What did it mean for Kylo Ren to be prepared? What preparations did he deem worthy in order to be prepared? Where a child was concerned, no less?
Was it setting up a cot or a cradle for the baby to sleep in? No.
Was it ensuring that his (scarcely used) bed was suitable and comfortable enough for the mother to recover fully in? Not as such, no.
Was it making sure his quarters were warm enough for the both of them; given the austere, durasteel theme that embraced the décor? It was not an immediate concern, no.
Ren had something else in mind. Something unorthodox but something he was completely confident in, something he was sure would benefit his baby daughter.
"I'm back." The brooding, imposing form of Kylo Ren crouched to draw himself eye-level with the hole in the incubator. It was instinctive for his voice to lower in reverence and for one hand to strip the glove from the other before reuniting physically with his child; so as not to disturb or upset her with the coldness of the leather.
For the briefest second, Ren's eyes cast to the bed, to where the object of his affections slumbered; he would rather not rouse her either. Lucilla had, for a reason Ren could not fathom (but any ordinary person probably could) greeted the news with less enthusiasm than he would have liked on his last visit, some twenty standard hours previous. Of course, he had expected surprise but certainly not outrage or (if he was reading her right) trauma. To that end, he resolved it would be best to let her process it and come around to the idea in her own time. Keeping his distance might help that along, hence his determination to be subtle to anyone but his daughter.
"I brought you something. Something to help you get big… and strong…. Like me." From the labyrinth layers of black fabric, the dark male produced something small but solid. It was transferred from the external hand to the one in the incubator, then tucked securely beneath the pillow the size of his palm; he hoped it would not be noticeable enough to the little one and impede her sleep.
A hyper-space jump to the Ilum system, nestled in the Unknown Regions, or the 7G Sector; hardly a challenge for a skilled pilot like Kylo Ren, like the grandson of Anakin Skywalker. Battling through a blizzard (typical of the planet's treacherous climate) did not present the most difficult portion of the task either, nor the hike upwards along jagged paths to the mouth of a very sacred cave.
Ren had gone to great pains to find the right one, the right healing crystal. The toil lay in locating it; searching through the abundance of Kyber shards and healing crystals alike until it sung to him through the mass of its brothers. Not unlike the fractured one encased in his lightsaber and not quite the same, he still had complete faith in its power. So he snatched it to return it to his (still unnamed) child.
"You'll be out soon." He promised tenderly, stroking the top of her head with his thumb; overly aware of her fragility, yet the gentility came ever so naturally to the brute. His lips folded into each other and his head tilted as he absorbed the tiny coiled fists and the sweet little face scrunched by sleep. Had Han ever felt like that? So awash with love and awe that no requirement was too much of an ask. Was there anyone else he'd endure Ilum for? Absolutely not.
Well…. Maybe Lucilla.
Hesitantly, Ren relinquished his touch when Lucilla stirred on the other side of the incubator, mindful of his earlier decision not to intrude upon her. Then he readied himself to leave but his daughter never left his sights.
"Rest, little one. I'm thinking about you. Always."
General Orion Hux was always a man of great composure. In his professional, public life, at least.
His love of and dedication to order and discipline was renowned and it was the principle reason of his quick ascent through the ranks, that much was common knowledge.
He idolized protocol and followed procedure to the letter, truly believing in it being the key to restoring peace to the galaxy; anyone else would have called it tyranny but Orion was steadfast in his beliefs.
Everything from uniform standards to officer conduct, those lesser "domestic" codes of practice as outlined and enforced from the beginning of the Academy were gospel. This included officer punishment for any breach of protocol.
Mitaka had provided the details of the event, loyally and duty-bound but innocently ignorant of what would take place in the General's office; he assumed reconditioning would be the worst-case scenario for his colleague.
So it was strange for Orion but completely in the heated spur of the moment, to swiftly draw his blaster and pull the trigger, only for the stream of bumbling explanations to be cut short by a dull thud.
There was no blood; the blaster bolt seared and cauterized the wound in his own officer's head as it darted through; the same officer who had initially ordered the firing on the General's heavily pregnant wife. Would it have satisfied him more if the death hadn't been instantaneous? Or if there had been an exit wound and blood spatter on his office wall? Maybe.
Orion rose and cast a careless, disgusted glance at the corpse clogging up his beautifully lush Wrodian carpet. It was a reflex; nothing more, nothing less. A poor one, granted, but still a reflex. He had seen red when finally faced with the officer at fault; the over-zealous officer trying to further himself prematurely and reacted in that split second of pure hatred.
Insolence! He seethed internally with reviled venom - nostrils flared and temper barely contained. Impertinence!
He was now down an entire squadron of trained Tie Fighter pilots and the same amount of state-of-the-art Tie Fighters as a direct result of those actions. But that was immaterial. New Ties could be purchased, pilots could easily be replenished from the Academy.
But Lucilla…. There was no replacing Lucilla. And she could very easily have been killed that day.
Now, it would have been easy to apportion blame to Keir for the squadron's destruction and it had initially been a charge against him upon his arrest but Orion thought better of it. Had Keir not taken the course of action he had, Lucilla would (more than likely) be dead. Had the squadron not been needlessly dispatched, its ruination would have been unnecessary in order to preserve something far more important.
Head clear and vexation unloaded from his system, Orion claimed his seat once more to fulfil another duty; to construct a holo of sympathy to the unnamed officer's parents.
I'm terribly sorry to inform you of your son's recent passing during a training exercise. He'd claim solemnly to the recorder and almost believe it himself. The First Order will, of course, shoulder the expense of the funeral and whatever other burial rites are observed on his home world and in his culture. The lump sum of his wage for this year will be forwarded to his next of kin as well as his officer's pension yearly thereafter, despite the short length of his service. Once again, our deepest condolences.
Say what you will about the First Order, but the Human Resources Department (it was their protocol he undertook this with now) was second to none.
Three days.
Three days of agonizing waiting.
Three days of helplessness and being able to do nothing.
Three days of overwrought frustration and sheer terror as the situation seemingly wasn't changing.
Now, it was over.
Lucilla's torso heaved under the heft of her sobs, oblivious to the fact that her hands and knees were shaking as she sat up in the bed and watched the bundle being removed from the incubator. Coughing through the next wave of tears, her watering, sapphire eyes could look nowhere else as her arms reached desperately and….
"Oh sweetheart….!" She choked, stumbling on her words, when the warm weight was placed against her chest, relishing the slight squirm and the soft whinge that accompanied it; Dr Craven hovered nearby to ensure all was well. "I'm here! Mama's here, darling!"
"I'll leave you two to each other, lots of catching up to do." The Doctor excused herself with a restrained beam, proud of her involvement and the outcome; Lucilla (understandably) did not answer. Overcome, breathless and positively ready to burst with a myriad of powerful emotions, it felt surreal to finally have her baby in her arms where she belonged.
"Lilia." The new mother wept, having started to press urgent pecks to her daughter's forehead in such quick succession that the words were barely audible. She bestowed the name, as she'd promised, when she could hold her and look her in the bright blue eyes – her mother's eyes. "My Lilia. My Lily."