The conversation immediately ended after that. The general, very abruptly, stood from her seat, watched you with solemn eyes, and finally sauntered out of the room. You were left staring into an empty window of a taciturn and foreign base. Your body was lacking the energy to be angry now, as her presence had taken a toll on your mental capacity.
Leia Organa is a difficult woman; you've known this for as long as you can remember. But the stories you've heard from whispers of your elders could never prepare you for the incubating effect she had. The energy that seethed from her was something familiar – an energy you've felt, occasionally, pulsate from your husband.
Her snark is something to behold. She's kind, it's true, but you know she throws a mean punch when necessary. You'd always assumed Kylo got his cynicism from his father, and while this may still be true, it's also becoming very apparent that Leia has something to do with his dry sense of humor and (dare you say it?) poise.
You're staring at the ceiling, sitting cross legged on the durasteel floor, when the doors open with a loud clatter. In walks two men, one of them is the burly guard from before.
"You're due for a physical examination," the unfamiliar one says. He's fair-haired and lanky with pretty, clean, blue eyes.
Refusing to budge from your positon, you ask, "Why?"
The man beside him retorts in a harsh tone, "It's required for all arrivals on the base."
Ah, right. In case you'd contracted an alien disease that could very well spread throughout the base. How convenient would it be for the enemy to distribute an infection that could hinder, or kill, half the Resistance?
You supposed you couldn't blame them. The First Order really should do the same; it's been a practice for eons and a reliable one too. You recall your father signing the executive order that civilians and visitors be tested of fatal diseases. It worked. The death toll in Baleine plummeted afterwards and cinched a second term for your father.
The thought of home puts a tangled mess of feelings into your belly. To ignore it, you stand and follow the two guards.
The medbay is just as bright as the interrogation room was. You're convinced they're trying to blind you.
Your doctor is female – human. She's a brunette with black eyes and freckles sprinkled along her rosy cheeks. Her mouth is in the shape of a tulip and she bears the privilege of long lashes. She introduces herself as "Doctor Joi".
You immediately notice that Dr. Joi is very good at her job because you don't feel a thing when she jabs you with a needle. She explains, in science, what the pink liquid now inoculating through your veins was. You didn't catch any of it.
Now awaiting results from a urine test, you cross your ankles around each other and situate the itchy, hospital gown around your chest.
A timer beeps and Dr. Joi heads towards something that looks somewhat like a favia machine. She takes out the beaker sample of your urine (gross) and tosses it into a sterilization tub.
She purses her lips and raises an eyebrow, inspecting the results on the screen of the machine. You can't see it, and even if you could, you wouldn't know where to begin to make sense of it.
"Looks like you're pregnant," she says frankly.
Your body becomes warm. The feeling in your legs has dissipated with your grasp on reality. You blink a couple of times. "What?"
"You're actually very pregnant. I mean, you're not far along at all but..." Dr. Joi turns off her 'pee machine' and faces you with serious caution. "When was the last time you had unprotected sex?"
You shift uncomfortably. "A week or so." An indifferent pause. "I thought it wasn't possible to tell this early."
Dr. Joi grabs a chair and scoots towards you. "Our tests are very advanced. We can detect pregnancy very early these days." She situates between your legs and pats your knee gently. "Lie down."
You do so, though gingerly. Gynecologist exams are always awkward for you.
Dr. Joi begins to poke around and you're beginning to feel awfully uncomfortable. The only people who's seen your vagina (aside from the doctor who delivered you and your childhood nurse – practically your mother) is Kylo and yourself.
You flinch when a cold, metal object meets your skin.
"Sorry, should've warned you," Dr. Joi drones, busy with her work. "Anyway, you've got birthing hips. Seems as though you were made to carry babies."
You swallow a lump in your throat. No. "I've had a miscarriage."
Dr. Joi stills and you feel her hands pause. "You have?"
When you don't answer she just sighs and mumbles, "I'm sorry."
It's silent for a few minutes after that, the gauche and intimate reveal hanging in the air like a fog. You try to focus on the ceiling, distracting yourself from the awkward prying below you. You wonder if you should ask her...are you eligible for another? Would your body (to put it simply) fail you again?
Finally, Dr. Joi pulls away and tears off her gloves. As she heads towards the sanitation sink she says, "The father should know. I'll have General Organa set up a meeting with the two of you."
You raise a brow and sit up, your hands gripping the sides of the examination table. "Is that possible?"
Dr. Joi tilts her head to the side, watching suds of soap run through her fingers. "No," she replies. She rinses her hands. "But I'll make it so."
You bow your head gently. "Thank you," you whisper. You can't imagine how questionable it must be for her to keep neutral in such a situation. Her job was to care for her patients, despite their associations. How impossible it would have been for you to provide for a Resistance member!
Dr. Joi just nods at you, a smile threatening to quiver before she decides against it.
He was in maximum security, twelve stories under the Resistance base and encased in steel. The unit was cold, though well lit. You wondered then how his mother could allow this.
The grip on your arm was repressive, sending you into a lift that would lead you underneath the ground and into the prison. Your fists, clenched at your sides, began to turn white and your knuckles burned at the intensity. Eyes closed and heart thumping, the overwhelming fury circulated in your chest like an infection.
You arrive to his enclosure. He is like a creature on display. Glass separates you from his outburst. He slams his fists against the window, desperate to be free. He wasn't crying – he was fuming. Veins shown vividly against his neck as he screamed dreadfully. The darkness clouding his person encased you and your lungs; your surroundings became fatally electric.
Without a word at your arrival, without a glance, he stops. His eyes, now crimson red, darted towards you and then at the fist clenching your forearm. His nostrils flared.
The guard released you and waited at the edge of the room. You were free to confront the knight.
You didn't speak to him – not audibly. Your eyes traveled along his form. He was clothed in his robes from Tatooine which were dirty and unkempt. Dark, vicious circles had formed under his eyes. The two of you remained silent, but his mind was churning with anger, fear, and adrenaline.
I'll kill them. I'll kill them all. I'll rip them apart with my bare hands. They'll suffer like I have. I swear with every breath in me, they will pay for what they've done. I want to murder, I want to kill, I want to mutilate. I need to be free, I need to let go, I need to –
Then you whisper, with tender thought: I'm pregnant.
His thoughts, they defrost. His eyes cool, the crimson in them fading dramatically until they're back to their original tone. You feel the air crackle, the electricity dissolving in the atmosphere until it's replaced with softness.
He speaks, out into the void: How do you know?
I was examined.
Kylo's shoulders, they relax. You put your hand against the glass but low enough so that the guard cannot see.
I know you can't. Your fists clench and slide against the window. I need you. With me.
His lips snarl, though not at you. He looks towards the guard sauntering towards you. When the man reaches you, the echo of Kylo's fists against the glass startles the both of you.
The guard didn't need an explanation.
Leia Organa stood before the security camera, her gaze fixated on her son. She noticed the way he unstiffened around you and how his temper fizzled into thin air at your presence. Her head titled to the side, her lips quirking into a little smile when your hand reached for him.
The woman beside her, a blonde with perfect buns at the side of her head, said to the general, "They aren't speaking to one another."
To which Leia Organa, mother of the man in the glass, replied, "Yes, they are."
An alarm rang through your ears just as your hand dropped from the window. The lift locked itself, the doors sliding shut with a powerful bang.
Your mouth bended into a smirk.
Hux.