(Prompt request: 60. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to seduce me."

Content warning: brief, non-graphic discussions of pregnancy and childbirth. Also, bad pick-up lines.)

if I didn't know better

What a mess she is.

Looking down at herself, pushing away the bedsheet and drawing her robe back together where it's come undone, Nine sighs. Her convalescence after Iokath took ages, weeks and weeks before she could so much as aim a blaster properly- not that she's planning any battles in the near future, not now- and this won't be nearly so long, but still it feels different. Her body feels different, exhausted and sore, belly soft and pouching in the absence of its passenger, breasts heavy.

How many hours has she been sleeping? It hasn't even been a day and already she's attuned to Ysa like an alarm, bells sounding warning in her head at intervals; she looks up at the wall. Two hours.

Any minute, then.

Like clockwork, Ysa stirs in the bassinet placed carefully beside her bed in the medical ward, squirming, arms somehow free of her swaddling and reaching up (she swore she'd done it properly that last time; this child's an escape artist and no mistaking it. That oughn't be a surprise, all things considered).

"All right, my love." She sits up properly, letting the sheet drape around her waist, "I was hoping for a shower first, but I'm guessing it's breakfast time."

The room's quiet. Theron had been here when she fell asleep, she's sure of that; he must have gone to get her things out of quarters. Gathering Ysa up, she settles her into the crook of one arm, lets the robe fall back off her shoulders- how does it go, again, getting the angle right? It really oughtn't to be this complicated, she can run an entire damned Alliance and can't even manage to nurse her own child, for stars' sake-

There.

Ysa blinks up at her after a little while, seemingly content, and she throws the bedsheet over her shoulder to catch any mess as she lifts her up, belly against her chest, patting her back probably more carefully than she needs to but she can't quite stop worrying she's going to break her, this fragile little thing they made. The noise Ysa makes is decidedly indelicate, though, and she laughs as she lowers her back into the cradle of her arms.

"You take after your father, I think."

Ysa wriggles again, waving one little hand toward the door, and when she tracks the gesture with her eyes-

Coincidence. It must be.

(If it isn't, this is going to take a lot of getting used to.)

"Yes," she murmurs, "very good. You found him."

"What did I do?" Theron's standing in the doorway, her biggest duffel bag on one hip stuffed completely full. "I brought some clothes and everything from the 'fresher cabinet, and Senya threw half a dozen other things in here and I have no idea what any of them are for but she insists you'll need them, so-"

She chuckles softly. "I just need something to walk out of here in, you know. I'm not planning on moving in permanently."

"I know," he says, coming in, and sets the bag down on the bed. "But you two are the talk of the base, so I thought you'd want options."

"I've no idea why. It's not as though she's the first child born here."

Theron shrugs. "Yeah, but she's yours. It's- I don't know, it's symbolic. Keeping things going, somehow."

"Ours," she says by way of correction, starting to sort through the contents of the duffel. "I seem to recall you being involved in the process. And I'm fairly sure all this Force nonsense is your fault."

"True, and probably also true." Ysa's fussing now and he reaches down for her, lifting the squirming baby out of her arms; that calms her almost immediately and he smiles and oh, are they in big trouble. "If it's still okay, Satele'll be here in another two days, she says. Doubt she'll have much to add in terms of practical advice, given-"

"Did you tell her?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"And?"

He shifts his grip, lifting Ysa closer against his chest. "If she thinks I'm going to let her take her to Tython-"

She blinks. "Of course not. Did she actually suggest that?"

"No. Not at all."

"I suppose what I meant was whether she seemed surprised- but no, that's out of the question. So is Korriban." She sighs. They never talked this through, not really- the idea came up, but only in the abstract.

"So what are we going to do?"

"I don't know- we'll think of something. But for the present, and since you're here, I'm going to take a shower." Arms loaded with her soaps, clean undergarments, and a few of Senya's additions (a salve and lovely thick gauze pads wrapped in linen that she would have questioned yesterday but oh, today she could kiss her; they still weren't really equipped for obstetrics, not properly, and she's going to ruin all the sheets in the medical unit at this rate), she stands, robe half-stuck to her thighs, and starts toward the refresher.

After two steps she's biting back curses. The painkiller's worn off and she doesn't want more but fucking stars do the damned stitches hurt when she moves; she just needs to keep walking, one step after another, until she can get into the water. That should help.

Settling her things on the counter, she starts the shower going and then peels off her clothing. Behind her, she can hear Theron setting Ysa down, a low murmur of reassurance over the sound of the water and then his footsteps crossing the room as she lets her tangled hair down and steps beneath the stream.

Ow ow ow that stings oh ow

"If I didn't know better," his voice is playful as she bends to pick up a cleaning-cloth from a low shelf, "I'd say you were trying to seduce me."

"Theron," she says through gritted teeth, glancing back over her shoulder to where he's stepping through the 'fresher door, "you are my husband, and I love you. But Void help me, if you try that line again any time soon I will rip your dick off."

His swallow's audible. "Noted. I just- I love you, too, and after yesterday I feel like I should probably tell you you're beautiful about once an hour for the next hundred years, and- can I help? With anything?"

He always knew just what to say to soothe her flaring temper.

After a moment, the water running clearer around her feet, she reaches out toward him. "I know you're dressed, but will you help me with my hair? It's all knots, and-"

"Turn around," Theron smiles and pushes up his sleeves to elbow height. "I've got you."

"You always do," she says. "You always do."