Lucilla watched, leaning against the doorway, her lip bitten with bemused endearment.
It was such a… wholesome… sight; a sight that sent her heart aflutter. A sight she, and she alone, was privy to, one that would (probably) go unseen by the rest of the galaxy. Was that a shame? Maybe. Maybe not. It would have had its pros and cons, but would she have wanted to share something so pure with someone so undeserving?
Orion occupied his usual armchair, datapad in hand, as was routine when he worked from home. However, he had a new addition to his person that had vacated Lucilla's.
Lilia. Wedged between her father's side and the chair, snuggled comfortably and secured by an insignia-clad arm.
"These figures here…" He prattled from behind the datapad, much to his week-old daughter's disinterest. "Are Tie numbers. The fleet came out of its last raid quite well, only one pilot down. And, one could argue, he is not much of a loss or a pilot if he could not survive the mission…"
"And these…" He went on, just about slowing down to take a breath. Had he noticed Lilia's eyes had closed? Probably not. "Are troop numbers-"
"I'm sure Lilia knows more about the troop and Tie numbers than you do by now." Orion twisted to the surprise input, but not enough to disturb the baby's comfort. Mercifully, he did not need to twist too far, not when his wife perched herself on the opposite arm of his chair to Lilia. The gentle, lasting peck was given and received without request or question; a glorious habit that had gone unaffected by parenthood.
"You're training her well. She'll make a great successor." Cue the tilt of Orion's flaming head from one beloved female to another, smitten expression unchanged.
"A female General would be a nice change of pace, to be sure. If she has her mother's commanding nature, she will have her officers on their toes."
"Orion. Darling…" Lucilla hummed impishly, quirking a silky eyebrow and rousing her husband's curiosity in the process. "She does have her mother's commanding nature. And she already has us on our toes." A fair and true statement, the General had to acknowledge the fact.
"I need to de-grime…" And really, after cleaning Kylo Ren's quarters, what better way to describe it? "She shouldn't need a bottle but if she does, I've left one in the conservator. You remember how to heat it, don't you? And how hot it should be?"
"Yes, little dove." Orion conceded, recalling the simple but vital process, before re-immersing himself (and Lilia) in the end-of-day-cycle data report. "I remember. Enjoy your bath."
Little dove would do just that.
While an ordinary bath is pleasurable and relaxing, Lucilla's baths (as the wife of the acting head of the First Order) were not ordinary baths. Perish the thought!
Now, it was not for want of protesting that such rich oils and soaks (despite them being incredibly good for her skin and smelling divine) were an unnecessary expense. Not when Orion knew her favourites and proceeded to order them himself from the bridge when he got a quiet moment. After all, it was a small token of gratitude (one of many) for her decision not to leave him.
Little dove would have been perfectly happy to share the standard-issue soap her husband used, but her General didn't work that way. Have his exalted Lucilla share a body scent with a common officer?! Out of the question! Not to mention, it would be horrendously rude for such a thoughtful and expensive gesture to go unutilized…
That said, Lucilla would never reveal to her husband (her thoughtful, generous husband) that it was a non-negotiable requirement for her to have a secondary wash; of the chest and pelvic areas only. To neglect that would result in Lilia ingesting perfume when she fed. And speaking of Lilia…
Amid the steaming water, clouded and distorted by oils, Lucilla held her stomach. Not quite cradling the deflating bump like she'd had a habit of doing for the past seven and something months, rather folding back the excess roll of skin, letting it spill to either side to spy her fascination: Her scar. The second reason for a cleansing wash of the heavy perfumes.
It was the same scar she had arrived on Finalizer with; opened, closed, re-opened, re-closed. The same scar the rest of the girls in her line-up had had. The same scar the Admiral had questioned until he was told (and accepted) it was standard, that there was a very practical purpose behind it. The purpose that would make her far less troublesome than one who didn't have the same mark.
The scar had represented something precious being taken from her; something that, she had been persuaded, was to maximize her usefulness. To please her master. To lengthen the life that was not really hers. To truly make her what she was meant to be.
But having gotten it back (or one just like it), the womb, and the scar that accompanied it, served as a somewhat morbid souvenir of her survival. Not unlike Varden's skull (the one who had had her spayed like a docile bitch in the first place) that, despite sharing a bedroom with her infant daughter, kept its usual proud place on her vanity table.
Lucilla's sapphires shuttered out the refresher in favour of tranquillizing darkness. Her lungs drew in the perfume-soaked air and exhaled it; slowly, and the absolute epitome of relaxation. The water ebbed, warm to unknot the kinks and unwind the tension that she now carried unconsciously; a glorious consequence of having a child of her own. Bending. Lifting. Pacing. Rocking. All lending themselves to the ache that only the bath seemed to ease.
"Captain, these are my off-duty hours."
Captain Tritt Opan did not need to be reminded, but he found himself at his superior's door (for the second time in twenty-four hours) regardless.
"I understand, sir." Came the respectful (and regretful) utterance, with an incline of the head to match. "And my humblest apologies for the intrusion upon you and your family. However, we do have a communication that requires your attention on the bridge."
Unimpressed with both the interruption and the explanation, General Hux could barely be described as patient with the situation; despite dealing with one of his closest and trusted allies. It tied in with one of Orion's most recent life lessons: While his work might take a large portion of his day, his family (and only his family) would dominate his evenings.
"And the night commander is ill-equipped to handle such a communication? Is that not part of their job description?"
"Yes, sir. But the communication is specifically for you. It is somewhat personal in nature."
A personal communication? On the bridge? That couldn't be right, surely? More to the point, who could it be? His "personal" extended only to Lucilla and Lilia. And Lilia was incapable of working a com device. Yet.
"If it was a personal communication, Captain, why was it not routed to my personal com?"
The corridor received a scrutinizing scoping. First, Opan's left, then his right. Once assured of privacy, he leaned towards his superior.
"It's the Admiral, sir. He's requesting you."
That made sense, alright. Trust his father to want to make things difficult. By requesting the General be summoned to the bridge, it meant tearing him from his wife and daughter; if only for a little while. Orion did all in his power not to swear; not that it would have had Lilia spouting obscenities if he did, but it would have undermined his professionalism, despite his off-duty hours.
"Did he say anything?" Hux questioned with a note of biting frustration, while giving Lilia's tiny form against his shoulder a careful squeeze; not unlike a child with its favourite toy as a comfort.
"No, sir. He would part with nothing, only his desire to speak to you."
"Very well." Came Orion's displeased huff, trying to work the logistics of this undertaking in his wonderfully strategic brain. Refusing to disturb Lucilla from her well-earned bath, he would need re-enforcements from elsewhere. "Return to the bridge. Tell my father I will speak to him from my office in due course. In the meantime, I will com Mitaka."
"Of course, sir." Opan graciously inclined his head again, duty sealed with obedience and vice versa. "I shall be but a com calls away, should you need me."
"General. I've been waiting."
Orion wished there was someone present. Someone he could not stand. Someone he could punch clean in the mouth in a bid to vent this boiling hatred just by the very sound of his father's pompous drawl.
"I would not expect you to comprehend the undertakings of a raw baby, Admiral." Orion managed to smother all that loathing into a bare edge of testiness in his tone. But went on before the Admiral could take offence. "You are normally quite capable of reaching my personal com, what has changed?"
Truth be told, it suited Orion (in a way) to not have his father contact him directly; it hindered him too. The General could have easily returned the communication from the comfort of his apartment, with his daughter still in his arms, or under his watchful gaze in her basket. But then, he risked Lucilla overhearing her dreaded father in law, something Orion wanted to prevent for as long as possible.
"Forgive me, General." There it was again: that vile, smarmy, condescending, simpering… "My time zone must have been different to yours; I was under the impression you would still be on the bridge."
"I am on personal time. I have been since 20.00 hours." Did the gritting of his teeth carry over the com? Did Orion care? Not as such. "What can I do for you, Admiral? What is so urgent that I needed to leave my family?" Playing straight into his father's satisfaction, with that last sentence particularly? Perhaps.
"I have an important pending mission, General. I will be unreachable for a considerable length of time after tomorrow morning. I am in your system, General. Well… Supremacy's system. I assume you are still aboard her?"
"I am terribly sorry to hear that, Admiral." Could he be more deadpan, flat and unconvincing? He hoped not. You know damn well I am aboard her. But Orion held his tongue. And how could you be in a different time zone if you are in the same system?! "Again, what service may we be to you? Do you require re-enforcements? Supplies? Fuel?"
"No, General. Nothing of that nature, we are quite well equipped without needing to pilfer scrap supplies." The snide remarks were almost too much but Orion held himself fast; bracing himself without realizing it. "No, I wish to see my granddaughter. We will be docking shortly."