General Orion Hux did not leave his office that night.

Food had (at some stage) been delivered to him but he didn't recall eating it. By the way the tray was skewed, he assumed he must have turned it to assess it but decided he didn't have the stomach to consume the contents. To that end, he went hungry and he could practically hear his wife berating him for the wastage.

Yes, she dominated every thought that long, arduous night.

He loved her dearly, that was no secret; an understatement if anything. He'd proved it, time and time again; doting upon her when his nature wasn't necessarily inclined that way, ensuring she had everything she wanted, though being a firm believer in discipline and minimalism himself. He went to the extent of spoiling her despite never being spoiled himself and being raised to believe that being spoiled was to be weak. But his Lucilla was not weak; she had proved that in turn.

His options were limited but he would not allow them to include losing Lucilla. Obviously, naturally, the days of it just being the two of them were gone; he didn't need to speak to her to know that much. She would not part with that child and while he could understand it (from her point of view, at least), he did not share the sentiment; cold and all as it may have been.

Before the General could tease it further, a familiar (if not immediately) sound dinned around him; a sound that it took a moment to place as his com, synchronized into the diagnostics of his office. Despite the early hour of the morning (when he should have been asleep), the attempted contact did not concern him. Perhaps it should have.

"Yes."

"Good morning, General. I didn't wake you, I trust?"

Orion's chin had been parked on his chest, despondent for his situation, but that chilling voice slowly pulled it up until he stared straight ahead; at a random patch on the durasteel door. Voice and eyes dead in disbelief, Orion had to answer.

"No, Admiral…." Fighting to remain calm and trying not to bubble into panic, General Hux managed to keep his tone even. Well, enough not to betray his fluster to his father. What the hell did he want?! "Of course not. Something I can assist you with?"

"Nothing, General." The excessively sly nonchalance grated at him but still, his composure remained uncompromised; if hanging by a thread. "I just wished to convey my sincerest congratulations; and of course, my apologies in my tardiness in offering them." Orion blinked, staring streak broken.

"Congratulations?"

"Why, on the birth of your daughter, General." There it was: The deviance among the diplomacy, the smug condescension that dripped from the word daughter. "I hear she and Lucilla are doing well; it's a relief, I'm sure, General. Certainly for me, to hear that my granddaughter and daughter in law are recovering swiftly; especially after such a…. rocky start."

Reviled bile rose in Orion's throat. How dare he?! After everything he'd done to Lucilla, how dare he attempt to feign concern and delight! And to defile her beautiful name as a further insult! There was no mistaking it though; neither of them were supposed to believe the Admiral's concern and the smirk he no doubt placed the com call with could practically be heard.

"Thank you, Admiral." Orion replied after careful observation of the situation; his well-learned tact engaged as second nature, like in any other official endeavour. "Yes, we're overjoyed, of course." Gallingly, Orion had no inkling as to the depth of his father's intelligence aboard his vessel. Whether or not his father knew that he had seen the child only once since her birth or that the concept of a daughter drained him was anyone's guess. To that end, all he could do was pretend and hope his father took his word over his spy's. "Lucilla has taken to motherhood exceptionally well, as I knew she would."

The conversation was uneasily normal. Or would have been in some other realm than this one. Perhaps as normal as one officer congratulating another, minus the honeyed simpering, while still respecting a professional boundary.

For father and son? Absolutely not. Then again, they had never been a normal father and son, nor would they ever be. Not when there had been too much damage of varying degrees of severity. But normal in the sense that it would be commonplace for him to discuss his new baby with his father; and it was still his baby. Perhaps in less formal terms but the sentiment remained.

"I expect to drop by for a visit somewhere in the near future-." Orion's stomach dropped like a stone but his father prattled on, sneer unaffected. "It wouldn't do for her not to meet her grandfather, now would it?"

A visit?! Lucilla would be absolutely incensed! Understandably so! Rightly so! She'd leave him for certain! Could she be blamed?! Unreservedly not! And in the near future? Lucilla might not even be there! And the mere thought of her beast of a father in law being anywhere near her daughter might provoke actions even Orion couldn't predict.

"Do stay in touch, Admiral."The redhead felt the stab of guilt and treachery, his nostrils flaring and his brow creasing as he forced out perceived cooperation. "We will need some notice of your arrival, I'm sure you understand. If nothing else but to ensure my girls are awake when you arrive, they sleep plenty, you see."

Com call terminated, Orion sat back and the panic began to bubble once more. What the hell had he just done….? Playing along with the expected dialogue, yes, but at what cost?

In shameful cowardice, he marinated while he took stock of the implications of that com call. Not only was his father coming to specifically see Lucilla and the baby, he would be in close proximity to them and no doubt, Lucilla would be under scrutiny; something she would detest and take out on Orion. If she stayed that long.

His stupefied hesitation ate into his command hours but of course, no one would question that or risk their position to summon him. If, by an absolute rarity, he was not on the bridge by his allotted time, Captain Opan would assume the command until his superior relieved him.

The time consumed by reviled nothingness went unnoticed; his command (for the first time in a very long time) did not concern him and when he did eventually surface, it was not his first thought. Far from it.

"Where is she?!" Perhaps there was more of an edge of demand on his clipped tone than he would have liked when he finally found Dr Craven; attending to a nameless Stormtrooper. When he didn't receive an answer immediately, the turmoiled interrogation was pressed again; composure be damned. "She is not in her room, where is she?!"

"She and the baby were discharged this morning." Dr Craven revealed after a few biting seconds of reluctance; she'd heard what happened to the last doctor that had tried to enforce medical propriety with the General. Breaking medic/patient confidentiality wasn't worth the detention block or worse. With that in mind, she passed no comment when she noticed her employer's face whiten either. "Her father came, he was going to help her move-" She soon found herself talking to no one; the space the General had occupied seemed suddenly vacant.

One last hope. He told himself as his boots pounded the immaculate durasteel. She might still be here.

Realizing the slip in demeanour in the medbay, Orion tugged his stiff countenance back into place on his stalk to the apartment; the apartment he could not stand to be in since everything went wrong.

His heart sank on arrival. There were no obvious signs of life; no footsteps pottering around, no smell of food and certainly, no welcoming Lucilla. Sobered, despondent and resigned, Orion's feet carried him to the sofa; as if they, independent of his brain, recognized his devastation and wanted to relieve him in some pitying way.

In his tormented numbness, the redhead seemed to have missed the low setting of heat from the small flame wiggling playfully in the hearth before him. And the dull hum of the sanisteam from behind the refresher door. And the basket he had literally traipsed past on his way to the sofa.

Face in his hands, Orion did all in his power not to crumble. But if he did, who would see him to care? He would contend with self-disgust and he had an abundance of that to deal with already, what was a measure more?

Beyond the lids shuttered by despair and the guarding palms cupping his cheeks, the General sensed… movement? Very faint and little more than the slightest of rustling but movement all the same. Curiosity prickled, enough for his hands to pry from his face and his eyes to open to discover the source. He found nothing overly apparent, nothing that jumped out at him. Until his eyes dropped and his heart stopped, mid-beat.

The footstool, the one he had taken to propping his feet on when removing his boots so as not to disturb his wife, supported something strange. Something of woven wood, close enough to absorb the fire's heat but far enough not to be in any danger. This…. thing…. had handles, wrapped in fabric, to ensure comfort to the carrier. It was, perhaps, a foot long; certainly long enough for a small human.

He focused, fixated and captivated, on this foreign object; knowing somewhere in the deepest depths of his being that it was responsible for the disruption of his melancholy. There it went again! The rustling! The movement that caused the entire basket to twitch!

Orion scrambled closer, further down the sofa to look directly into the wicker bed, only to be met with a whinge from the nest of blankets within.

There she was. Clear as day and looking back at him. Yes, those eyes were very familiar. Orion swallowed but she, this little one (whose name he did not know), returned the ogle, unperturbed. The redhead took in the handsome shock of dark hair, the heavenly orbs of sapphire and the way those tiny, matchstick-like fingers flexed experimentally; she would be a beauty, alright.

The placid, inquisitive air did not last. Her cooperation was short-lived once her curiosity was satisfied that this unfamiliar creature was not her mother, did not have a meal for her and had no intention (probably) of cuddling her. So, it only made sense to summon her preferred person in the only way she knew how: Howling.

"No!" The peace in the apartment was shattered; the dramatic transition of silence to deafening screaming too much for the acclimatized General. In horror, he scrabbled to his knees, lowering himself even with the footstool and hoped that a solution would present itself in the meantime. None did.

The displeased screeching bounced off all four walls while the hapless redhead tried to cultivate a response. Amid his petrified disorientation, his only clear thought centred on how powerful those little lungs must have been.

"Please…!" He begged, keeping his own voice low for some unfathomable purpose but it seemed his daughter would not be reasoned with. If she kept this up, Lucilla would be alerted and if Lucilla was alerted, Orion was in for a whole new level of pain. If he thought a baby crying was unbearable, she would be nothing compared to what her mother would dish out.

Abandoning trying to talk down the infant, Orion waded into alien territory; all the while, his head swivelling between the basket and the rest of the apartment for a sign of Lucilla. Or worse: Keir.

"Alright…." He soothed shakily, in a bid to calm her agitation and his own simultaneously as he delved into the blankets. "It's alright…. It's alright…."

How did he do this? With both (cold) hands lost in the web of fabrics and on either side of the child, it occurred to him then that he had no idea what to do. The bawling continued, working both of them deeper into hysteria; ignorance did not suit him and adding pressure to it was just cruel. He decided to bite the blaster bolt, anything to make her stop. With his spindly hands clasped around her sides, Orion lifted the bundle and followed the blindest bit of instinct that he had: rising to his full height and propping her blanketed form against his shoulder.

"There, there…." He quietened awkwardly with another borderline frantic glance around the apartment before freeing a hand to gingerly rub against the small expanse of the baby's back. "Don't cry. Please don't cry…"

She refused to heed him, continuing to sob against his neck, despite the pounding protests of his eardrums. It surprised him, once he'd actually noticed it, that the frail rattle of her chest against his did not sit right with him; that it (dare he think it) distressed him. He reshuffled her, as gently as he could muster; keeping one hand on her back but placing an arm beneath her bottom seemed to yield a partial result. His palm practically covered her back but he managed to work it in small, comforting circles with a pale, pointed cheek resting atop her ebony tressed head.

None of the officers he had rubbed shoulders with of late, the ones who had shared their experiences of "fatherhood" with the expectant General, ever mentioned a "baby" smell; that clean, sweet smell he got now. They had never told him about a strange feeling; the calming effect of having her heartbeat drumming against his shoulder and the breathy sighs as she was pacified by his in turn. He had to wonder if those same officers who had jammed the idea of a son being the best-case scenario in his head actually had any interaction with their children.

"See….?" He hummed, as softly as he could and mindful of setting back their progress. "This isn't so bad, is it?" He spoke to her and assured himself at the same time. But so tranquilized by the warm weight against his chest, the fresh smell and the docile cooing, it didn't register with Orion that continuous drone of the sanisteam had stopped.