Millicent makes an appearance. (And you thought this story was past the "Humor" genre.)
(Neocolai writes on the Disney blackboard, "I will take the First Order seriously and treat them according to canon, I will take the First Order seriously...")
(Before Kylo Ren) (Ben is twelve)
"I want to do it myself this time."
Those were the most dangerous words in the galaxy.
"Ben..." Poe tapped his datapad on the counter hopefully, begging the kid to take a hint. "Did you know there are five hundred articles on the best spice cake — just on Mandalore?"
"Dad runs Spice. We're not doing that," Ben said gruffly, his prepubescent voice breaking mid-octave.
Poe facepalmed the datapad. "It's spices, not Spice," he tried to clarify. "Like cloves and cinnamon —"
"Dad says those are potent in large quantities," Ben retorted. "I want to do chocolate."
Think, replan, go with the flow. (It wasn't really a dark side tendency to require chocolate in everything, despite Ech'ban's questionable holonet research.) "Your mom likes fall crisp cake," Poe ventured, altering the name for the sake of appeal.
"I don't want your stupid spice!" Ben snapped. "Go away and let me do it myself!"
Three... two... one...
"How much is a gram?" Ben mumbled reluctantly.
"There's a teaspoon conversion," Poe offered, toggling the screen.
"I can do it!" Ben insisted, slapping him away. "Honestly, it's just mixing stuff. A droid could do it."
"Dry ingredients together," Poe muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
"No one asked you, Dameron!"
He laid out the utensils anyways. Sugar, flour, and cocoa powder were pretty easily accessible. (Even if she wasn't in the kitchen often, Leia liked to keep things neat.) Ben screwed up his nose, tongue sticking out as he slopped oil into a — wait, where did he get...
"Is that from C-PO's bath reservoirs?"
"It's oil, Dameron!" Ben cut him off. "We don't have any more aola oil."
"We could just ask the cafeteria..."
"It'll work, Dameron!"
Three employments of his name in one minute. The fourth would probably include Ben stomping away to sulk for the rest of the day. Shutting his mouth, Poe leaned against the counter, nudging ingredients foward each time Ben reached the next step.
"Baking powder..." Ben muttered, dumping in a heaping teaspoon, "... Vanilla, cinnamon — no spice."
"It adds..." One sidelong glare and Poe switched to humming an off-key cantina tune.
"And chocolate," Ben said with savage delight, dunking in the cocoa powder. He eyed the consistency of the mass and tossed in another heaping mountain. "And we mix that and bake it for ... thirty minutes."
Two pans, Poe thought, burying his face in his arms lest he interrupt the moment.
Ben layered the mass carefully in one pan and slid it into the oven, turning it to preheat. "And, done. Check it in half an hour for me, Dameron. I've got training."
Which meant, 'I'll be in my room for the next hour on my datapad,' but the Solos had hired Poe as a babysitter — part of that responsibility included making sure the kitchen didn't burn to the ground.
"Lemme know if you want to taste-test it before frosting," Poe offered.
He slid a sheet pan under the wobbly, cocoa-dusted mass the instant Ben left the room. Pulled up his datapad and watched Snap's shared hologram of a very limber, sassy Twi'lek, snitched a handful of chocolate chips from the bag Ben left out, submitted his condensed, should-take-five-hours mission report within six minutes, and tested the sugar and salt containers before switching them to their appropriate bowls. (Benny's rebellious stints were unwholesomely destructive.)
It was a black and molten mass that he pulled out of the oven nearly an hour later.
Ben wailed and ranted in turns while Poe called in an emergency order from the cafeteria. He compromised with the kid by choking down a piece of the hardened black hunk himself and swearing to Leia (by the moons of Yavin no less) that her brilliant son had contrived the sugar-spun rolled log. (Leia let him make a fool of himself and thanked Ben for his hard work. She really was a great mom.)
Poe clutched his stomach for hours afterwards while Ech'ban cackled at his plight.
"Hey, you still not feeling up to supper? You know what they served at the cafeteria today?" Ech'ban exclaimed, shoving a plate under Poe's nose. "That fancy rolled cake stuff. Here, I got you one."
"Go jump in a lava pit," Poe moaned, rolling over and planting a pillow over his head.
"What's that? You wanted two slices? If I'd known that I'd have brought you the whole platter! Here, let me put this on the bunk for you in case you get hungry..."
Ech'ban found himself scrubbing chocolate frosting out of his jumpsuit immediately before his shift the next morning. Really, he deserved it. He deserved every kriffing demerit.
(Aftermath)
Two decks of the Imperial Star Destroyer were completed by the time Poe's chrono chimed the alert for his swing shift. The unified efforts of Rey's prodding and Finn's pleading nearly convinced him to call in sick for one kriffin' day, before Master Skywalker stilled abruptly, his eyes falling distant as though he heard something beyond their good-natured squabble. Uneasy moments of silence ticked by before he whispered, "They're here."
"Wait — the First Order?" Poe chimed in, already rising to his feet and reaching for his blaster. "How'd they find us? Finn, you think they can track us through light speed?"
"How am I supposed to know?" Finn hissed. (He hadn't raise his voice above a whisper since the blackout was initiated, despite Rey's animated hollers whenever he tried to glue two pieces together — honestly, everything looked identical in a set this complex.)
Master Skywalker glanced between the three of them, mystery glinting in his eyes. "Well, let's go find out. Come on!"
He spun away from Poe's work desk, his cloak furling around him as the door opened at his command. There was a momentary glance of confusion before Rey bounded after the Jedi Master. Poe muttered something about tardiness and scrubbing the Falcon as he flung on his jacket and followed behind, his leg dragging after too many hours of inactivity. Snapping out of his bewildered daze, Finn scrambled to turn off the desk lamp.
"Is this because we didn't respect the blackout rules?"
"Your fleet will be confiscated. Your ships will burn in the atmosphere while your heroes beg for mercy. All will tremble in fear when they see the graveyard of a once fierce Resistance!"
"Oh, is he doing it again?" Luke commented as he swooped onto the command deck.
Vice Admiral Holdo's eyes narrowed in a thinly concealed scowl. "Master Skywalker. You prognosticated a code red."
"Just thought I'd check up on the bridge," Luke said breezily.
"Indeed," Vice Admiral Holdo stated. Deliberately she turned to Admiral Ackbar and instructed. "Inform General Organa that there is an incoming transmission."
"Negative," Luke interceded, practically prowling up to the communications hub. "Let her rest. I can handle my sister's call list for one sleep cycle."
General Hux scowled as the Jedi Master strolled forward, bracing his hands idly on the console. "This is the Jedi in whom you place your hopes?" he said incredulously.
"Yup," Luke said, a smug smile destroying all allusions to sobriety. "I take it you're the commander of the fleet; they keep getting younger."
Though Hux looked rankled, he did not rise to the bait. "I'm willing to offer a deal, Jedi," he said, his voice curling with pompous appeal. "In exchange for the prisoner Ren, I will offer you information regarding the whereabouts of our Supreme Leader Snokes. He is eager to apprise your old-fashioned techniques personally. I might even leave a few of your rebels alive for an audience."
"We don't negotiate," Holdo answered.
"No, no," Luke said, waving her off. "I'd like to hear this. Keep talking, Hugs."
"Hux," the general said irritably. "You will lower your shields and prepare to be boarded. After we have retrieved you, Jedi Scum, your officers will be divided according to their intelligence for the improvement of the First Order, while the weak and insignificant will burn with the ship. You have lost this fleeting attempt of bravado."
"Okay, I'm getting the message," Luke answered calmly. "So could you just reiterate that, starting with the part where you want to board my ship?"
"Your only extenuative is that you have information valuable to the First Order," Hux snapped. "That, and perhaps because the Supreme Leader would like to personally eviscerate you. Your miserable apprentice is foolish and naive, and your pathetic army is no match for our combined forces. Why scuttle away and hide when you can —"
A subtle, trilling squawk caused Hux to break off, grimacing as a small, lithe form darted between his legs. It perched in front of him and looked up, twitching its whiskers expectantly.
"Your attempts to flee are useless," Hux began again, valiantly ignoring the orangish feline as it rubbed against his boots. "The resistance will be crushed, and the hopes of the galaxy will crumble like the particles of your hull as it breaks apart in the atmosphere. Your youth will suffocate in the heat of space, set alight by a dying star."
Trilling for attention, the feline hooked its claws into Hux's trouser leg. Holdo squashed a snicker behind her hand. Breathing deeply through his nose, Hux pressed on, "Surrender now, and some of you may survive. You will have no better offer from Snokes."
"Uh-huh," Luke grunted, wholly distracted by the untimely visitor.
"There is... a counter offer," Hux suggested, finally stooping to lift the feline and settle it into a one-armed hold. "The pilot."
Poe stiffened, and Finn whispered something unforgivable.
"Give us the pilot who corrupted Kylo Ren, and we will temporarily call off our pursuit."
"Okay, before we talk any further, I'm kinda right here," Poe stated nonchalantly, folding his arms as cross blue eyes settled on him. "Hi."
Absently scratching the feline's neck, Hux sneered. "This is all the Resistance has to offer? The cripple from our reports?"
"I crippled your dreadnaught," Poe retorted. Take that, big guy.
"What is damaged can be repaired," Hux scoffed. "You failed to stave off our preliminary attack. You cannot prevent your destruction now."
"I kinda get the impression you're holding back," Poe said. "Maybe because we still have your monkey downstairs."
"His retrieval is imminent," Hux decreed, failing to denounce the insult to his fellow officer. "And when he crawls aboard this ship, he will remember his place and smite your dying republic at the heart."
"That sounds vaguely demoralizing," Luke murmured, his eyebrows gathering together in thought. "Well, I hate to cut you off," he told Hux pleasantly, "But we really do have places to see... galaxies to defend. Tell Snuggles we'll think about his terms."
"How dare you insult our Supreme — "
The general's snarling face disintegrated as the hologram connection was severed. Poe ran his tongue over his teeth in contemplation.
"Huh. If I'd known all he wanted was a cat growing up, we might've been besties."
Finn let out a low gust of air and shook his head. "So first Kylo Ren, and now we get calls from his creepy friends? Does anyone see a pattern here?"
"You're not even supposed to be present on the bridge," Vice-Admiral Holdo censured the former stormtrooper. She approached Luke with a scowl. "The next time the enemy makes contact, I expect my officers to — "
"Amilyn, your work here is admirable," Luke said without a hint of sarcasm, "But I fought in wars long before Kylo Ren came into power. Don't underestimate my knowledge of the Empire's techniques."
"And I'll thank you not to discredit my officers in public, Farmboy."
Luke rolled his eyes at the clipped rebuke, shrugging shamelessly as Leia entered the command deck. "Have I ever undermined a strategic meeting?"
"You've never attended," Leia retorted. She nodded curtly at the three tagalongs, indicating the door. "Back to your duties. We're still on blackout. Dameron, you're on shift in an hour."
Something happened, Poe ascertained, peering closely at the general before he saluted and ushered Finn and Rey into the hall. Leia's cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright with disapointment. Someone had struck cruelly; someone who knew where to twist her heart.
There was only one person on the ship who could hate enough to cause that manner of wound; who was once loved enough that the cut would bleed freely under the first incision. Poe clenched his teeth, wavering at the turbolift before he shook his head, avoiding the prison deck and scampering to the hangar.
One of these days something had to give. A man could wound and rend and keep on hurting, and his mother would still cradle him close to her heart. General Organa didn't carry this fight alone, however, and Poe would gladly rattle a few teeth in her favor.
(And if the general truly opposed violence, then he might just lock a fluffy cat in the third cell from the door. There was definitely a history behind the breathing mask and a lack of pets in the Solo household. If that thatch of ginger fur didn't give the tyrant hives, then there would certainly be bloodshed when General Hux came to retrieve the First Order's mascot.)
Poe was almost willing to risk a boarding party to see that.
.