Six Months Later.

Minimal contact indeed. The Resistance had scattered, but their mission continued. It continued with an agent sent to each of the core worlds and beyond to monitor reactions to the new Empire and, if possible, find the appetite to topple it. Coruscant, Chandrila, Plexis, Ganthel, Lanz Carpo and Duro. And on this particular occasion, the shipbuilding powerhouse of Corellia.

"Who've you heard from?" Curiously downcast at his friend's living situation, Poe took stock of the limited floor space of the modest apartment; what a shipbuilder's salary would allow. Worn, second-hand furniture, paint peeling from the walls and a suspicious-looking patch of something on the corner of the ceiling… Yes, Poe couldn't help but feel a stab of guilt for his four-poster bed, magnificently aged bottles of rareness (that always seemed to replenish when he emptied them) and food of an astronomical standard, courtesy of his little cousin.

"Heard from Rey, about uh… two weeks ago…" Finn replied, just about functioning after a nightshift and pouring two cups of caf to combat it; one of which he handed to Poe. "She was planet-hopping to collect data, but she seems to be based on Chandrila. No one knows where Leia is, that's probably for the best."

"Probably." Poe agreed, taking a sip but finding the instant, freeze-dried caf fell well below his new standards. But, not to offend his friend, he said nothing and lifted himself from the examination of Finn's apartment to the ex-Stormtrooper himself. "How're you doing? You look... tired."

"You don't." Finn replied, actively trying not to sound snide but failing just enough for Poe to notice. And it showed. Clearing his throat and taking a swallow of caf, Finn toyed with the idea of apologizing but... no. Was it an off the cuff reaction, prompted by exhaustion, in both a physical and mental sense? Maybe. Either way, Poe had expected this. Admittedly, not from Finn but it appeared someone else had been in his ear; and it wasn't the olive-skinned pilot. To that end, the visitor opted to be patient in his reasoning.

"I didn't ask for this, Finn. I didn't plan-"

"I know that." Poe's lips thinned as his careful explanation was swiped from mid-air; not being allowed to put his case forward was more Hux's fascist style than Finn's. At a loss for anything else to do, the ex-Stormtrooper reached for a breakfast biscuit, the movement and the concept of doing something distracting himself from anger that had stemmed from perceived betrayal. "But you gotta understand how it looks."

Again, Poe was not given time to protest; despite trying before Finn railroaded him once more on his own ranting tangent.

"I mean, no one was gonna question you volunteering for the Coruscant detail. No one. We glossed past the fact that your cousin had taken over, trusted that you were focused on the mission and still loyal to the cause-" It was Poe's turn to interject, which he did less than nicely.

"Still loyal to the cause?!" Poe repeated, horrified and outraged by the implication; even more so with who it came from. "Finn, are you listening to yourself?! When have I ever-?!"

"Then the next thing we know, the Empress has a new advisor, getting cosy with Ren and Hux. What do you want them to think? 'Cause to some people, it looks like it was all pre-planned and all you had to do was make sure you were stationed on Coruscant. After that, you were home free." That disgusting sentiment, that he had been a double agent all along, ruffled Poe Dameron's feathers; enough for his caf mug to meet the table with subtle undertones of aggression and steel in his eyes as he stared down his "friend". But Finn kept going, seemingly getting it out of his system to allow Poe an explanation in one fell swoop; to address it all at once.

"You left the Spice runners to join the New Republic fleet when the First Order started intercepting shipments. You left the New Republic to join the Resistance when they weren't doing enough about the First Order. And now…" Finn, lifting his eyes from his doleful reverie and directly into Poe's, quelled the indignance simmering in his friend's stomach, giving him another punch of guilt for partially overreacting. Of course Finn, the wonderful and understanding Finn, didn't feel like that; but clearly, he had been paying too much attention to someone who did. Temmin? Possibly. "I just need to know that you're still with us. That you're not quitting just 'cause it gets hard or 'cause something better comes along. I'm fighting your corner here, man. I need to know I'm not doing it for nothing."

"Finn." Poe fell into one of his typical passionate frenzies, locking eyes with his companion as he pulled out a mismatched, threadbare dining chair and dumping his rear on it. Finn had seen it a hundred times before and a tired smile stretched his cheeks at it; Poe hadn't abandoned them. "How d'you think I'm not dead yet? Custom blaster or lightsaber? How d'you think?"

"I dunno, Poe. But I know you're gonna tell me."

"Lucy." The pads of the pilot's calloused fingertips met his thumbs, a habit of emphasis apparently, to pair with the intensity of his gaze. "She has them both on leashes. It'd be funny if it wasn't so Goddamn scary. She clicks her fingers and they dance, Finn! I was wrong! She's not a puppet! That might've been the intention at the start, but she was smarter than they were and now! Now, the galaxy is following her! Not them! Not the First Order! I've seen it!"

Conflicted but confident in his rescuer's confidence (they had rescued each other in one way or another), the shipbuilder indulged in another sip of caf; a subtle signal to his more comfortable counterpart to continue.

"I've never sworn an oath to the First Order." Poe promised, maintaining the eye contact and searching for even the barest flicker of doubt; he already knew he would find none, not when Finn trusted him as he trusted Finn. "I've never renounced the Resistance. She's never asked me to. She wouldn't, she knows I wouldn't do either of those things. As long as I have the galaxy at the heart of my actions, she'll let me do what I see fit; encourages it even. And if I happen to piss Ren or Hux off in the process, which is crazy easy to do, by the way, it's a bonus."

"If she only cares about the galaxy being your main motivation and doesn't care how you go about it, she's gotta expect you working for the Resistance on the inside; passing intel, data, manoeuvres…?"

Poe flinched, the discomfort strumming in his features and for a moment, just a moment, Finn felt the flint of doubt that he had dismissed almost immediately when Temmin had spouted his suspicions. Why hadn't the pilot scrambled to reassure him if he had nothing to hide? If he was really doing all that? Of course I'm gathering intel! Of course I'm working for the Resistance on the inside! Hasn't Leia told you?! But… none of that came. Only the mulling nibble of Poe's bottom lip while he carefully chose his words.

"Because… Because I don't need to."

"What're you talkin' about? Of course you need to. This is a war, we're at war-"

"That's just it, Finn. We're not. Not anymore. There's no intel. There's no data. No manoeuvres." The hostility threatened to pick up where it had left off; heightened and by the opposite party when the sudden heave of Finn's chest puffed with protest. But Poe was ready.

"Listen to me! Just… Listen!" Grudgingly, Finn did just that; truly and desperately wanting to give Poe every chance to be faithful to the cause. Rocking to his feet and assuming a somewhat stressed pace of the pitifully restricted floor space of the apartment, the ex-Stormtrooper waited while Poe tried to fit it all together in his own head before he could try and make Finn understand it too.

"I've watched. I've listened. Even when they didn't know I was there; to try and catch 'em off guard and see if they'd slip up. Like there was something even Lucy didn't know about but… There's not. I did what I was put on Coruscant to do-"

"That's not possible, Poe… This is the First Order, there's always something! They were always-!"

"Not anymore." He had had his own trials in coming to terms with this; as it happened, he had to do it quickly in a grimy cemetery in the Undercity before a massive opportunity slipped through his calloused fingers; fingers that had smoothed out since.

Poe kept pacing and Finn, out of dread, shock and fear, let him.

"There's no secret Tie factories to bust-" No, Finn and his co-workers were making them out in the open. Along with Star Destroyers, troop transports and officer shuttles. "There's no forced occupations to stop. There's no child abduction rings to stock the Stormtrooper ranks. Because she stopped. it. all."

"Everything she did on Tatooine… Ryloth… It was all real, it was all legitimate-"

"It was First Order money! The First Order was behind it in a takeover bid!"

"The First Order bankrolled it because she made them bankroll it." On his feet and his frustration growing equal with his despair, Finn did not want to ask Poe to leave but it was becoming an option of increasing attraction. If it meant stopping this borderline treason, he might have no choice. "When Ren slaughtered Snoke, he assumed the mantle of Supreme Leader himself, made Hux Grand Marshal and from there, they planned a takeover that Snoke had hindered. Lucilla was at the forefront of that takeover. Because she was meek and gentle and maternal and… not First Order. Lucy did the same things with that money that the Resistance would have: she made things better."

Knuckles white as he clutched the back of the shabby, threadbare sofa, Poe's Advisor's ring (of chunky Goroth Prime platinum, probably worth a year of Finn's salary) caught the light: a reminder.

"She went on a justice crusade and Ren and Hux stood back and let her do it. It would bring people on side and it did, rich and poor systems alike. She went about rooting the filth outta the galaxy, based on her own experiences, to prevent what she'd gone through happening to anyone else; and she made sure everyone was watching." As much as Finn might have detested it, it made sense. He might have also detested how… at ease and comfortable… with it Poe seemed. That was either really good or really bad and made him question which he should be leaning towards as well.

"In the end, the people wanted her and while the First Order was kinda parta the deal. Before Ren and Hux knew it, she'd become a separate entity with so much of the people's backing that if they made even one move she didn't like, she'd throw them to the wolves." And in that instant, realization dawned for the ex-Stormtrooper; and if that didn't do it, the renewed intensity of Poe's gaze certainly would. "That's why they're powerless. That's why they're at her mercy. That's why I can sit across the dinner table from Kylo Ren and shit-talk the Sith because he can't do shit about it without pissing her off!" Straightening from his rooting, chosen mid-pace, behind the sofa, the olive-skinned pilot fixated; almost accusingly. "But somehow, I don't think you've reported the full extent of your findings, huh? You didn't pick up a labour job on Corellia for fun or the wages."

"A'right..." Finn stalled again after a moment of self-deliberation, finding it easier to acclimatize to the reality since Poe's passionate spurt; bracing himself for the confession that would, essentially, fall into line with Poe's entire stance. "Maybe… Maybe it's not all bad."

"Imperial prisoners. Shoot."

"They moved Imperial prisoners of war to various shipyards across Corellia under the Empress' decree." Finn hesitantly revealed under Poe's scrutinizing eye. "Took 'em outta prison cells, gave 'em work and accommodation instead."

"You spoke to them?"

"A few."

"And?"

"They said it beats prison. Better food, better living arrangement, reduced sentence in exchange for work… Sure, they don't get paid the same as the rest of us but… that's kinda the nature of it, I guess…" Finn eyed Poe in the same fashion; still unsure and with something akin to suspicion. "This Resistance research or Imperial?"

"Bitta both. You know Leia wants to find an appetite for the Resistance to keep going, the Empress doesn't. What about the resta the people in your sector?"

"The food provided's been improved under new Imperial guidelines; as of about four, maybe five months ago-"

"She moves fast."

"Yeah… According to the guys, some of 'em been there for twenty and thirty years, the food's never been as good as it is now. Working conditions, health'n'safety are streets ahead, better than some of the fellas remember. Pay's up too." Finn's employers were, by New Republic law, required to provide meals to their workers during their shift; be it morning, evening or night-time. But lax laws and even laxer policing of those laws meant workers could be served anything and of an insultingly poor quality, a loophole of sorts. "The yard owners weren't too happy 'bout it at first; it meant they had to spend more credits on upping standards 'round the plants but then… the First Order makes it so they can claim a portion of it back through their taxation system." So, no appetite for revolt in either the ship builders or their employers. Lucy would be pleased. Leia would not.

"You should stop by the palace sometime." Poe offered conversationally; switching from interrogation mode and tapering the conversation to conclusion without overly reacting to the findings as he made his move to leave. The Little Empress was expecting him and who was he to keep her waiting? Especially when he got so much pleasure out of watching the two most powerful men in the galaxy fight to restrain themselves from killing him? "I've got a great view of the city from my apartment, great booze, and I know BB-8'd love to see you too."

For what felt like an age (even though it only spanned a few seconds), Finn silently studied his friend and made him wait for an answer. Parts of this visit had made it feel like nothing had changed, others made it seem like things had never been that way to begin with.

"Sure..." Finn replied slowly, his eyes still taking in the pilot he once knew (who even looked different) in contemplative sweeps. Poe, feeling it, let it happen; despite the unfortunate but obvious deep-seated, niggling ripples of distrust. "Might take you up on that."

The Little Empress, in her seven months of power, had promised (and delivered) more First Order patrols in a bid to eradicate piracy; the Guavians on Nantoon were only the beginning.

More to the point, Empress Lucilla commanded for these patrols to be undertaken by a number of designated Star Destroyers. After all, surely it only made sense to deploy the absolute epitome of Imperial and First Order might to show the people their concerns were being taken seriously? To show any potential wrongdoers what they would be up against? And who better to head these patrols (to show the galaxy that she took the matter very much to heart) but the Empress' own husband? In the Empress' own Star Destroyer, Quietus? And Orion happily complied.

Was it not everything he could ask for? He already had control of the galaxy (in a matter of speaking) and with that safely secure, he could return to his comfort zone: The command centre of a Star Destroyer. During his command hours, of course. His personal hours would be where they had always been: With his wife and daughter.

But… It seemed that evening would be something of a distortion of the norm.

"Her Imperial Highness has already eaten, Grand Marshal." The service droid informed him when he found himself in the dining room alone and the routine Asasl bowl of warm water to cleanse his fingers was set down before him. "She retired early but asked me to assure you that she has, in fact, eaten." Bewildered but hungry, Orion swatted the droid away with his usual elitist belligerence and got on with his meal alone. Without even Kylo Ren or that dratted Poe Dameron for company; despite his limited patience for both.

Perhaps it was for the best. Without Dameron's incessant chatter (that Orion swore was only to elicit a reaction from him) or Ren with his brooding silence while he assaulted his meal with the same decorum and etiquette as Dameron (and they were equal in their distracting and irritating properties), the Grand Marshal could mull over this mammoth break in routine.

Had something happened? Was she alright? Was Lilia alright? Did she want to be left alone? The droid hadn't specified if the Empress desired privacy. Then again, it (Lucilla swore it was a "he") had not imparted he was to join her either.

Well… There was only one way to find out for sure.

Lucilla's bed-chamber had not quite fully succumbed to darkness when the Grand Marshal finally arrived. One or two candles (he found her draw to the old, simple things endearing) chewed on their wicks to keep the shadows fully at bay and to cast just enough light (he suspected) for him to navigate the bed-chamber.

Orion went about undressing quietly; or as quietly as one can go about it in a semi-dark room while all the while being conscious of his slumbering wife. Did that include him bashing his toe and biting back the howl of pure agony? Of course.

"Orion?"

Wonderful. I woke her. Might as well get dressed again.

"It's me, little dove." The redhead staggered to her summoning with his toe still throbbing to make himself visible, or as much as the low light would allow. So, naturally, the Grand Marshal's curiosity only deepened as he seated himself on his own side of the bed and peeked in past the half-drawn curtains; closed on her side, open on his. Orion then realized that his pondering had been solved by a single look: His wife was not alright. And, incidentally, they were not alone either.

Clutched tight to the Empress' lace-wrapped chest in a guarding embrace was Princess Lilia and while Lucilla's melancholy was plain, Lilia appeared to be fine; not sickly or sore in any way as Orion might have guessed. It begged another question. Why was Lilia there if she was not ill? She had not joined them in bed in some time and that had been dictated by certain reasoning where it would be unsuitable for Lilia to be anywhere near the vicinity.

"Darling…?" The former General pressed, genuine concern echoing in his utterance. "Are you alright…?"

While it had always been in Hux's nature to be practical in every endeavour (bred into his very being, even), it may have been prudent to continue undressing in the gaps of the conversation, in the stuttered flow that he would try and wrangle Lucilla's grievance through. However, while that may have been his reasoning before, he had learned since that sometimes, his wife required more attention than that. Giving her his utmost heed now, when she was especially delicate, would serve him well.

"I had an appointment with the medic this morning." Ah… Yes, she'd mentioned that during breakfast; an unextraordinary affair (Orion's breakfast usually consisted of eggs, toast and caf) they had while still in bed before he dressed and left for Quietus. Boots removed, he was able to swing uniform-clad legs onto the bed without too much concern for dirtying the sheets and with this extra space closed, he could see her better. The weeping might have stopped hours ago but the heart-crumbling disappointment and grief went deeper than mere tears. Her eyes and her cheeks had dried but the hollowness and hoarseness in her voice remained behind as a tell-tale sign.

"And what did she say, little dove?" Did he dread the answer? Of course. If it left her in this state, it had to be worth dreading. Lucilla dropped her gaze to the comatosed Lilia in her arms as her husband made himself comfortable; enough to devote his full attention, but not to rest fully for the night.

"She said I'm still not pregnant."

Orion felt his lips curl inwards, feeling the wrench in his stomach that, albeit probably not on the same level, his wife had felt when the crushing revelation was made for the umpteenth time, every month, in fact. He did not despair for himself; he had a child, a daughter he adored but he had always striven to give his beloved everything she ever wanted or needed and while they had Lilia, Lucilla clearly wanted more. But what could he say to her? I'm sorry, darling, we'll keep trying? They would, but they would eventually become so dejected with failed attempt after failed attempt and what then? Lucilla would curl up cease to function, he knew it.

Perhaps it's not to be, little dove. We should focus all our love and attention on Lilia and try not to think on it anymore. No, that wouldn't work either. For the same reason. He daren't blame the transplanted womb and, by association, her, where the only weakness in their joint fertility might lie. He had proved himself already, said proof lay curled into her mother. Perhaps the organ only had a certain shelf-life and if it did… they would find a way to contend with it. Together.

"Would you rather I stayed in my own chambers tonight?" A rare offer for the Grand Marshal to make after shuffling the distance in a bid to be close and supportive; the long, light kiss to her forehead prompted a tired shuttering of those magnificent eyes, sore and aching from weeping. "Leave the ladies to themselves for a night?"

"Don't be silly." The Little Empress sniffed, drained and vulnerable; so much so, Orion was relieved that she rejected his offer. "I want you here. I need you here."

"Let me get changed, little dove. Then I'll be fully yours."

"Sleep pants, Orion. While Lily is here."

"Of course, Your Grace."