How? How was he going to do this? Was it even possible? Was it conceivable to let her go all over again? The first time…. It had been an accident. A horrible, traumatic and stomach-turning accident. He had coped; barely but coped nonetheless when he had no choice. The pain had begun to numb over time but that awful blame would always follow him when he remembered she wouldn't be coming back.

But she did. By some miracle he wasn't certain whether to praise or curse, she came back. Broken, violated and dead in a different, terrible way; arguably a worse way. She said herself she would have preferred it, he tried not to flinch when he recalled how blatantly she recounted trying to die and being prevented from doing so; all to make him feel it.

The General shifted in his seat again, the only way to temporarily ignore the itching uselessness growing in him as the shuttle piloted itself. The distance between them was a few feet and a durasteel door and every time he turned around, he hoped she would be standing there but was yet to see her do so.

For the umpteenth time, he took his com from his pocket and stared at it. It was the first step that he found himself unable to take. There were too many variables that depended on him putting that com in his pocket for the last time and not doing the right thing. She didn't know he knew what he knew. He had made the mistake of telling her Coruscant was nearby, it was only natural she would head straight for the Undercity but it was impossible to tell what she would find.

Could he really do it though? Believing her dead and helpless was one thing, he would have had no choice other than to move on. But…. Knowing she was alive, well and hating him with such a raw passion to never want to see him again…. That was decidedly worse. In death, he could remember her how she had been but all he would remember now was the absolute loathing stirring in the Nabooian lagoons when she knew she didn't want him anymore.

The night before they left for Starkiller, he had watched her sleep. He had felt the tranquilizing, feather-light pressing of her chest against his side at timed intervals when she inhaled. Lying on his back with an arm slung guardingly around her, he already knew what he wanted and had already begun piecing together how to get it. His resolve only strengthened when the Hosnian system erupted into dust above them; the first step into ensuring an ordered galaxy for his future wife and children. Of course, the X-Wing dive-bombing into the ill-fated Precinct 47 changed everything.

Hux's impulsive side had been smothered as a child. He was taught that every decision he made should be ordered and thoroughly thought out; in that way, he had grown into a level-headed individual with experience and logic far beyond his years with seemingly no way of distorting that. Until Lucilla. The night he had plucked her away from where Kylo Ren left her battered and bruised, he fought with himself to follow her from their bedroom. Instead of allowing the impulse to go and comfort her, he remained with the careful decision to give her space and stayed in bed.

Since then, his impulsive desires had become rampant. How many times had he taken her out of sudden wanting? Not to mention the prospect of hiring a temporary 'companion' that led him back to her and the subsequent slaughter of her new master. The imminent arrival on Coruscant flashed on the pilot's console and time was running out; now or never. So he chose now with the com still in hand.

"There are some things..." The reluctance was obvious and almost alien in a man so confident and cruel. A slight turn of her head was the only confirmation he got that she was listening and the relief was unparalleled when he found her fully dressed. "I wish for you to know before you leave." The stagnant pause clawed at him and he had (perhaps wrongfully) hoped she would be more responsive. Somewhere, deep down, maybe he hoped that she would change her mind; the callous reception suggested otherwise.

"I love you." Nothing. Disheartened, he continued as if it didn't feel like his heart had been ripped from his chest and stomped on by dainty but slavery-worn feet. "I love you more than life itself and I do realize that I did not prove that when I had the chance. But I have never regretted anything more than I regret that." Again, nothing so he pushed himself on.

"I wanted to marry you. I still do but I doubt you will allow that to happen." Had he foolishly thought she might answer if he tried to be inclusive in his agonizing confessions? Foolishly is the key word. "I would do anything for you to reconsider, absolutely anything though I understand I don't deserve it." More scathing silence, clearly she agreed. Hesitation bit at him in his next venture but any small gesture that might sway her decision, he would try it.

"I promised you a gift and even if you are determined to leave, I would like you to have it regardless." From his pocket, he produced one of the sources of his lonely torture. One eye flickered to the side to where he placed the cartridge beside her on the bed, almost in distrust until he swiftly backed away, lest she strike again. She seemed to focus on it but was unwilling to degrade herself by speaking to him so she waited.

"When you went missing, your father put holos of you out all over the Undercity and beyond." He relayed the first-hand information as she cautiously reached out and picked up the tiny object to scrutinize it. "He promised that if you were returned to him unharmed, he would ask no questions. Needless to say, no one came forward. There is no chance Varden didn't see it but I assume he felt any price he could fetch for you himself would be far greater than any reward your father could give."

"How long have you had this?" Her voice cracked as her frail hand tightened on it after another bout of heavy silence. Having seemingly forgotten about her punishing muteness, she still refused him the dignity of even looking in his direction, let alone eye contact. In grinding desperation, he still saw it as progress.

"Several weeks." He answered, hoping that some change would come of the gift. "Mitaka sourced it from the archives of the Undercity. I had intended on giving it to you with the choice of returning home or staying with me to be my wife."

"Several weeks." She repeated quietly, gently tapping the canister off her palm thoughtfully but still withholding her gaze. "So it was one or the other? Marrying you or ever seeing my father again? Hardly a fair choice."

"Well-"

"There's no "Well". That was going to be the ultimatum, was it not? Choosing one and forgetting the other?"

"I hadn't considered-"

"And you still kept this from me for several weeks. No doubt to tie in with the firing of that despicable weapon of yours."

"Yes, but-"

"Have we landed on Coruscant?" Thankful for the break in trying to wiggle out an answer under the constant fire of guilt-inducing questions, Hux finally conceded.

"We have..." No sooner had the words fallen from his lips, drenched in sorrow; Lucilla was on her feet and en route to the exit... But not without a fight. "I'm begging you." He breathed with a gentle hold on her arm he'd seized on yet more impulse while he got close enough to try and see if the scent of berries had revived in her hair. His thumb stroked her forearm in some heartbroken apology while the plea dripped desperation, longing and weakness. "Don't leave me. I'll do anything. I'll spend the rest of my life making it right, making sure you want for nothing ever again-"

"Stop begging!" The sharpness cut him deeper than any dagger when she rounded on him, only seeing fit just then to look upon him with savage disdain that he wished she wouldn't. "It's pathetic!" Lucilla managed to swipe her arm free and into his hand that still hung suspended, she pressed the cartridge. "Keep it. For it is the last you'll have of me." And with those hateful words, the dark-haired darling made for the door; leaving her grief-stricken lover behind her.

Curiosity. Generally, it's encouraged and embraced in us as children but some children don't have that luxury. It certainly wasn't included in the Stormtrooper program and it was only now that FN2187 got to explore his. Recently off his crutches, he found himself still a little unsteady on his feet (he had perhaps become a little too reliant on them) but the pilot was nearly always on hand to catch him if he stumbled while he tried to readjust. While Poe rooted in his drawer for a specific type of spanner, Finn acquainted himself with his new friend's quarters. Something caught his eye though while he half listened to Poe rambling and swearing he would clear out said drawer - a still print out from a holo. Hobbling closer and squinting in concentration at the vaguely familiar face, the closer he got, the more he remembered those hauntingly unique eyes.

"Who is this?" The question cut Poe off for just a moment to look up but reimmersed himself again to avoid looking at the painful holo for too long.

"That's my cousin." He had suddenly become less frustrated and more sombre in his tone; even his ruffling had slowed. "She died a long time ago." Unsatisfied with the answer, Finn pressed on.

"Poe, I know this girl. I've seen her before. Older maybe but it's her. Definitely her."

"You can't have, man. C'mon..."

"I'm serious! What happened to her?"

"She just... went missing." The older of the two gave up his search and sauntered across the room to where Finn still inspected the image. "My uncle was a trader; he went away for a few weeks and when he came back, his wife was dead and his daughter was missing. She's been gone eighteen years without a sign so he put her name on her mother's headstone to try and trick himself into some closure, I guess." She went missing…. So there's still a chance she's alive.

"Lucilla…." It was so quiet and so supressed, Poe had to convince himself he heard it. Turning to his companion, the pilot openly stared while Finn remained fixated on the picture.

"What did you just say?"

"Her name's Lucilla, isn't it?"

"I…. Yeah! How'd you know that?!" Perhaps Finn should have taken more care in his breathless reminiscing as Poe had since become flustered by the utterance. "Finn…." The older male implored softly; burying such a thing for so long then unearthing it seemed only worth it if the revelation was pleasant. "How do you know that?"

"I brought her food once or twice." Finn confessed, regretting his decision to elaborate when Poe's face fell into doleful incomprehension. Even more so when it struck him that his superior's pet had probably accompanied him to Starkiller and more than likely hadn't survived. "It was uh….. Just a temporary thing while the Lieutenant was away." His chocolate eyes swept the pale, static face before him; anything not to look at Poe's but he knew he wouldn't be allowed to stop now, even if it was difficult for him to hear. Finn's memory jogged to those few, brief encounters. He had done his utmost to repress his service to the First Order but he would always remember her; she was like him in that she was unlike them.

"I'll never forget her. She was just…. So….. Not scared but nervous, wary…." Poe's whole left hand encased his jaw where he tried to soothe himself by massaging his fingers into his cheeks; it didn't work. "She stood by the sofa and held onto the arm, like it was supporting her. She never looked at me directly, like she was afraid to but she never let me outta her sight til I was gone…." That struck Poe as odd. What kind of prisoner had a sofa?

"But…. A sofa, what?"

"Huh?"

"You said she stood beside the sofa."

"Yeah?"

"What kinda prisoner has a sofa?"

"Oh….." Finn paused when he reminded himself of the nature of Lucilla's captivity. If anything was worse than knowing his cousin was within the First Order's clutches as a simple prisoner, it would be knowing that she was the pleasure object of the mastermind behind Starkiller. "Well…. She wasn't a prisoner. Not really."

"I'm not following you, Finn." His sentiments had been correct. It's not that Poe found it difficult to understand or process, it was more that he was unwilling to accept the revolting alternative; the truthful alternative.

"She…. She belonged to the General."

Lucilla couldn't categorically say if she missed Coruscant or not. Of course, she had missed her family but she had been taught not to think about them. Convinced she would never see them again (which was true for her mother), there was little point in upsetting herself by doing it. So when she left the General and descended the dropped ramp, everything came flooding back. Eighteen years of suppression had all come undone with a few steps onto her home soil. Perhaps soil was a generous term but it was real…. She was home. The skyline of the Undercity was more or less unchanged; the air was still smoky and the smell of 'progress' made her cough for the first time in a long time.

Her first few meandering steps were dogged at a distance by her ex-master, following her forlornly as if ready to usher her back inside if she turned back. She didn't. If anything, she was keen to put as much distance between them as possible. What did she do now? Head swivelling from left to right as if it was her first time on the planet, she was eager to start anew but captivity from an early age had deprived her of a basic knowledge of how to provide for herself. But already, Lucilla was being watched and not by the General. He watched too but purely to ensure she was safe before he left; if he could bring himself to do so. She seemed oblivious on both counts but not for long. Footsteps ahead on the smog encrusted gravel snatched her attention to an imposing and imminent figure. Instead of fear, some other instinct found its way to her.

"Papa?" And there he was: her new protector. Older and more weathered than she (barely) remembered but it was him, unmistakeably her papa. Rooted to the spot and overcome with emotion, Lucilla stared ahead with a quaking lip and trembling knees as disbelief riddled her. He came closer and closer and with each step, she crumbled with the realization. "Papa!"

"Lucy!" The remaining steps were an unimportant blur. Reunited at last, father and daughter clung to each other after eighteen long years apart. He still held her the same; granted, he couldn't sweep her up like he used to but the safe embrace remained the same. "I found you!" The gruffness began to waver as he held her and felt her melt into heart-rendering sobs against his chest; he wouldn't be long succumbing to the same thing. "I can't believe I finally found you!"

Hux watched, rejected, from the bottom of the ramp. Internally, a battle raged while he tried to convince himself that this was the right thing to do. She wasn't his anymore. She didn't want to be his anymore. He had gone to great lengths to explain consent to her, to show her that it was alright to say 'no' and she was saying it now. Had he ever seen her reduced to such emotion as he did now? He couldn't recall if he did. He caught the bloodshot eye of Keir Bey over his daughter's shoulder while she tried to force out some choked statement of love but Keir was more focused on the man who had delivered her. The mutual nod was one of respect and thanks, a promise from one to the other that he would love and protect her as he had been unable to do for almost two decades. The redhead waited as the two separated but not completely as Keir went to lead Lucilla away. He managed to restrain his anxiety while he hoped that he might get a bare scrap of attention from her before she left his life forever. With every step they took in the opposite direction, his hope slowly became cruelly extinguished until he resigned himself to the fact that he had done this to himself. Keir did look back one more time. Lucilla, however, did not.

((This is not the end, people! xxx))