore it was an apology:

"And I hope, for both your sakes, the general remembers that."

The first thing Mila noticed as she woke up was the crick in her neck. Her eyes slowly cracked open – she expected them to be sore, but they weren't. Her head also wasn't pounding when it definitely should have been. Poe was still holding her hand – stroking her knuckles with his thumb – so she couldn't have dozed off for that long.

Warm, bright light eased across her face, pooled red behind her recently reshut eyes. Irritated – her body desperately begged for more rest, and she wasn't awake enough to resist it – she snuggled closer to Poe and sighed softly. The scent of fresh caf streamed up her nose—

Her eyes bolted open. She suddenly sat up. That light was sunlight.

It was morning.

"Kriffing hell," she gasped, startled completely awake as her heart rammed against her breastbone. She swung her still-booted feet over the side of Poe's bed and stood so quickly she made herself dizzy.

"Easy, doc," Poe's voice soothingly drifted to her ear. "You've still got time."

Mila verified the chrono on the wall behind her and forcefully sighed with relief. She didn't have as much time as she would like, but she at least wasn't late. She ran a hand through her loose hair. Though they had ebbed a little, nerves still warped her face to a worried frown.

"Did…" she started shakily. "You haven't seen Krell, have you?"

If she knows I was asleep, Antilles won't have to demote me. I'll already be dead.

Poe shook his head. "Not once. Darren came in around midnight to check on me, but that's it."

Another blaster bolt dodged. Mila tried to get herself to relax, but her overly anxious mind wouldn't let her. Tension balled rigidly between her shoulder blades.

"Right, Rapier Two?" she heard Poe ask.

Karé responded from behind her. "Yep. Didn't even think about moving you, either. He said you looked comfy. He'd've felt bad."

"They were standing watch all night. Swapped out every hour." Poe grinned. "And before you freak out, doc, they made me sleep through all of it."

A ghost of a smile slipped across Mila's mouth, and she nodded appreciatively. Force bless Rapier Squadron, and Darren, wherever he was. She eyed the chrono again. Her relief was short-lived.

"I need to go," she sighed tremulously, putting her head down and hurrying towards the door. Her usually steady hands shaken clumsy under the pressure, she fumbled with the door controls.

"Mila?"

She looked over her shoulder. Poe's eyes were kind as he spoke.

"No matter what happens out there, I've still got your back. And I couldn't be prouder of you."

A soft smile poked through the medic's fearful expression. She picked her foot up over the threshold, the first shaky step into an uncertain future. The door shut behind her.

And as she walked out of the medcenter, she was fully aware that it may have been for the last time.

"Lieutenant Criss!"

As Mila pushed through the throng of overly-excited holoreporters, she felt like she was under a microscope, every breath, every move under scrutiny. They packed so close to her that her uniform wrinkled against their sides, so close that she could smell one woman's obnoxiously floral perfume, one man's terrible morning breath. All of them calling her name, all of them shoving holorecorders in her face, hoping to garner an answer from who was currently the face of the New Republic's biggest scandal.

The lieutenant didn't acknowledge a single one of them, but Krell tried to acknowledge them all. By the glint in the colonel's eye, Mila got the sick feeling that Krell was enjoying this.

The reporters crammed closer. Mila's brain constantly scanned for an escape route without her permission. And without her permission, it panicked when it couldn't find one. She felt her heart race, her breath quicken.

She hoped to the stars Krell wouldn't notice.

The doors to Republic Command finally appeared in front of her. Dying for some space, Mila reached for the controls.

Another reporter called her name. Something in her tone made Mila pause for a second.

"Lieutenant Criss!"

Mila's jaw set. She flipped up the panel, the controls smooth under her fingertips. She started to punch in her code.

Ignore her.

"Lieutenant, please!" the reporter genuinely sounded desperate. "This has nothing to do with pending charges. I want to know about the morning you landed!"

That was unexpected.

Mila stopped. Turned over her shoulder. She was not in the mood to be harassed, and the glower in her eyes communicated that well. The reporter – a tall Squattaman woman with blue skin and long black hair – retreated back a step.

"Who was the man you were holding?"

Mila huffed in annoyance, angrily turning back to the panel and mashing the controls so hard they stuck to the wall behind them for a split second too long. The door opened.

I am not bringing Poe into this.

She stepped through the threshold, and a little of the pain in her chest alleviated. She found she could breathe a little bit easier, think a little clearer, now that she wasn't surrounded on all sides with no way out. The reporter called her again, but Mila was more than happy to completely ignore her.

She almost shook with fury when Krell answered for her.

"Commander Dameron," the colonel said, and she almost sounded cheerful. "The girl's in love with him."

Mila could have killed her right then and there. She'd probably end this day in stun cuffs anyway. Why not toss a murder charge into the mix?

You take the high road, Mila. You keep your head held high, you keep going, playing by the books and doing your job the best you damn well can. Wait for ego to kill her. Because one day, sis, it will.

Mila almost smiled.

Jaren.

He'd said that the first time Krell had pulled something, right after Mila had made SpecForces. He promised he'd always have her back. Even from beyond the grave, he still did.

She took a deep breath. For his sake, she'd pull the punches.

She stepped into the turbolift. Krell shut the door and sent them rocketing upwards with the touch of a finger. Aside from the rush of passing air and the whirring of gears and cables outside, it was stiflingly, suffocatingly quiet.

"I wonder how all this must feel to you, Lieutenant?"

Mila stiffened. She wanted to bite back, but Jaren's wise words kept her tongue locked behind her teeth.

"All that work for what's about to be nothing. I know I'll be glad to be rid of you."

Good to know the feeling's mutual. Mila clenched her fists to keep from saying it.

Krell scoffed. "Will you ever respond when an officer addresses you? If you keep that stony silence going with the general, I know he won't be pleased."

Don't. Say. Anything.

"You know, I think losing Sundar has had its perks."

That murder charge was looking better and better.

"This unit finally has someone who knows what she's doing to lead it. Someone who knows weakness when she sees it." Krell looked straight at her, and Mila froze under the scrutiny. The colonel's voice dropped knowingly.

"Don't think I haven't noticed the change in you, Criss." Krell smirked triumphantly. "I saw you in an empty stairwell the other day. You shied at nothing."

Mila's eyes bugged. Her balled hands started to shake.

She knows.

Krell had the audacity to chuckle. "Yet something else that makes you unfit. We were all trained to process what we see and move on, and you can't even get through your first battle without completely falling apar—"

"Why?"

The enraged word broke out of Mila's lips before she could hold it back. Her eyes blazed, and she finally turned to face her commanding officer.

"Since the day you met me," she snapped, "you have done nothing but try to tear me down. Why?"

Krell stared at her for a few silent seconds. Mila didn't expect to get an answer, so she was shocked when she did.

"I don't like being wrong, Criss," Krell responded coolly. "You have proven me to be on multiple occasions. I don't mean about the First Order. I could care less about that. I mean about you. You were never supposed to amount to anything, yet for some reason Sundar adored you. Trusted you.

"I kept expecting you to die that night. You should have died that night. You and Dameron both. And yet here you are. Not only were you strong enough to survive, but to do so recklessly."

Krell paused and slowly turned to look at her. Mila tensed.

"You are everything that I was supposed to be, yet somehow never amounted to."

Mila didn't know how to respond, if at all. That was what it was?

"But none of that matters now," Krell went on. The lift slowed, stopped. "Here you are at your end, the end I always knew you'd come to." She took a menacing step towards Mila, her icy eyes narrowing to condescending slits.

"When you finally get what is coming for you, Lieutenant, tell me how it feels. That's your final order."

She turned and sauntered out into the hallway. Mila took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and followed, her eyes not leaving the sealed office doors in front of her… or the name on the plaque next to them.

If she went down – if this really was it – Antilles was not going to see her falter. More importantly, Krell wouldn't.

After several long minutes, they were invited in. Mila's heart slammed painfully in her chest. She didn't have to see the thin, smug smile growing across Krell's face to know it was there. Her stomach knotted. Trying to distract herself, Mila looked around the room, which was as tastefully decorated as the New Republic Navy would allow it to be. Despite that and its intimidating size – and the massive case of medals perched on the wall behind the long desk in front of her – it was surprisingly warm and welcoming. Personable.

A door in the back corner whistled open, and the call for attention thundered through the air. Mila heard his steps – saw the green of his dress uniform out of the corner of her eye – as she snapped to, but she couldn't work up the nerve to look at him.

"At ease."

Mila clasped her hands behind her back and stood with her feet shoulder width apart. Finally she raised her gaze, and General Antilles was looking straight at her.

Two burly soldiers came in behind him. One had stun cuffs. Mila swallowed.

"Lieutenant Criss," Antilles started, his voice calm and steady and far more amiable than she expected it to be. "I've spent the past month looking over some pretty serious charges from your superior officers."

Mila watched him rattle them off – she had them memorized herself – but the sound of his words went in one ear and out the other.

"I've been wracking my brain over what to do with these," Antilles went on. "They come with some pretty heavy consequences. I've studied the reports, as well. And all of them but one say the same thing."

He came out from behind his desk, and he suddenly seemed realer, smaller, than he had before. The stories that chronicled Rogue Leader's lengthy list of accomplishments made him seem larger than he really was, larger than life itself. Now that she stood in front of him, Mila realized he was the same size as Poe. For whatever reason, that comforted her a little bit.

"You were ordered to rescue roughly five hundred soldiers from our base on Rattatak. According to all of the reports, you carried that order out to the letter. You saved a lot of lives, Lieutenant Criss. Well done."

Mila's brow furrowed.

"Later that same night, you rescued a pilot trapped in the Command center. You not only got him to safety, but performed the operation that saved his life. On your own. And it is my understanding that your patient is recovering smoothly."

"Yes sir," Mila replied, and she almost sounded mechanical. "He is."

To Mila's surprise, General Antilles actually smiled.

"That is good to hear, Lieutenant," he said. "On all counts, it sounds like a job well done to me."

"On the surface," Krell eagerly butted it.

Antilles's face darkened. "She is right, Lieutenant. The charges before me are too steep to ignore, and after reviewing the reports again, I have decided to make a few of my own."

Mila's worried eyes wandered to the stun cuffs in the guard's hand. She wouldn't fight him when he put them on.

"You're under arrest for insubordination. Missing movement. Negligence." The general's voice stuck to the last one as if the word had a particularly bitter taste in his mouth. Anger boiled behind his calm blue eyes, a storm brewing on the not-so-distant horizon. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Mila fought to appear collected, but she couldn't have been more confused. Defeated.

Negligence? How did Krell get to that one?

"With respect, sir," she said, "I don't regret a single one of my actions."

"And you shouldn't," the general replied almost immediately. Mila was more than a little perplexed.

"Those charges weren't for you, Lieutenant." His calm gaze drifted to Mila's side, hardening tempestuously as it found its intended target. "They were for the major. Arrest her."

Krell recoiled. "What!?"

"Colonel Sundar ordered you into that mess hall, Major Krell," Antilles, though still maintaining a completely even keel, was absolutely furious. "I would demote you, but that rank was never yours in the first place. Criss and the rest of the company ran in without a second thought, but you stayed behind. Against orders."

Krell exploded. "She broke orders – my orders – to save one man!"

"And that one man is more important to the morale this navy than you could ever dream to be."

Krell fell silent. Mila's heart raced.

This can't be happening.

Suddenly terrified, Krell fought for words. "Permission to speak freely, sir."

Antilles raised an annoyed eyebrow. "Permission granted."

Krell threw an accusatory index finger towards a stunned Mila. "She almost got me killed that night—"

"You were so far removed from the rest of your men, I'm surprised you're even able to make that claim."

"General—"

"You'll stand here and tell me you joined this navy to save lives, yet you were willing to leave a grievously wounded soldier to die on your table because it inconvenienced you! It's a damn good thing Lieutenant Criss was brave enough to stay the course, because if she hadn't, one of my best pilots would be dead, and your trial would be a hell of a lot messier than it's already going to be."

Mila could hardly believe what she was hearing. She dared not hold out hope… but it looked like following Jaren's advice was about to pay off.

Krell gaped like a dying fish on a beach. "She is reckless, General—"

He was standing right in front of the major now. His glare could have destroyed another Death Star.

"Rogue Squadron wasn't exactly known for our discretion, Major, but we sure as hell got the job done."

"Gen—"

Antilles waved to the guards behind him. "Get this woman out of my office."

"Major Almira Krell," one of the guards started, "you are under arrest for—"

Between Krell's shouts of protest and the pounding of her heart in her ears, Mila didn't hear another word. Relief too great for words flooded her senses. She wanted to gloat or laugh or cry or something, but she didn't.

She'd take the high road.

Make Jaren proud, one more time.

She hardened her face to stone, straightened her back a little, and stared straight ahead.

"You have won the battle, Criss," Krell thundered, and Mila realized her enraged, thunderstruck bellow was lunging at her from down a hallway. "But you haven't won the war—"

The door slammed shut. She just had.

With everything in her, Mila fought to retain a professional expression. The corners of her mouth twitched incessantly, and she fought to keep them from curling up as they so badly wanted to.

Antilles put a hand on her shoulder.

"C'mon, Lieutenant," he joked, his eyes gleaming in the same way another flyboy's would be once Mila told him about this. "Let 'er rip. You deserve it after all that."

Not only did Mila smile, but she laughed. From relief or victory or sheer shock, she didn't know. Antilles patted her on the back.

"It's been a long time since I shared a room with a soldier like you, Lieutenant. If I'm honest, you remind me of an old friend of mine. And she's a big reason why I reached the decision I did."

"If she's the same caliber as you, sir," Mila fumbled, "then I'll take that as a compliment."

Wedge Antilles smiled. "Of the highest order."

Mila didn't know what to say. There was no way this was happening. She was dreaming the whole thing.

"You're a fine soldier, Lieutenant Criss. It's no wonder Colonel Sundar adored you. You made him very proud that night."

Mila was genuinely touched. "Thank you, sir."

Wedge smiled at her, and Mila found him easier to be around by the second.

"In case you haven't put it together yet," he said favorably, "you're keeping your command."

Mila laughed. Wedge put a still-calloused hand on her little shoulder.

"And I want to personally award you with the New Republic Medal of Honor."

Mila nearly fell over. Her mouth fell open. What?

"After everything you have sacrificed for us, it is the least I can do."

Mila could hardly breathe. A brand new wave of shock – the weight of a whole new level of responsibility – rocked her so hard it knocked her into a nearby chair.

Me?

"I…" she fought to get the words out. "I don't know what to say, sir. I… I don't deserve this—"

"Tell that to the parents whose children you saved." Wedge's eyes glinted warmly. "Up to and including Kes Dameron."

Mila grinned. Wedge chuckled, but after a moment grew silent. Serious. Mila's brow furrowed.

"General?"

To her surprise, he kneeled in front of her and took one of her little, shaking hands in his, looking her right in the eye.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"I know, Mila." He seemed almost fatherly as he spoke. "I know what happened."

The medic's eyes darted unsurely. "Of course you do, General. It's all over the holo—"

"Not that junk. I know the truth."

Mila met his gaze, stunned. "How?"

Wedge almost looked grieved. "Is the word of my own soldiers not good enough anymore?"

Mila stared at him, completely at a loss for words.

"Unfortunately," Wedge went on, "the Senate has my hands just as tightly tied as everyone else's. If it were up to me, we'd have blown those kriffheads to hell years ago."

A small smile found its way to Mila's mouth.

"But it isn't up to me. So officially, I can't help you." His eyes steeled determinedly. "But unofficially? I know someone who can."

The door behind him opened again, but Mila didn't turn to see who had entered immediately. Wedge turned towards the newcomer: a petite woman – no taller than Mila herself – with elegantly braided, greying hair. Despite her size, her presence was tremendous. Mila felt tiny next to her, but it wasn't a bad thing.

"That friend I was talking about," Wedge said, smiling.

Mila watched the woman come towards her. She was startlingly familiar, but Mila hadn't paired a name with her face.

Not yet.

"Lieutenant Criss," the woman said, her kind voice and bravado commanding the entire room the second she opened her mouth. "Do you know who I am?"

Mila studied the woman's face for a moment more. Where had she—

She looked between the woman and General Antilles. It hit her. Breathless, in awe, she slowly, unbelievingly whispered the woman's famous name.

The name of her greatest hero.

"General Organa."