General Orion Hux was, at most, four minutes late to the bridge the next morning. He strutted, not walked, strutted, with his hands folded tight with Imperial propriety at the small of his back.
"Forgive my tardiness, Captain!" He announced to the bridge, not just the substituting Captain Opan. Said Captain pivoted on the ball of his foot to stiffly salute his approaching superior. He relaxed when given the easing nod, once his commander had drawn even with him.
There was something very different about the General; in comparison to of late, at least. There was a spring in his otherwise regimented step. A noticeable puff in his chest. Something strangely akin to a smile that did not usually play on those pallid lips.
"My daughter was hesitant to relinquish me this morning. I'm sure you understand." He relayed with simmering elation (that he did try to keep under disciplined wraps).
"Of course, sir." The Captain uttered, falling into step to deliver any updates as was expected when the General had an absence of any length. There were no updates, but it seemed the General was not interested anyway.
"I did reassure her that I would return at lunchtime but that did not placate her."
"No, sir. It wouldn't." Opan did all in his power to dutifully mask his confusion. Was it the same child he spoke of? The same child that had the other officers and staff in a gossiping frenzy? The right-hand-man and occasional hitman kept impeccable step along the catwalk beside the redhead as he pondered. How had he become so enamoured all of a sudden?
The talk went that the child had been female which did not meet the General's expectations, even ruffled his disgruntled disappointment. He knew (only as a close ally, though anyone with a pair of eyes could see it) that the seemingly stone-cold head of the First Order adored his wife. Why wouldn't he? Even Opan could appreciate she was beautiful, remarkably so. She was gentle, docile and ladylike; everything an Imperial wife should be. He could not attest to the more intimate details of the marriage, only what he witnessed himself, but that was enough to build the conclusion that theirs was more than an Imperial marriage of convenience, insurance and show.
By that logic, the gender of the child should not have mattered but that was not the Imperial way.
No. Sons were the way. Daughters, while harmless and benign, often endearing, did not have much of a purpose.
Yes, they could be married off and alliances brokered through those marriages; not to mention carrying the next generation of officers and soldiers of the First Order but that was the extent of their contribution.
And yet, here was the General (and really, he should have been granted the title of Grand Marshal long ago), the ultimate role model of those traditional values, bubbling with a clear change of heart. If there was any credit to the gossip anyway.
"She's improving, sir?" Opan inquired with interested diplomacy, conversationally almost, and stopping at a console when Hux did. Another officer might have been reconditioned for over stepping that professional boundary, but the trusted Captain was an exception.
"Wonderfully so." Orion replied, the positive feedback from the console only fuelling his good mood before he resumed his march with Opan at his side once more. "Doctor Craven has been concerned with her size, but it seems she has failed to take into account that Lucilla herself is a dainty creature." Of course, Opan had noticed as such but did not pass comment. To be too concerned with the General's wife might not be so well received as polite interest in his infant daughter.
"Anything to report, Captain?" As if suddenly remembering a key cornerstone of protocol that should have been his first port of call upon arrival to the bridge, it was a blissful afterthought.
"All's quiet, sir." Good news indeed.
"Resistance activity?"
"Nothing on our radars, General." Even better.
Hux felt his satisfaction in this so-far good day climb. A quiet day on the bridge meant it would be easier to slip away earlier and be reunited with his wife and daughter before he was technically meant to be. He doubted the bridge would go into meltdown under the capable handling of Captain Opan for an hour or so. Maybe that was a plan.
Lucilla was not much of an eater. In fact, the largest meal she had ever consumed was in the diner, on the day Lily was born. Looking back on it, she felt (with amusement) that, given the choice, one of the contents of her torso had to go; the baby or the food. Her body had (without the consultation of her brain) chosen to eject the baby over the greasy, diner food.
Indulgent diner food now a distant (but fond) memory, Lucilla opted for eggs. Simply scrambled with milk, butter, salt and pepper; a quick and easy fix while Lilia slept off a morning feed. Since recovering, returning to the apartment and absolutely abhorred by waste, Lucilla chose to make her own food now that she had the means and resources. Sure, the kitchenette was small, but it had everything she needed to make a modest meal for herself, put together something for Orion when he retired for the evening or (now that Lily was also resident in the apartment) sterilize Lily's equipment.
Careful to ensure everything was cooked through (her pregnancy diet remained in place for breast feeding), she gave it one final stir while waiting for the toaster oven to pop.
She did not hear the door; too tired, immersed in her current task and, of course, the advanced technology of Supremacy meant she was in blissful unawares of her company until the black-bound arms enveloped her waist. Naturally, when she felt the dip of her husband's forehead against the top of her spine, she leaned into the affection and continued with the finishing touches to her meal.
However, since taking her first steps into motherhood, Lucilla could attest to her instincts and senses sharpening. She couldn't explain it, but it was a fact nonetheless. So, when something plucked at her and told her something was wrong, she listened. It wasn't her eyes or her ears that alerted her to it though, it was her nose.
The new mother registered the smell of sweat, mucidiness and general unkemptness that had not been there before she was joined. Unless something drastic had happened on the bridge that she was not privy to (and that was rare), it wasn't like Orion to go without showering. He'd been known to shower more than once a day actually. It was that realization that sparked Lucilla to spin, horror-struck, and round on the intruder.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" She spat at the hulking form of Kylo Ren, who straightened to convey dignity; like he had not just been leaning against her back in an attempt to be close. Like the longing and weakness for intimacy hadn't just been thrown back at him. Like she hadn't just mercilessly rejected him in an instant.
Ren didn't answer immediately. Anxiously (or furiously?), his lips were licked and his eyes swiped to the living room cradle where "their" daughter slept, then back to her mother. They marinated in brooding silence. Ren, calculating. Lucilla, waiting to snipingly retaliate.
"I heard you'd been discharged." He reminded himself to be steady, unwavering and firm as he scrutinized her severe but weary disposition. Yes, she looked tired. Drained, almost, but fierce. He knew nothing of caring for a raw baby but even the bluntest being could decipher that said baby was the direct cause.
"We have." In that bite of testiness and her spine steeled, Ren spied the fighter that had survived what would have broken most. The same fire that she had passed to her daughter to join his. In that resolve, could he have chosen anyone better to breed with? The quality offspring in the basket that had already cheated death was proof that his selection had been the most obvious, desirable and suitable choice.
Lucilla did not need to ask how Ren had gained entry to their quarters. As much as it made her innards twist, the Knight had powers that some men could only dream of; and it seemed she and her daughter were lucky to have escaped them. For now.
Still, she faced him fearlessly.
"What do you want, Ren?!" His nostrils flared at the snarl, but Lucilla's titanium backbone refused to buckle; despite what he could have done to her with a simple wave of his hand.
Kylo Ren hesitated under the prickle of her glare. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was never supposed to have returned here. She was supposed to have been discharged to his quarters, where he could keep vigil over her and the baby. Where she wouldn't have to cook her own food (imagine!). Where she would exert herself to the absolute minimum. Where she could be waited on hand and foot. Not like here, where she had to provide for herself and without a nanny droid in sight.
To believe Lucilla would want any of those things, however, was a testament of how little Ren knew the little dove.
"You should be in my quarters." He answered eventually, renewing his justification for the visit to himself; if he didn't have confidence in it, why should she? "I requested for you and our daugh-"
"My daughter. Mine and Orion's, if you want to be precise."
Again, reluctance gripped Ren. She still clutched at that naivety? Why did she have to be so difficult? She'd already carried and birthed his child, surely that should have been enough for some scrap of affection? Not to mention, the healing crystal he had sought at his own peril to ensure their daughter got well again. Had she overlooked that so easily? If she even knew….
"She's not yours." Lucilla took a challenging step forward, but the scar-faced Knight remained unruffled. The dark-haired darling had always said: If she ever got an opportunity to meet the scavenger girl who had given it to him, she would shake her hand. But she would enjoy this even more and a little bit of relish did creep into that Coruscanti husk. "There's paternity tests to prove it. Go and see Doctor Craven, she'll see you right."
"You need to stop this. This fantasy. This…. Clutching at straws." He reasoned patiently, matching her step forward with a sweeping one of his own. His tone irked her, as if he were trying to talk her around a delusion, as if he were sympathetic, as if she were unstable. "Come with me. You'll want for nothing. Simply say the word and your deepest desires will become reality."
"My deepest desire, Ren, is for you to realize that you are not wanted!" Like in the corridor on that damning evening, Lucilla's temper took control. How could he be so dense?! Provoked, incensed and like she had done before, Lucilla (despite her better judgement) took the bait and closed the distance between them. How else was she going to drill it into him without getting in his face?
"I have everything I need and want right here!" The hiss was not unserptine and packed just as much venom. But Ren was not intimidated by the flashing eyes or the bared teeth. Instead, his head cocked, and his expression melted into longing intrigue but so enrobed by indignant passion, she seemed not to notice. "Orion heeds every whim on bended knee. I can come and go as I please. All I need do is name something and it is instantly mine!"
"Except the approval of a child based solely on her gender." Ren intercepted coolly and swooped on the fresh vulnerability when that harsh fact hit her. As much as she wanted to contest it, it wasn't wrong. And in the end, it trumped the material things every time. Naturally, the Knight took full advantage of his stunned and frozen prey, knowing that brutal blow would render her so.
"Come with me." He pressed softly, lining his nose with hers until their breath was almost shared. "Forget about him and his Imperial foolishness. You're far too strong to be caged in such a smothering structure." Lucilla almost shuddered at the gentle resting of her chin on the heel of his palm and the stroke of a calloused thumb against her cheek.
"Her father already loves her." That was true now; and in more than just Ren's twisted mind. "She needs to see us as one unit. Living together. Sharing a bed. She needs to see us devoted to each other, as we are to her."
Lucilla's arm coiled behind her back and gripped her opposite elbow, probably to portray shyness or apprehension.
Or maybe, just maybe…..
It was to activate the emergency function on the band beneath her sleeve, monitoring her post-pregnancy blood pressure.