It's been a looooooong tiiiiiime coooooooming...

(I hope you got that reference. You got cool points if you did).

But in all seriousness, it's been over a year since I updated this story and I am BACK with another one! I've been dealing with some stuff, so I haven't really had much oomph to write. But it's good to be back with this update!

Chapter 9: Wetyin's Colony

He'd asked if she wanted a drink, and she'd never said "yes" faster.

It wasn't quite time for the night rush–the light was just starting to slip from the sky outside–but just from the amount the crowd had grown in the first five minutes they'd been inside Gully's, Mila knew it was getting close. Beings of all kinds started to fill the booths behind her and Kes as they found a spot at the cantina bar and sat.

Mila couldn't remember the last time she'd been somewhere like this. She'd grown so accustomed to the shine and order of the military that this place almost seemed dingy at first, with its dim light and small clouds of smoke in the air. Someone laughed suddenly behind her. She hoped Kes didn't see her jump.

"Usual, Dameron?" The bartender was halfway through putting Kes's drink together before Kes even had a chance to say anything.

Kes nodded his appreciation. "And whatever she'd like."

The bartender–a burly Devaronian, horned and red-skinned–paused when he looked at her, his brow furrowed. Whatever he was thinking passed through quickly. He grunted. "What'll it be?"

"Port in a Storm."

The Devaronian's eyes popped, and he raised an eyebrow. "Sure? Strong stuff for a little lady."

An aggravated frown warped Mila's face. "Just–"

"She's Pamarthean, Fontis." Kes took a sip of his own. "She could take down three of those. Could drink us both under the table if she wanted to and not bat an eye. I've seen her do it."

Except that had been a celebration, the last time she'd had anything this… robust. Mila was far from a partying mood.

"Mmm." Fontis reached for a bottle of amber wine behind him and above his head, the cobwebs that clung to it speaking of how much it was used. With a clank he set a glass down in front of Mila and poured the wine to near overflowing.

"Been a while since I've seen you, Kes. How've you been? How's your boy doing? Last I heard he'd got cooked in a firefight and was–what the hell?"

A satisfied smirk on her face, Mila tipped the last potent drop of Port in a Storm into her mouth, pushed the now-empty glass across the bar to Fondis, and wiped at her mouth with the back of her sleeve. Familiar warmth spread through her body; the knot in her chest loosened a bit. Fontis gaped back at her.

Mila nodded towards her glass, and without a word, Fontis filled it to the brim again.

"And she's only half-Pamarthean," Kes said, "so that would've been considered slow. Right?"

Mila only nodded and raised the glass to her lips.

Kes chuckled. "Told ya. And as for Poe, Fontis, he's long since been better and back at it."

Fontis went to whip up another order as he spoke. "That's a relief."

"This is the doctor that worked his case." Kes put a hand on Mila's shoulder. "She pulled him off the field and sewed him back together afterwards."

From inside her glass: "And then I married him."

The words had come more freely. Warmth seeped through her body. The crowd, though it had grown, suddenly didn't matter. Her head was a little fuzzy.

Kes laughed. "And then you married him."

A smile easing across Fontis's face. "Your sprout got hitched, then? So that makes the lady–"

"My daughter-in-law." Kes gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Fontis, this is Mila."

"A pleasure, ma'am. Welcome to Weytin's." His handshake was firm. A smirk slid across his face. "I don't know how you do it."

Mila had to laugh. "He keeps my head on straight." When he's here to do it.

You can't do it yourself.

"Don't worry, Fontis. She more than keeps up with him."

She hardly heard Kes, barely felt him pat her arm.

You can't do it yourself.

"Well I'm glad he found someone who can." Fontis laughed boisterously. "You've got

your hands full with that one, that's for sure…"

Fontis launched into a story from Poe's youth, one that she was sure she'd heard from the man himself. It hadn't been long since they had gotten together, the day after Palvo and Cage's funeral. She'd woken up with her head on his chest, and they'd exchanged stories for hours. Everything from trying to race his father's harvester to the chaos of Kajimi. She'd heard it all.

She missed his stories, the warmth of his body next to hers. She missed his roguish smile, the sparkle in his eyes when he looked at her. How he always somehow knew exactly what she needed.

You can't do this yourself….

"Mila?"

Kes's brow was furrowed. "You okay?"

Mila shook her head.

"Need some air?"

Kes wasn't off to a bad start.

"Go. I'll close out the tab and be out right behind you."

She quickly drained the rest of her Port in a Storm, and without a word, she started to slide through the crowd. Several beings noticed her uniform and did a double-take as she came past. Someone would recognize her soon. And she'd get the same worn-out thank-you-for-your-service-you're-a-hero speech she'd heard a thousand times in the aftermath of Rattatak, maybe even more than once. They were always well-intentioned. Still didn't make it any less uncomfortable.

Mila put her head down and didn't stop until cool, humid air streamed up her nose, until the club noise was drowned out by the nighttime insects' song. She stopped by Kes's old speeder, rested her hands on her hips, and sighed hard.

You should be able to handle stuff like this. You used to. It used to be fine and now you've ruined it—

"Was getting to be a bit much for me in there, too." Kes secured Mila's bags to his speeder as he spoke. "If you're beating yourself up, don't."

How did he know—

Kes smiled gently and nodded towards his speeder. "Ready?"

Mila nodded and hopped up behind him. The rest of the town streamed by them as they sped into the jungle, the sounds of the local night fauna barely edging in above the speeder's engine.

Eventually they rode into a moonlit clearing. At the far end was a ranch house peaking out from behind a tall, strong tree. Warm light seeped out of the windows, trickling across the grass in long fingers. Once the speeder stopped alongside the house, the only sounds to be heard were the rustling of the wind and the nighttime insects' song.

Kes swung down nimbly and grabbed Mila's bags. Numbness chilled Mila's heart as her boots hit the ground.

"You good, Captain?" Kes said.

Mila stiffened. "Is it bad that a lot of me… damn it, how do I say this—"

"You know you need to be here, but there's that part of you that doesn't want this."

Hesitantly, Mila nodded. "Yeah."

"Part of you's ashamed of it. Part of you wants to go flying back into the field so you can drown this out like you've been trying to since the attack. How successful was that?"

Mila couldn't answer.

Kes walked towards her, his face softening. "After Endor, I tried the same thing. It doesn't work, Mila. You've got to slow down to face this. It's going to be painful, like resetting a bone. But you have to. You've seen plenty of wounded men. And you're a good doctor, so there's no way in hell you'd—*sigh* Let me explain it this way. Remember when Poe was in such bad shape. You never in a million years would have asked him to get back into the cockpit and fly with half his chest cavity ripped open, right?"

Mila scoffed. "'Course not.

"Then why the hell are you asking that of yourself?"

Once again Mila was lost for words. Kes unlocked the door and stepped aside as it hissed open.

"Come on in, kid. We'll get you settled in, then you rest up. Come find me in the morning. You've got a lot to learn."