"Commander Dameron, what a displeasure", he smiles as the men enter the cell. He doesn't stand, doesn't even put down his book. He is reading at the small table they finally gave him, feeling so generous. He wasn't easy to catch, even less alive, so as hated as he is - and he is - he's a precious catch and cargo. The commander remembers his face, paler even than usual, the hand going for the blaster under the greatcoat, to bring down as many 'rebels' as he could before ending it… But somehow days turned into weeks morphed into months.

"Likewise, Hux", the man replies. "But this isn't about me…".

Hux almost tenses, would tense if he wasn't used to nasty surprises.

"Torture then? I mean, a discussion between non-allies? Not that I mind some intensity thrown into the mix". Yeah well. He did that plenty when rebels were captured, so it's fair turn about, and boredom is even worse. There's a sigh from Poe's lips.

"You have a visitor, though for the life of me…". He has the decency to stop, and the ex general knows not to look up because he can't trust his expression when he hears some froo-froo, the definitely, uniquely feminine step.

An Imperial wife could only be attracted to the victor, the one in power, not the loser washing his wrinkled uniform in the cell sink. In the beginning he wasn't allowed gel (as if he would attack and drown some opponent in it) or a shave, but those awful times are over now that he cooperates, as much as self hatred drowns him, too.

He didn't want to see a confirmation for this in her eyes, that even the woman he had acquired and made his in various ways looked down on him or worse was there out of pity.

"Look at me", she pleads. No general, he notes, and his hand tenses around his book, one of those random history treatises he had managed to trade against intel. He loved hearing it from her sweet voice. For the first time since he is there, he remembers the bedroom and it is a poisoned gift, one that hurts and feels too good and he doesn't understand why he has to think of it.

"I had no idea I had a wife still", he replies deathly cold. "I assumed the rebels killed her". He addresses his captors and they cringe at the concept. It's all a cheap show, on both sides.

Suddenly she is approaching and she kneels at his feet, a small hand on his thigh.

"Look at me", she repeats. The man doesn't comply. It is too much already, the contact, the closeness… She smells good, like she used to. He slaps her hand away and the guards shift, ill at ease, until she nods at them that everything is alright. It is disturbing to see her command armed men, both humiliating and slightly arousing.

Power always attracted him, still does, so he puts his book down and grabs his glass, for countenance.

"Tap water. No antique whiskey, I fear". He is almost playing host now.

"I cannot drink", she says as if it was the biggest confession, and suddenly he cannot breathe. He turns his face to look, then, and he never appeared that intense, that conflicted, that high strung, that… scared. Not just before Hosnian prime, not before anything else.

He takes in her beautiful face, aristocratic and too made up for a prison visit - maybe it is for the benefit of those rebel scums, he thinks, a wave of jealousy clenching at his stomach. He can see too much of her milky white shoulders and cleavage and the way her gown is billowing about is royal, imperial. She is on her knees but she looks like an Empress paying homage to her Emperor, not a supplicant, certainly not a slave. He wanted a throne with such a woman at his side, and now he has neither… Also… She looks expectant in more than one way. The tension on her face, her wetting her lips and posturing straight so he cannot be mistaken. Her stomach is swollen, though her face, her arms, are not. This isn't about a bored or stressed person taking it out on food. This is his dynasty going on. He stares at her abdomen, wishing he could reach to his heir. He did this. Possessiveness for this being is overwhelming, but protectiveness? Even more. He knows in one instant that he would die for his child.

Liquid fire is coursing through his veins, he wants to cry out in triumph, then he remembers. He was hardly with her over the years, and certainly too busy just before the rebels brought his Order down. He puts his glass down before it explodes between his fingers, so harshly water spills on his multi centennial book. He doesn't care.

"I see… So this is why you remembered you have a husband, all those months later… This is why you are crawling to me… Does it have anything to do with our little friend the Commander here?". His voice is light and almost joyful, so uncanny in front of the situation. His eyes dart to Dameron. He wants to read his face, decipher for clues that the man was inside his wife. He deserves to know, he deserves as much for sure. The rebel is frozen in horror.

He sighs. "I must say, he is probably the best choice within this… organization. Much more powerful than a disgraced general. Attractive. Very attractive". His eyes don't leave the man's as he says that, and he doesn't care what that reveals about him. He has nothing to lose. Poe's face is a strange mix of pallid and beet red cheeks. "Here I was thinking you might have simply learned this new position, but I see you are in over your head. I won't give legitimacy to your rebel bastard". Let them know that his wife never went down on him and feel tainted for doing whatever they did.

"Mister Hux, now…". A random fellow he doesn't recognize finally speaks up. He ignores him. He wants to hit her, beat her up until she is but a bad memory, but he cannot bring himself to hurt the baby or to touch her, anyway.

She seems to be squirming on her knees and she must be uncomfortable. In fact she lunging at him, pinching and punching and though it can hardly be considered painful, he thinks there will be bruises and that his mother probably never fought for him that way. She slaps him with everything she has, years of repressed anger and humiliation. It resonates through the cell and the resistants recoil. They stare at each other, neither of them realizing fully that she has raised a hand to her lord husband. Even the ignorant banthas behind must see what a transgression it is.

She speaks, finally, her voice low and full of venom. Yet she makes sure she is heard. "You did this. You came home after Hosnian prime and you had decided it was time for a heir. I told you I hate you then, do you remember?". She doesn't say he forced her, not exactly, but there is some whisper behind their backs. He tries to count back to it but he has lost track of time. "And despite all this, I never as much as looked to someone else. I could have. I didn't want it. My parents took me back. Eventually, as long I didn't show myself too much to the neighbors". Her teeth are so clenched he suspects they would chatter if she didn't keep them so. This isn't the face of a liar, if his thousands hours in interrogation cells taught him anything.

"This is more than can be said about you with your fucking Ren". If people were whispering they are deathly silent now. This awful word doesn't belong in her mouth, especially when juxtaposed with the knight's name. There is no way she knows, no one know, there is nothing to know, he grapples. He feels caught with his proverbial pants down in front of the whole resistance, his own lady wife accusing him to be a noted degenerate. Not accusing, stating.

Yet the child is his own. And his wife is his own, too. Breathing hard, he doesn't reply, doesn't deny, just stares down at her round stomach. She grabs his hair and she tugs his mouth to hers, kissing him with possessiveness he wouldn't expect from a woman. Women are supposed to be taken. He remembers the men next to them in a startle but she won't let him go, exploring his mouth with her tongue. She finally releases him, licking at a string of saliva between them. He shudders. In disgust, or so he hopes.

"This is real. Not your sick ideas". Is she talking of Ren again? Or his apparently ill conceived ideas about her whoring around with the rebels? "You have no idea how hard it was to get visitation, the humiliations I went through…". She looks at the guards behind her shoulder and they don't meet her gaze. Yes, he failed her this time. "Also…". She sharply inhales. "I wanted to wait… To tell you that we will have a son". She takes hold of his hand and places it authoritatively on her stomach. He forgets to breathe. The guards avert their gaze, even Dameron, somehow sensing they are witnessing something sacred. For the first time in forever he feels lucky. It doesn't feel right for her to still be kneeling, so he helps her up without speaking. If you pick up the baby, it is yours, he remembers reading from some Ancient Earth tribe.

"This will be the first of many", she claims, defiance in her voice. Toward his jailors, even toward him. For some reason he stands too.

"There are no conjugal visits", he says softly, as if he shouldn't be the one being comforted. If he knows something, it is that luck shouldn't be pushed. There are many reasons to be happy with things as they are. One is good already. His wife doesn't have to raise a large family on her own. He can go without such release. He isn't a debauched sycophant who thinks only of those things.

But she bits her lip in the way only someone in deep thought would.

"I see there is a bed here". He bursts out laughing.

"You cannot be serious".

She doesn't budge. Neither does he but his cheeks burn at once.

"You will never know if you don't try, handsome".

Suddenly he is not laughing anymore at all.

"Not happening", he scolds.

"What if I want?", she asks, provoking, and they have already had that discussion. And that time, he gave in. But they were alone, he had just messed up big time, he wasn't in his normal state. She doesn't expect an answer and heads for the bed, sitting on it. Her voice had been liquid silk and so was her gaze.

"Mrs Hux, please". The commander's voice is pleading. He seems on the verge of retiring. This is too much information for him.

"But I really need to lie down", she openly lies. There is a nervous twitch on the young man's face. She sighs as if losing that fight, but she starts undoing her hair, a woman alone in her bedroom. It falls down in soft waves. Armitage hears himself - and several others - swear. He looks to the resistants in various states of disarray and discomfort. No, he thinks, no one of them touched his wife. The pretty pilot is breathing hard, mouth almost half open, but his eyes are fixated on the husband of the Hux household. Hux would file that information away for analysis if he cared to. For now, this day has turned even more perfect than he ever expected. It would have been worth it if just for this vision.

He gives a sly smile, feverish gleam in his eyes. This runs opposite to his values, to his vision of procreation, to everything the Order stands for, but what else does he have?

"15 minutes", grunts the commander, and he gestures to the door. They don't want to see the enemy general in this situation. Maybe the commander doesn't trust himself to do surveillance over this. Hux grins. Dameron is the last one to give in though.

"I didn't think they would really leave, especially your little friend, but if they didn't, well, you have a blanket", she comments. The ginger would almost gather that his lofty, patrician wife is troubled by his unhealthy games with men. He doesn't know what he did for his wife to want him that way, and he should scold her for it. Now everyone is going to speak. He feels strangely proud of inspiring more than mere devotion.

"14 minutes 30 seconds", she chimes joyfully, "General, sir". Yes. He had missed this maybe even more than filling her. It is a cheap move to appeal to this, but it works.

She thinks further already.

"Do you want what you told them I never do?". Her eyes are playful. He has absolutely no doubt she would do this and more.

He knows what he would have told her once upon a time.

No This is disgusting You are disgusting Why would you want to Why would I want to.

Or even

No Where did you learn this How could you know how to do it It takes a man to know

But Maker, she has earned it. She can do whatever she wants, and he can shut it. How bad can it be anyway?

Clearly the old Armitage would not let this go unpunished but the new one wonders… He wants it. He wants everything. Whether they have tried it or not. He throws a glance at the door, just to make sure, considers that this is unneeded, utterly, for procreation, and that others could kill for that though he was raised a better man. He deserves to have someone kneel to him once again. He takes a couple steps toward the bed, meeting her half way before he stops and stands still. If he's doing this, he is willing to compromise, but he won't make it easy and she wouldn't want it.

"Get to work then, girl". As he nods to the space in front of him, he can't help thinking that this would be better in his ancestral home, or in the throne room that was his destiny, a crowned Empress at his feet. Not happening.

He decides to kriff it all and he smiles again.

The baby belonging to you if you pick it up is an Ancient Roman custom, linked to the pater familias concept.