And onto Chapter 3! Thanks for the love guys! I'm so glad you're enjoying it so far! :)

Chapter 3: Shell-Shocked

As effective as Mila's… distraction… had been, it was entirely too early in the morning ship's time, and Poe was wide awake. He'd gotten a few hours of restless sleep, but if anything, it had made him feel worse. He stared a hole through the transparisteel window, trying to crawl out of the rut he had dug himself into.

Nothing worked.

His eyes wandered across the room to his data pad. Poe hoped to see the tell-tale blinking green light in the corner that would tell him General Organa had found something of note to share with him—something that might finally stop the questions that swarmed him.

He had no such luck.

How strong is their grip on the galaxy? Are there others like Ro-Kiintor? What in hell is on that—

Poe sat up and raked his hands through his hair with a deep sigh. He looked over his shoulder at his sleeping wife, who had long since rolled over from being snuggled right up against him to curling into her usual ball. He watched her for a moment. She hardly moved; he almost couldn't hear her as she breathed. The back of his finger brushed the top of her bare shoulder; he smiled when she didn't stir under his touch. He laid back down and kept an eye on her. Even if he couldn't at the moment, at least she was sleeping peacefully. After the day she'd had, Poe was shocked that she had made it this far into the night without—

She sharply breathed in. Grimaced. Tossed. Cried out. Her chest rose and fell under the blankets. Her forehead glistened with sweat.

Poe sat up. "Oh man."

She'd come to in a second; she always did. And he would be there to guide her back once she woke.

Still—though he'd seen this play out more times now than he could count—it made him completely helpless.

It took everything in him not to reach for her, to shake her awake. He'd only made that mistake once; he bore the bruises for almost a week. Mila could hardly look at him, much less speak after it happened.

He wouldn't put either of them through that again.

"Mila," he called. "Mila, wake up."

Sirens screamed in Mila's ears as she pelted through the hallways surrounding Echo's medbay, trying not to slip on blood.

The smell—normally it didn't bother her—ripped at her stomach, stuck to the inside of her nose. They lined the hallways, all screaming at her, begging for her help, but there were too many of them. Maybe if she could call for backup—

Shaking hands snatched up her comm; she fought to push sound through her vocal cords, but not matter how hard she tried, it wouldn't come. Mila tightened her hand around the device, but it vanished from between her fingers. She sprinted down another hallway looking for any of the other medics, still trying to call for them. Still unable to speak.

Ion cannonfire boomed outside. The normal overheads had long since gone out, their only remnants the sparks that rained down from above. Even the emergency lighting flickered.

Anyone! she tried to call, but her mouth and her throat still wouldn't respond. Help me!

Mila rounded a corner, her boots screeching to a halt. In front of her was a lone medical capsule, long since abandoned. Its stark white sides were splattered with blood; it streamed over the side and onto the floor.

Whoever was in there didn't have much time left.

You can't save them all, Lieutenant.

Krell's icy voice stuck in her ears. Mila slowly stepped forward.

Perhaps if he died, it would remind you of—

"Mila!"

She knew that voice by heart, and it howled in pain. Now the room was spinning.

Poe.

Hold on flyboy, I'm coming!

Dodging more sparks, she took off running down the hallway, but the harder she tried to move, the more her limbs were weighed down. The longer the hallway became.

By the time she got to him, she almost didn't recognize him he was beaten so badly. His brown eyes flicked towards her for a second, maybe in a last apology before they glazed over and stared into space. His breath faded from his lungs.

She hadn't been fast enough.

Finally sound pushed through her throat. A scream. It hurt her own ears, rattled her head. She white-knuckled the sheets his body was on, though they were so soaked through they stuck to her hands. The world rushed and spun around her, almost as if she had sat up out of shallow water. Cool air—fresh, without the metallic tang of blood—trickled up her nose.

A voice called through the chaos:

"Hey, doc. Mila. Breathe. You're okay. Something you see, something you can touch, something you hear. Go."

Flashes of a darkened room broke through the haze. Mila noticed her hands were no longer wet, but they still gripped—

"Sheets."

And her ears—

"Your voice."

The images shattered. Reality rushed back in. She turned towards the voice she'd heard—the same one from her nightmare, but not in screaming in pain. Steady. Warm. Even. To her relief, she saw—

"You."

Unhurt. Unharmed.

Alive.

Mila burst into violent sobs, as she always did upon emerging from her damaged subconscious. It's grimy hands still groped her heart, but she could see now that she had almost outrun it.

She had the upper hand.

For now.

Anything that touches you is trying to kill you. Anything that touches you is trying to kill you. You're going to die. You…

The voice in her mind faded out, and as soon as it did, she noticed her husband's upturned palm sitting on the blankets in front of her, there for her to take when she was ready, her signal to him that she was back enough that she could be touched. His eyes were on her, but she didn't squirm underneath them.

"It's okay, sweetheart. You're safe."

Mila stared at his hand through her tears, waiting for that terrible feeling to pass.

"Take a deep breath."

She complied.

"'Atta girl. You're here with me. You're safe."

Finally those dirty hands released her—the demon had decided it had its fill for the night. Her fingers hesitantly brushed his—You'll hurt him again, that familiar voice screamed in her head. You'll—

Mila laid her palm in his hand, and the second he encased it, the voice in her head dropped back to its usual whisper.

Now, she could truly come up for air.

She threw her arms around his neck and held herself as close to him as she could, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe.

Was he okay? He felt okay. He sounded okay.

He's not okay.

"Easy, doc. Breathe." He ran his fingers through her hair; he took a few deep breaths himself, and her own breathing started to slow to match it. "You're okay, sweetheart."

"A-Are you?"

She hated how her voice trembled.

Mila felt Poe's hands on her bare shoulders as he pushed her back so she could look at him. Part of her still expected to find his old Rattatak wounds jeering up at her.

"Not a scratch, doc. Completely in once piece. Whatever you put on my back really helped. I hardly feel it anymore."

He was right. Not a scratch. Not even a paper cut.

"I…I didn't wake you up, did I?"

You did. And he's mad at you for it—

"You didn't, Mil. Been awake for the past hour or so. Sabre Strike's got my head going at a thousand miles an hour. But even if you had, it wouldn't matter."

Yes it would.

"I wish I wasn't such a kriffing burden—"

"You're not a burden, Mila. Not even close."

His face was a bit warped by the tears swimming in her eyes as she looked back up at him. She'd quieted back down some, but she could feel another wave coming. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Please don't do this, she begged.

Poe pushed her messy hair from her face, wiped some of her tears from her cheeks.

"Look at me, sweetheart," he said gently.

The second she did, the second wave crashed, and what pieces she had managed to pick up shattered in her hands. She held onto his wrists so tightly she wondered if she'd cut of circulation.

"Whatever you saw, it wasn't real. Maybe parts of it were once, but it's not now, and it's not here. You hear me?"

She did.

Better yet, she believed him.

"I'm okay," he whispered as he rocked her. "You're okay. We're both safe. Shh…."

Mila leaned into his arms, burying her face into his bare shoulder. The warmth of his skin next to hers started to slow her hammering heart. The image of his broken body flashed in her mind's eye.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

He's fine. Obviously he's fine. Now you'll annoy the hell out of him asking over and over, like you always do—

"Yes, sweetheart," he whispered. "Right as rain." Mila felt him nuzzle into her hair before he kissed her temple.

She wasn't sure how long he held her like that, but it was long enough for her knees to cramp up and her feet to fall asleep.

"You wanna try to lay down?"

Mila nodded against him. Poe let her go long enough to sink back down into the mattress and pat the bed next to him. Letting out a deep breath, Mila laid her head on his chest. His arm rested across her shoulders; his heartbeat steadily drummed in her ear.

The longer she had been on the Echo, the more frequent her nightmares had become, and the longer it had taken her to calm down from them. Some nights, relief never came. Some nights, she never even got close to falling back asleep. She reached for Poe's hand. Though she still trembled against him, still softly cried, the cool of relief had started to seep through her veins.

It was almost over.

Poe wove his fingers into her long hair, not saying a word, just breathing.

"Look out the window," Poe whispered. "Tell me what you see."

Stinging eyes opened and took in the vast sky that surrounded them. "Stars," she sniffled. "Empty space."

Mila knew where he was taking this, but it didn't make it any less comforting.

"Mmmhm." He kissed the top of her head. "It's quiet out there, doc. We're completely by ourselves. We're safe."

Mila's limbs slowly weighed down, the idea of much needed rest becoming more and more irresistible.

But if you go back to sleep, it'll all come back—

"You're safe."

Poe's arm tightened around her shoulders.

"You're in the safest place you could be…."

Poe watched her fall back asleep in his arms, but he was nowhere close to following her example. As badly as he wished his exhausted body would, the same nervous questions churned in his mind, with a host of all-too-familiar worries joining them.

Will she ever get any peace?

He hoped she had it now, even if would only be for a few hours.

He did eventually drift off himself, but it was so fitful that it did next to nothing.

His alarm finally alerted him that it was now acceptable to down all of the caf her could find. Feeling a little sick, he gently sild out from under Mila, who slept soundly as far as he could tell. She desperately needed the rest. He'd more than kick himself if he disturbed it. To his relief, she wrapped her arms around her pillow and sank into the mattress with a contented sigh as he sat up and pulled on his sweatpants.

A blinking green light flashed in his peripheral.

General Organa had gotten back to him.

Suddenly much more awake, Poe went to his data pad and picked it up.

Come find me immediately—

So it was as bad as he thought.

Heart racing, Poe pulled on his fatigues as quickly as he could manage; he'd shower once he got back. Whatever those answers were, they couldn't wait. He scrambled to wake BB-8 up; he wasn't sure he wanted to do this alone, and he was certain that whatever Leia told him to do, the droid would be in on.

BB-8 chirped an enthusiastic as his photoreceptors flickered to life.

"Shhh." Poe raised a finger to his lips. "Buddy, she's still asleep."

BB-8 quieted and obediently rolled out of his charging station. Poe had to grin at how apologetic the little guy looked. He stole one last glance at his wife, who had rolled onto her side, still sound asleep. As softly as he could he made his way to her side, gingerly brushed her hair from her face, and kissed the top of her shoulder.

"Hang in there, sweetheart," he whispered.

The bright of the hallway lights pierced his eyes as Poe opened the door and locked it behind him. He fought with everything in him not to burst into a run. BB-8 rolled right by his ankle.

"Yeah, BB," Poe responded to the droid's worried warble. "We're going to find out what in the hell this is about."