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Chapter 2: The Echo of Hope

The hallways aboard the Echo of Hope were long and cornerless, a carbon copy of every standard Mon Cala cruiser Mila had been on. The wing around the small medbay was usually empty, or close to empty, and that was a good thing.

If it were busy, then something would have happened.

The only noise, besides Mila's boots tapping the floor and BB-8's rolling and occasional beeps, was the distant rumble of the cruiser's engines. She tried to focus on that—to count her footsteps, the tiles in the floor, or the lights over her head. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't find it in her to speak; even when BB-8 softly beeped at her, all she could manage was a grunt. She tried to give the little droid a smile, but it collapsed on her face.

One step. Two.

He's going to die.

Four lights. Five.

He's going to die.

Seven tiles. Eight.

He's going to die.

The harder she tried to ignore it, the louder the voice in Mila's head became.

He's going to die. He's going to die. He's going to die.

Her eyes followed the reflection of the lights against the tile, watching the bright orb ripple and dance in front of her. Part of her felt like the child that would chase it down and hop on top of it, like she'd seen her nephews do, like she'd done when she was that young. A little smile tinged her face. What she wouldn't give to see Liam and Evan again. To hear them giggle, to watch them play. To play with them. Their little smiles sprang to the forefront of her mind, and for a moment, it was almost as if—

Something jumped in her peripheral, strewn against the wall. Mila spun to face it.

A body, covered in blood that pooled on the floor beside them. Beaten and burned beyond recognition. The smell that came with it clotted her sinuses. A shaking hand reached for her as the person screamed.

She sucked in air, stumbling a few steps backwards. She scrambled for her medkit, only to find that she didn't have it with her. Tugging at her fatigue jacket, she started to take it off so she could ball it up to stop the bleeding—

Only to find that her patient had disappeared.

BB-8 had pushed against her leg and whimpered; the sound bled over the screaming, and his touch had gently bumped her back into reality. He stared up at her, warbling softly.

Even if he wasn't sentient, Mila read fear in the tone of his binary.

"It…" She sighed hard, forcefully expelling the air from her lungs as if doing so would rid her of the images clawing at her eyes. "I'm okay, buddy."

No, you're not.

You'd even lie to a droid?

Pathetic.

"It was just in my head."

Shaky legs carried Poe down the Hevurion Grace's gangplank. His head still reeled; he hardly heard General Organa's protocol droid's greeting as he sped behind him. He though he'd hear something about checking the computers. His sore back stiff from having been glued to the pilot's seat the entire ride back, he walked with a little bit of a hobble, but he hid it well.

Iolo's Headhunter was on his right, its entire port side blackened. Techs and astromechs ran to it and clamored all over it even before Iolo stumbled down the ladder. Karé was just as wobbly as he was.

The three pilots stopped at the bottom of the gangplank, staring at each other slack-jawed. No one really knew what to say.

Slowly Karé started to smile, then to laugh.

"What the hell was that?!"

She threw one arm around Poe, the other around Iolo. Both of them laughed and rocked backwards, trying to support her weight. Words tumbled out of all three of their mouths at lightspeed.

"How did we do that?!"

"That was one hell of a shot—"

"…and some nice flying from—"

"I wish you guys could have seen his face!"

"I'd pay good money to see those pilots explain this to Hux!"

"How did you not die doing—"

"…though I was done, then Karé came in and—"

"I can't believe we pulled that off!"

"Muran would have loved to see that."

Iolo's voice took on a different flavor as he said it.

Poe nodded, taking a moment to remember his old friend. To remember all of Rapier Squadron. All three pilots fell silent. The grief tugging at Poe's heart also pulled on theirs.

"I think he'd have been proud," Karé said.

"Yeah," Poe said. "I think they all would have been."

What would Kit have had to say about this?

"So," Poe went on, throwing an arm around each of his former squad mates, "I say we go get cleaned up, then meet back at my place for a toast. For them."

He let Karé and Iolo go, smiling as the two of them disappeared from the hangar. As crazy as it had been, he couldn't have been happier to have gotten to work with them again. They both headed up their own squadrons—Dagger and Stiletto—and he couldn't have been prouder of them.

That didn't mean he didn't miss them.

Someone walked up beside him, but he hardly noticed until she spoke:

"Flyboys. You're all the same."

General Organa shook her head, smiling.

"Some of us are flygirls," Poe shot back.

"Captain Kun is an exceptional pilot, as is Captain Arana, for that matter." Her eyes twinkled. "But it's a rare pilot who engages one frigate and two Star Destroyers and lives to tell the tale."

"Word travels fast."

Leia grinned. "That it does."

"Princess Leia?" C-3PO called down to them from the top of the gangplank. Poe tried to ignore the urgency with which he spoke. "You had better come and see this."

When Leia's face darkened, Poe's stomach dropped. "It's never good when he says that," she said, starting up the gangplank.

"Ma'am? Is there anything I can do?"

Leia turned and smiled at him, trying to reassure him as the worry that dampened the spark in her eye started to gnaw at him. "Go find your droid, Poe. And your wife. Celebrate this victory. Remember your friends. You've more than done enough today."

Walking—which had turned into nervous pacing—hadn't worked, so Mila went into the medbay proper, BB-8 rolling behind her. A few young nurses conversed in the corner—none over the age of twenty, and none of whom she recognized—but they were so engrossed in whatever it was they were talking about that they didn't notice her or BB-8 come in. She put her head down and made her way to the shelving in the back, picked up a container filled with bandages waiting to be rolled up, and got to work.

This work was usually reserved, at this level, for medical droids and those brand new to the job, but Mila didn't care. Perhaps doing something with her hands would get her some relief. The smell of blood and burning flesh still hadn't left her nose, but it would be a start.

One bandage. Two.

She rolled and re-rolled, making them perfect as she could, as if she were a student approaching a practical examination. She rearranged them within the shelving until her knees hurt from squatting. Stiffly, she stood up and began to sort through topical medications, which actually had become a little too disorganized. BB-8 didn't leave her side for a second.

Mila set the first bottle back in its usual spot and let her ears drift to the lively conversation going on behind her.

"…but I went down to the hangar the other day—you know, just because I could. Looks like they got some new blood, too. And you're never going to believe who I saw down there."

"Who?"

The first girl's voice dropped to a whisper, Mila assumed for dramatic affect:

"Poe. Dameron."

The girls gasped and chattered amongst themselves. Mila had to laugh.

"You did not."

"Yes I did!"

For the first time that day, she felt a smile come across her face. He'd get a kick out of this once he came back.

If he comes back.

"I still don't believe you."

"Well you should! The rest of his old squadron was there with him. I don't remember their names. So was his BB-unit…."

BB-8's head rose to the top of his dome, like he were puffing his chest out with pride. Mila raised a finger to her lips. "Shhh."

"…but I'm dead serious!" I think he looked at me. I almost died."

One of the other girls gasped. "Get. Out."

The rustle of fabric indicated the first girl was nodding excitedly.

"Did you talk to him?"

"No! Of course not! Then I actually would have died!"

The other two girls laughed. Mila snickered to herself.

Here they are, flyboy. Your adoring public.

"…and I don't know! He's… he's just him. And… I mean, come on, have you seen him? Those eyes—"

The speaker sounded as if she'd seen a rancor, yet somehow found it humorous. "Gail, shut up."

"And seriously, the—"

"Shut up!" This time, it hissed from behind gritted teeth.

"Why?"

"Because he's right there!"

Mila's head shot up with a gasp. She whirled around on her heel.

Sure enough, there he was, standing in the doorframe, grinning at her.

"You're okay!"

She bounded across the room, BB-8 squealing behind her.

"Hey do—oof!"

Poe stumbled backwards and down the hallway as he held her, laughing. Mila fought back tears the relief was so overwhelming.

He's okay. He's okay!

Poe set her back down, and she kissed him so hard she saw stars.

"Are you hurt?" The words tumbled out of her mouth. "Did you get what you went in for? How are—"

"They're fine." Smiling at her, Poe gently grabbed her shoulders, and that steadied her. "Iolo got a little cooked, but he's alright."

"You?"

"Couple of bruises, but it's nothing you couldn't fix in your sleep." Poe grinned triumphantly. "And yeah, we got it."

Mila sighed with relief and threw her arms back around him, trying to reassure herself that he was there.
"I'm okay," he whispered, kissing the side of her head. "You can breathe easy now, doc. It's over."

She pulled herself closer to him, reveling in the familiar scent of his old flight jacket, thanking the Force that he was there. That he was alive.

Poe pulled back and took her hand, leading her from the medbay and into a turbolift. He waited for the door to shut before he spoke, his gentle tone a bit more concerned:

"How'd you hold up today?"

The palpitations, the pacing, the bloody body all came back in an instant. Mila sighed and shook her head, staring a hole in the floor.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

She hated that answer. She hated it more than she knew what to do with, but that was always the one that came out of her mouth.

That meant she was keeping something—a lot of somethings—from her husband, and she absolutely despised herself for it.

You keep this up, and he's not gonna trust you anymore.

That damn voice definitely knew where the armor was weakest.

"Sounds like you need a distraction, then."

He squeezed her hand as he spoke. Nothing in his eyes, or his voice—nothing about him changed when she looked back up at him. Still just as much as a warm, safe place to crash as he'd ever been.

Mila had no idea how he did it.

"Come with me," he said as the turbolift doors opened.

Corellian brandy wasn't Poe's top choice when it came to spirits. As a native Yavinian, he preferred something with a stronger bite, but he would take it over nothing, and it certainly wasn't at the back of the list. He really didn't drink too often. He preferred to remain sharp-minded, but he would indulge in a taste during a special occasion.

Today counted as such. And he could use the help coming down from the adrenaline or quieting the unwelcome thoughts that swarmed through his mind.

She had tried to hide it from him, but Poe had seen the way Leia's eyes had darted when she'd been called onto the Grace. He had heard nothing from her since—he assumed she was still knee-deep in sketchy credit transfers and suspicious hyperspace coordinates—but though he tried to tell himself that she simply wasn't done analyzing everything and that he just needed to be patient, he couldn't get himself to listen. But for now, he would shove them down and ignore them.

Now, he would celebrate.

He looked across to his wingmen, to his wife. Karé and Iolo had both been as eager to peel off those EVA suits as he had been, and they had both since traded the awful things in for fatigues and their old flight jackets. Mila gently smiled at him, the monster in her head seemingly subdued for now. She either had run it off for the moment or had it so well hidden that it was near impossible to notice. Poe wasn't quite good enough to tell the difference every time, but he hoped she'd catch a bit of a break. Judging from the soft twinkle in her hazel eyes, he decided to guess that she had.

He swirled the amber brandy around in his glass before raising it to them.

"To a tough mission accomplished," he said. "Or to our descent into piracy. You be the judge."

That earned him a chuckle from all three of them.

"And here's to Muran, who gave us so much. We miss you, buddy. Take care of them up there."

There was a lot more that he could have said, but he couldn't find the words to express any of it.

"To Muran." Karé raised her glass. "To all of Rapier Squadron."

They chatted and joked long into the night ship's time. General Organa had them all going different directions—Karé and Stiletto flew sector patrols; Iolo and Dagger, a few recon missions that he wasn't allowed to speak about. Poe had the entire starfighter corps to look after. None of them ever really got a chance to slow down, to catch up. That made their interactions few and far between, and moments like this, where all of them were in the same place for more than a few minutes, even more rare. Poe reveled in every second.

He wondered what the others would have thought of this movement, or what General Organa would have them doing. Maybe they would be split between Dagger and Stiletto. Maybe they would all command their own squadrons. Maybe there would have been more than three pilots carrying out Sabre Strike. Maybe there'd be more than three in this room.

Maybe the Resistance would be better equipped to handle… whatever it was that was coming.

Even as he watched Karé and Iolo chat with Mila about everything under the sun—he hadn't been the only one they'd missed—even when he cut in himself, his voice and their laughter couldn't drown out the worry that started to gnaw on him like a cancer.

Or the anger.

After Karé and Iolo had left for the night, he flopped on the end of his bed, slumped over with his head in his hands.

"You okay?" Mila sat down next to him, sliding her arm around his shoulders.

I shouldn't have been staring down a Star Destroyer. Ro-Kiintor should have called the Republic, but he didn't. How deep in is this guy? And are there—

He stopped the words from coming out of his mouth. She'd had a rough enough day as it was. She didn't need more to worry about.

"Back just hurts," Poe got out. It wasn't entirely a lie—it still smarted from where he'd hit it. He'd told her about the collision, but he hadn't really been able to do anything about it yet.

"I have something for it, should you want it."

He nodded, and she jumped up and dug in her medkit before sitting back down behind him. "Let me see," she said.

Stiffly he took off his shirt. Mila hissed between her teeth. "Yeah, flyboy. That doesn't look like it feels good. Here." He heard a bottle cap snap open, some kind of cream crinkle between her fingers. "This'll do a number on it. Hopefully touching it isn't too—"

"Ow!"

Mila jerked back. "Sorry! It's gotta—"

He turned over his shoulder and slowly smirked at her, her apology dying on her tongue as soon as she saw the quirk in his brow, the mischievous gleam in his eye. Her lips tightened into a scowl that clearly held back a laugh. She sighed through her nose.

"And I fell for it again, didn't I?"

"Yup."

Mila groaned. "I hate it when you do that!" She punched him in the shoulder, which only made him laugh harder. He grunted.

"Okay, that did—"

"Oh, come on. There isn't a bruise there!"

"Well there's gonna be—"

"Then maybe you shouldn't push your luck!"

She laughed as she said it, so his little prank had the desired effect. Poe grinned. "Point taken." He raised his hands in surrender. "Truce?"

Mila smiled and shook her head. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Is that a n—"

Mila cut him off with a hard, quick little kiss. "Truce."

She went back to her work, her intermittent giggles fading as she worked the bacta into his bruised skin. He gritted his teeth.
"You know," she said, "I can always tell when it actually hurts."

"How's that?"

Mila snapped the bottle closed and wiped whatever excess was left on her hands onto the towel she had grabbed. She affectionately rubbed his shoulders.

"'Cause you don't make a sound."

Somehow he got the feeling that had more than one meaning as he slid his shirt back on. Mila now stood in front of him; she ran her hand along the side of his face to get him to look at her.

"What's really bothering you, Poe?"

Called it.

Poe sighed as all the nagging questions all of a sudden barged back in, as dread once again dropped his stomach. "I don't wanna burden you with it."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." She sat back down next to him and laid a little hand on his shoulder. "Just know I did sign up to carry half the burden."

On top of everything else?

Yes, on top of everything else, because that was his Mila, and she, he was finding, could carry a lot of weight. She wanted to help, so he would let her.

"I shouldn't have seen a Star Destroyer today."

Mila's eyes popped. "You what?"

He might not have mentioned that part just yet. Poe sighed.

"When Ro-Kiintor sent the distress signal, he didn't call the New Republic. He called a big Resurgent."

He paused, weighing the odds of what would happen if the next words came out of his mouth. He didn't want to scare her too badly, but at the same time…

"Karé and Iolo said it looked a hell of a lot like the one they saw while leaving Rattatak."

Mila stared at him, eyes wide.

"With it came a few support ships and a whole slew of TIEs. So—"

"So whatever Ro-Kiintor had, the First Order wanted to keep under lock and key." Mila spoke slowly, her wavelength catching up with his. "Whatever's on that ship, it's bad."

Poe sighed. "Really bad."

"And you….?"

"I'm terrified, Mila. And angry."

Mila took his hand. "You and me both, flyboy."

He lowered his head onto her shoulder. She pressed her lips to his forehead.

"What's that you always tell me?" she said, running her fingers through his hair. "Try not to worry about it until you know exactly what it is?"

"To which you always reply, 'That's harder than it looks?' Yeah, you'd be right."

Mila chuckled. "You could try sleeping on it. You might feel better in the morning. You look tired."

His body felt like it weighed twice as much from the exhaustion in his limbs, but his eyes and his brain remained startlingly, sickeningly awake. Restlessness had started to chill him already.

Still, he nodded. Mila smiled at him. "Then get some rest, flyboy." She kissed his forehead. "You earned it."

She stood and took a few steps back towards their tiny kitchen as he bent and yanked off his flight boots.

Maybe he could try, but he knew he wouldn't be sleeping tonight. Not what with he knew was coming in the morning.

"Or…."

Poe's brow furrowed as he looked up at his wife, who spun on her heel to face him. The twinkle in her eye as she looked him over, the new pout in her lips, the swing in her hips as she slowly came back towards him. He'd seen her do just this a thousand times, but it still left him gaping like a teenager.

"I could be really mean," she purred, now sitting on his lap, straddling his hips with her knees, running her hands up and down his arms, "and keep you up all night long."

Not only had she read that he wasn't in the least bit tired—or else she wouldn't have been suggesting what she was—but she'd now just offered to stay up with him, to get his mind off of things in a way that only she could. No doubt, after the day she'd had, she needed the distraction herself. A smile stretched across his face.

"Please do."

Mila laughed as she kissed him. His heart thumped hard in his chest as he leaned into her and deepened it.

"Okay," he grunted as he pulled her closer and started to roll her over onto her back. "I'm awake now."

Mila laughed hard as he kissed her. The worry encasing him, for now, melted away.