I'll Come Back for You

Isla mentally checked off each weapon she carried on her person; two knives, one dagger, two blasters—they were all there.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" She assessed them—only three, so if it really came down to a fight, she could win; they looked ungainly and by the direction they'd come from, she was guessing they'd followed Poe and her out of the cantina. Isla wagered they'd been sitting there drinking half the day.

"You got that pilot the First Order is looking for?" The one who spoke first had brown-stained teeth.

"I'm just here to refuel, fellas," she answered, unceremoniously continuing to check her fuel tanks. Beads of sweat had begun forming on her brow. Jakku felt like hellfire.

"And that man you were with?" The other man nodded at the ship. "The one who looks like he got the bantha shit kicked out of him?"

"He's just a friend who needed some help." Isla stopped, holding her hand up to her eyes to shield them from the harsh sun. The men had circled her. "Gambling again—just can't get that guy away from Sabaac."

"Sure, sure." He made a grab for his gun. "But that reward the First Order's offering is pretty hefty, so if you don't mind, I'd just like to see for m'self."

Isla immediately drew her blaster, but the dirtiest of the three shot at her first, nicking the spot on the wing just above Isla's head.

Furious, she shot back, hitting him directly in the chest. As he fell to the ground, the others ran at her.

***

Sinking into the co-pilot's chair, Poe closed his eyes. He knew she would come for him, he hadn't been worried about that for a nanosecond. However, the more time he had to dwell on the past 72 hours, the more he became angry at himself—angry at losing Lor San Tekka, angry bout his ship getting hit, angry about sending BB-8 off into the desert with the map, angry about making it so easy for the First Order to capture and torture him. Kylo Ren's interrogation had changed everything for Poe. Before, he had always prided himself on his strength, his wits, his stamina—his ability to protect what was important to him. And now all of that was gone, stripped away so quickly it stung like a bandage that had been ripped off.

He rubbed his eyes and attempted to shake these thoughts away. He'd felt like a small, helpless child earlier as he begged Isla to take him back to the base. Commander Poe Dameron couldn't get caught thinking like this, acting like this—he just didn't do it. Ever.

Conversation drifted in through the open door and caught his attention. He heard something about a pilot. Dammit. Then Isla responded so convincingly, he actually felt a smile flicker across his lips. She hack a knack for being able to talk herself out of anything, at least most of the time.

But then shots began to ring out. He shouted, dragging himself onto his feet, and began rummaging around for another weapon, regardless of the fire he felt on the right side of his upper abdomen.

"Isla!"

***

Poe emerged from the ship, just like she'd been expecting—and hoping he wouldn't do. She was handling this.

Isla kept her blaster trained on the remaining men, eyes flicking to Poe as he attempted to reach out to her. He was in no shape for this. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one man sneaking up to the ship. Despite the fact that he was so loud and lumbered like a bear, Poe didn't spot him. She pulled out her second blaster, watching both opponents with hawk eyes.

"Poe, stay in the ship!" Isla exhaled deeply, not wanting to strike too quickly as she would risk hitting Poe and then getting shot herself. He shook his head, firmly planting his boots on the ground. She saw that he'd found a spare blaster in the ship.

"I'm not fucking around Poe, don't do this right now," she shouted sternly. Poe refused to budge.

What a stubborn man, Isla thought, plotting her next move.

It could've been an even fight, but Poe was weak and completely oblivious as the second man knocked him to the ground. His groan made her stomach churn.

"Poe!"

***

The man yanked Poe onto his feet, pressing a blade into his neck.

"First Order's looking for a guy like you."

Grunting as he tried to shake loose, Poe felt the knife draw a little blood. His body hurt so badly already, he didn't think he could feel any additional pain.

Poe hadn't showered in days, but he knew this other guy smelled way worse then he did. Especially his breath. Kylo Ren was one thing, but he couldn't let a bastard like this get the best of him too.

"Ahh," he began. "You said a guy like me." He sputtered as the man tightened his hold around Poe's neck, spilling a few more drops of blood. "It might not be me."

The man Isla had begun her standoff with took another shot at her. It grazed the arm that pointed the second blaster at Poe's captor—enough to make her flinch, but not enough to do any significant damage. She heard Poe cry out and saw a flurry of movement in her peripheral vision. Isla pulled the trigger on her blaster immediately, striking her shooter in the kneecap.

Poe's breathing was ragged. He felt like coughing, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

"Your little bodyguard's a cutie." The man digging the knife to his neck leered at Poe's wife. His achingly beautiful, strong wife who would not be here, in this situation, if Poe had been able to do his job properly. "Maybe I'll take her with me when I drop you off to the First Order, see what she looks like underneath those dirty clothes—make you watch."

It only took a remark like that to get his adrenaline going—Poe almost felt like a new man. He railed against this piece of scum, seething, all the rage he had inside of him bubbling up to the surface, but the more he tried to fight him, the closer he came to getting his neck sliced open. Kylo Ren was going to get Commander Dameron's head delivered to him on a silver platter.

"You don't stand a chance." Poe grit his teeth against the force of the blade and bluffed.
"You think she wouldn't shoot the both of us if that's what it took to save herself? She's just hired help."

The man snorted. "Why are y'gettin so worked up then, eh?"

"Drop your weapon," Isla ordered, approaching them with careful footing. Poe watched her quickly dispatch of the man who'd shot her. In another life, she would've made a wonderful assassin.

She fired a warning shot at the man's foot. It startled him just enough that Poe forcefully backed him into the ship, slamming his body against the aging metal. Isla wasted no time in pressing the tip of her blaster to the man's head. In a last fighting effort, he swung the knife into her shoulder, sending Isla staggering backward and knocking the blaster from her hand.

Isla grasped at the hull of the knife, but couldn't quite reach it. Poe went at the man in such a fury that he didn't see her feebly pick the gun up off of the ground.

Without a weapon now, Poe and the man fought hand-to-hand. Angrily, Poe grabbed him by the shoulders and repeatedly slammed him into the body of the ship. Isla saw the way he moved awkwardly, as if trying to avoid moving his middle section too much.

"You think you're going to get away with stabbing my wife?" Poe roared at him, feeling a beastly urge to smash his head in. It was one of the few times that Poe had ever been completely blinded by rage.

He punched his attacker hard in the face, feeling the satisfied crunch of bone under his fist. The man limply slipped from his grasp and dropped to the desert ground. Isla stood behind him, a smoking blaster trained on the spot where he'd been standing.

Poe's shoulders slumped immediately out of exhaustion and he turned to face her, heaving.

"Birdie," he whispered, shaking his head. He stumbled to her, wrapping her in his arms. With his strength gone, he couldn't hold onto her as firmly as he desperately needed to.

"Poe." Isla pushed his hair back from his eyes, dropping her gaze to his neck. Fresh blood oozed out sluggishly, dripping over the sawed bits of flesh.

And then Poe saw the knife jutting out of the flesh near her shoulder blade.

They helped each other onto the ship in silence. Others would be onto them if they didn't move quickly.

***

“Sit down, now.” Isla wasn’t having any of this. “You’re hurt and you were so stupid out there, Poe.” Another set of tears spilled onto her cheeks. “You do not move unless I tell you too.”

“Isla.” He tried to reach for her, but doubled over in pain.

"The medic kit is over here." Isla moved quickly, apparently running on her own adrenaline high as she had yet to ask him to pull the knife out of her back.

“Take these.” She thrust dissolvable pain pills into his hands. When he didn’t immediately take them, she turned on him. “Don’t you make me force those down your throat, because I will.”

He nodded.

She rummaged around some more to find clean linens of some kind.

When she returned, Poe grabbed her hands.

“Isla,” he whispered. “You’re hurt too. Please let me help you ok?”

He swiftly removed the blade, watching as blood began seeping through her clothing before he ripped the back of shirt open to cover the cut with a clean bandage.

"You're going to have to keep pressure on it," he said wearily, worried about how well she'd fare during the journey back to base. "I'm afraid to attempt stitching it up now with the way my hands are shaking."

"It's fine," she nodded hazily, reaching out to squeeze his fingers. They did not steady themselves in her grasp. "I don't think it's too deep—he really just hit bone. If I could stretch, I'd just do it myself."

Poe shook his head, pulling her forehead to his lips. She was brave, maybe even braver than him, he thought. Her light breathing hit his chin and he sighed, feeling his chest tighten.

“Please just relax, ok?” she pleaded with him. He nodded obediently. It was much easier to do now that he wasn’t watching his wife run around with that piece of shit blade stuck inside of her.

Poe rested nearby as Isla primed the engine. Their silence continued into hyperspace, where Isla switched into autopilot. She moved to sit on a bench and beckoned to Poe. His feet couldn't move fast enough; when he reached her, he practically collapsed beside her. She began cleaning up his wounds, applying bacta-spray where she could.

Once most of the blood had been cleaned off his face, he began to look more like himself. He kept his eyes closed the entire time, grateful for her gentle ministrations and lingering touches. Isla was glad he wasn’t looking at her because she didn’t want him to see how much her heart was breaking to see him like this.

Somewhere between setting off into space and cleaning up all the blood, Isla noticed Poe's demeanor shifted back to the state he'd been in before the attack. She may have been stabbed, but Poe looked absolutely broken. Her entire body ached for him.

When she was done playing nurse, she patted her lap. Still breathing heavily, he looked at her gratefully and mouthed thank you before placing a chaste kiss on her lips. She nodded as he began to lie down, dropping his head into her lap. As he lay there, she stroked his hair and closed her eyes. His breathing slowed to the point where Isla thought he'd fallen asleep—gods knew he needed it. But then she felt him take a few ragged breaths and slowly, the spot on her pants were his face rested began to soak through.

"It's ok," she whispered, her own voice wavering slightly as she let him cry silently. A few tears ran down her stained cheeks.

This was about more than what had just happened outside. He grabbed her free hand, intertwining their fingers, and held on tightly.

"We're going to fix this, baby, ok?" Isla murmured. "I promise."