So I'm still getting messages every once in a while, asking for some more and fluffy moments between my warrior and Quinn. After the latest request for a scene that described Lusiel's daughter being born, I sat down and wrote this up. Here's hoping it works ...
He hated it. He decided, watching her push and strain there against the table, bent over as she clutched her swollen belly in terrible agony, that this procedure was one he'd never allow her to suffer again. He'd witnessed her struggle with pain before, yes. But not like this, not because of something he'd done to her, caused to her.
His memory mocked him, then, the image of her expression, there in that bedroom of Vowran's safe house back on Correllia, though. The unmitigated hurt that had filled her eyes had been stunning to him even then, when his own anger was such a thrillingly powerful force to contend with. Angry enough he'd struck out at her, flayed against her emotions. When she was so vulnerable, too.
Quinn scowled at the memory, shaking his dark head as he leaned into his wife's back, rubbing softly against the muscles of her lower backside, just over her soft kidneys. He hummed softly against her ear, sighing when she lay her head back against his shoulder and panted slowly. He could see the sweat glistening against her forehead, and he whispered the softest kiss there, "Not much longer, Lusiel. I promise."
She breathed in roughly, an amused huff of sound. "Quinn. I swear, this is far harder for you than it is me. We're fine. This ..." She felt her stomach knotting into another contraction, clutched against her belly again as she panted through the pain. "This is hardly the worst pain I've endured. Nor will it be the last, either."
He pressed his lips tightly together, frowning. "It will be the last time for this particular pain, my lord." He felt it, then. That precious part of his mind that belonged solely to her, where she'd long since settled and normally stayed so quiet and still. It roused, now, moving through him. So that he felt as she did, her emotions shimmering there inside, deeply in him. And he sighed, as her anger became so glaringly apparent to him. "Please, my lord. Don't become unduly upset. This is hardly the time."
"No, not the time at all. Not the time for you to deny me something that valuable. Did you not promise me heirs, Quinn? Heirs! Not one but multiple! Even my own crazed mother was allowed the chance to have my brother, too!" She was becoming agitated, stiffening there in front of him. He murmured, trying to soothe her. But Sith abided in their powerful emotions. And Lusiel was strong, even for a Sith. There was no time for calm rejoinders, not now.
"Lusiel, damn it! Stop!" He wrapped his arms around her, until he held her arms in front of her, her hands held tightly in his own wrapped fists just under her round tummy. He could feel their daughter, her pert little shoulder pressing up from under the soft skin under their own clenched hands, straining, moving towards her birth, and he gasped softly. He remembered, suddenly, the first moment he'd "seen" the small female child he'd made, as he'd fumbled over Lusiel's unconscious form, trying desperately to heal her. Seeing the tiny little bird of a heart thrumming there had awed him, stunned him. How close he'd come to losing them both, he'd realized in sudden, flaring distress.
That was the memory that slammed into them both, now, as Quinn lost the ability to keep it from the bond they shared together.
Of Lusiel's beautiful face, blanched of all color. Her eyes huge against her sweat-brushed brow, starkly dark with shock and pain. Her body, falling, collapsing under the strain as consciousness disappeared entirely. He'd caught her, as she'd ordered just before her eyes rolled back and went still. He'd held her close, utterly lost for the first time in his life, certain she'd just died right in front of him, that Draahg's lightsaber had stolen her away from him, taken her. Before, even, he could tell her how sorry he was, how damn sorry, for walking away from her when she'd needed him, begged him. He wouldn't be able to tell her the truth of it, that he needed her far, far more than she'd ever needed him. For that singular moment, he'd thought only of how quickly he could follow her, looked around as if to beg someone, anyone - Pierce, maybe. Pierce would do it in a heartbeat if he asked, if he told him to! – to beg them just to finish him off.
Lusiel whimpered against the memory he inadvertently shared with her, feeling another contraction suddenly. It rolled through her small frame, until she shook there in his arms. She lowered her chin, pressing her face into her own shoulder as she breathed in. Then out again. And again. "Want more than one, Malavai. Even if it scares you to death, this travail I'm suffering. I won't be sorry for it, ever, either. Don't ask that of me."
Ah, Lusiel, he thought. His very Sith wife. He could wear a uniform, command hundreds of men, of soldiers. Oh, and she'd be glad for all of it, for every proof and demonstration of his capability! Hell, she'd feel no compunction whatsoever in ensuring accolades were heaped on him, medals adorned his chest, all of it. Because, she'd told him, in that lovely voice of hers she used when making a staunch and succinct demand of those she considered subordinate - which at that moment had been him, mind you - "You're mine! If they do not, if they disdain you or otherwise decry you, it's me they're misusing, me they're judging. I'll not have anyone show you less respect than I do, else my own standing, my own power is diminished, disrespected. And it can't be allowed!" He'd nodded, then, accepting her insistent demand he be accorded every bit of rank and prestige she could win for him. And that's exactly what he did now, that was the acceptance he offered her, the support he gave her.
She was Sith. He was Imperial. He loved her too much to make her less than she was, the leader she'd been born to become, shaped so methodically into making. This is the way it was done, always. This was their world, their life. He pressed another kiss against her brow, shushing her softly, "Of course, Lusiel. However many you want. I swear it." She continued breathing, the way he'd taught her, instructed her so carefully weeks prior. She eased her fingers loose from the hold he'd forced upon them, lifted up the palm of his hand so she could rub against the pad of his thumb. He hummed softly again when she found the callus made by the hard grip he used when he fired a blaster.
"You hid that memory from me, Malavai. It shows tremendous strength." Her tone was heavy with regard. He smiled at how subtly she recognized the difficulty for him that experience had been, how deeply felt her appreciation for him was.
"Not one of my favorite memories. I relegated it to a particular section of my mind where I could safely ignore it."
"Like putting it in a box?"
"Indeed."
"A neat trick. I'll have to remember it." She clenched her teeth through another contraction, felt certain their daughter would be making an appearance very soon. She glanced over towards the glass wall facing the room where she labored, felt heady satisfaction at the figures she was able to make out through the enclosure where she was working hard with her husband. It was vital, she knew, that her child's blood never be denied. The witnesses of her babe's birth had been carefully chosen, their responsibilities methodically described and outlined. Even Tremmel was standing there, his dark skin looking mottled with splotchy color as he tried to hide his excitement.
Pierce watched, too, his bulky frame nearly blocking Jaesa from her view. They were rarely far apart, however. She'd long since given Pierce to her apprentice, so that he served the young woman faithfully enough. Honestly, he was one of the few who could manage to keep Jaesa in some semblance of control, which was why she'd directed the arrangement. Vette was there, too, standing with her slim, blue hands pressed flat against the glass, her face so close to the surface that her breath frosted across it in front of her. It looked, in fact, like she was actually trying to climb through into the delivery-room, as if she was some character in a far-off tale that emerged through a glass barrier into a strange, new world. Some tuft of white fur clung to the shoulder of her leathers, too, so that she knew Broonmark was close, even if she couldn't make out his form, there.
Lusiel groaned. "Did he make it? Bring ... her?" Lusiel gritted her teeth against the pain of yet another contraction, this one blending in so smoothly with the last there'd been precious little time to rest beforehand. Quinn ran his hands soothingly over the tightening surface of her belly, murmuring softly to their child, calming them both. He slowly eased himself back, raising Lusiel up until she lay prone along the surface of the cushioned table. She watched him with a suddenly dazed expression, so that he knew the birth was close, so close. He directed the medical droids, maneuvering Lusiel into position, draping a cloth over her knees before sliding smoothly into place between her legs.
"They're here, Lusiel. Upper level, private quarters. They're family, after all." She felt him, felt his shoulders bumping against her soft ankles as he leaned closer. "I can see her! She's crowning! Now, push ... Lusiel! Gods!"
Lusiel bit her lower lip, wheezing through another contraction and ignoring Quinn's demand that she continue her breathing exercise. She growled, instead, "Shut up! Telling me what to do is hardly helping, damn you!" She could feel his hands, his fingers running along her inner thighs, through the swollen tissues of her groin where their child was emerging. The perfection of it, that he would be the one catching their daughter as she took her first breath - Lusiel blinked, refusing the tears that shimmered in her eyes. But she couldn't stop the words from spilling along their bond, shivering through to him, "I love you so." She heard him groan out-loud, her name, his tone thick with emotion. And it resonated between them, running along the surface of the bond she'd crafted with such calculated skill and care.
He was beyond words, and she loved it. Loved that he could feel so strongly he wasn't capable of even the most simple phrases. Her Quinn was never without words. Except that he felt so much right then, for her, for them. She flexed her shoulders, feeling her baby's head as she began to slip past the opening into the open air of the room. And then she looked up and saw them standing there together, watching carefully through the glass window of the private quarters that overlooked the medical enclosure.
Khyriel. Her brother was frowning as he stared down at her, the concern etching across his face. She knew he was achingly angry that he was outside the room, that he wanted to be there guiding the entire process, rather. He'd argued with Quinn, insisted he be the one to assist in the birth. But it was not the first time her husband had stood firm against a determined opponent, nor would it be the last. He'd stood there and nearly barked, "There are comforts I can provide my lord to soothe the process that you yourself can not. It must be me, if only so that she has someone she can threaten and blame for putting her in that position." He'd even nodded emphatically as he spoke so firmly. Khy had stopped, blinked, just before leaning his head back to laugh outrageously, "Well, then. Let's hope she doesn't throw you around the room too much, then. But I'll watch." Quinn had inclined his head, accepting the warning for what it was, that the agent would take charge if he felt the need. So protective, she'd thought. The both of them, in their own way.
As if protection was anything a Sith might need, mind you. She'd damn well destroy anyone who threatened her child's birth, and never mind the pain of her labor! Which brought her attention straight to her ... to her sister. Sister. The word still stunned her in the using, so that she lay there, panting, examining the face of the woman she was still trying to appreciate, to know. Kastiel watched her, too, a small, soft smile turning her lips. Kas' Mandalorian armor was in thick place, stretching across the curves of her frame as she leaned a shoulder against the window, watching, watching.
It was Kas who had struck down three seperate hunters in just the past month, all of them looking for Lusiel herself. The last one - she'd cut his throat, so that his blood sprayed across the face of the pitiful slicer he'd been working with, bent over the console where they'd been working to gather small bits of data and maps. She'd snarled at the slight-framed cyborg, watching him tremble, his hands held up defensively, shaking madly, "Might want to put that word out, that anyone who seeks to harm Lord Lusiel won't survive the effort. They'll be sliced faster than you can slice a system, I swear it." There hadn't been any hints of new hunters, since.
Khyriel had recorded the entire event, of course. Lusiel had examined it carefully, trying hard to understand this new sister of hers. She'd looked at Khyriel, shaking her head, bemused, "Why is it she reminds me so much of you?" There'd been a look on his face, then, that Lusiel hadn't really been able to understand, to name. It was almost ... approval, perhaps. Almost like he was telling her, "So you see it, too." Her siblings confused her, she finally admitted to herself. And maybe that was the way it should be, that they'd be so different from her. But uniquely matched together, all the same. No matter how distinct they were from each other.
Quinn suddenly stiffened, and she could feel his fingers reaching out to smooth against the flesh stretched around her child's emerging head. She strained, pushing, and he crooned at her, "Come on, Lusiel. Just one more big push. Just one more ... Yes!" Lusiel actually yelped, loosing a small, tired scream, as her baby slid wetly from her body. Quinn was moving quickly, clearing the baby's tiny mouth and airway, wiping against her tiny body with a soft cloth. Lusiel lay there, breathing roughly as she waited, listening. Until she heard her baby's first whimpers, the little mewling sounds she made as she took her first breaths. Quinn was smiling, his pleasure thrilling between them, as he finally held the little baby girl up for Lusiel to see, "Perfect ... she's absolutely perfect."
Lusiel looked down at the small squirming body her husband was holding high up, watched the little female blinking tiredly back at her. And she laughed, seeing her baby's deep blue eyes for the first time. "Of course she is. No child of yours, Quinn, would ever be anything less than sheer perfection. It simply isn't in the rule book." He shook his head at her, but she was able to detect the brief smile tugging against his lips, all the same. She listened to him directing the droids through the process of cleaning her. But it was Quinn himself who settled next to her, their daughter nestled in a soft blanket between them.
She sighed, looking up one last time at her siblings, ignoring the raucous calls coming from the side room where her people were cheering. Khy and Kas stood there together, both of them grinning like goons, like they themselves had done something incredible today. Idiots, she thought. Then she blinked wearily, yawning widely as she looked back at her child again. Quinn was watching the baby, his eyes darkly blue with fascination, and she leaned over to smooth her nose gently against his jaw.
"Jessa. Her name."
Quinn looked up her, startled. Their faces were so close by then that his nose actually thumped softly against hers. He looked into her eyes, the deep melting chocolate of her gaze, thinking how damn much he loved her. "You'd name her for my mother?"
Lusiel grinned. "I certainly won't name her for mine."
Quinn's throat tightened at this newest sign of her regard for him, this open declaration of the respect she had for him. Her way of telling their world how much she honored him, how much he meant to her. It was better than any medal or award the Imperial military had bestowed on him, he decided, her open and bold declaration that her legacy was his own, too. So he told her, his tone heavy, achingly deep, "I adore you, my L... Lusiel."
"My Lusiel," she repeated, sighing at him. "I actually like the sound of that, my Malavai."
"Then I'll say it more often."
"Good."
