Summary: Rey has some difficulty adjusting to being a new mother. Ben is here to help.
Preview:
Rey perfunctorily uses the refresher, careful to avoid the mirror. The steam from her recent shower swirls around and her gaze drops down and away, as she lifts her towel from the floor and wraps it around her body. Only then does she glance up, her eyes meeting her foggy reflection’s briefly, before dipping her head down and wrapping another towel around her hair.
She beelines out and softly pads to the bedroom, almost bumping into her husband in their narrow hallway on the way.
“Well, hello,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her waist and spinning her in a half circle. He ducks his head and captures her lips in a short, but searing kiss. She melts against his body for a brief, blissful moment, before pulling away.
“Mmm,” she mumbles her assent. “Hello. Did she go down?”
“For now,” he responds, good humouredly. “She didn’t give me too much trouble anyway.”
“Thank the Force,” Rey says on a sigh. “I’m starting to feel like a thala-siren.” An image of foamy green milk dripping from a bearded face flashes through her mind and she shudders.
“A what?” Ben asks, looking at her quizzically. It occurs to her that the mammal was likely native to the shores of Ahch-To and those who have not had the pleasure of visiting the planet would likely not know what she was talking about. She considers projecting an image to him through their bond, but decides against it. She’s certain the last thing her husband needs at this point is a visual of yet another lactating hypermammarian creature in his midst.
Instead, she just shakes her head. “You don’t want to know. Needless to say, if we can get her down to five feedings during the day and maybe one at night, I’ll be happy. And so will these guys,” she adds, palming a heavy breast in each hand through her towel and giving them a jiggle.
Ben groans out loud. “Please don’t do that to me.”
She sheepishly withdraws her hands from her tender breasts. He ducks his head to kiss under her ear, in the silky spot where a tender pulse beats. Then he continues kissing down her neck, wet, soft kisses. She gently exhales and loses herself in the moment as she twines her arms around him. His lips migrate to hers as his hands go to the knot in her towel.
“What did the medic say today?” he murmurs against her mouth as he loosens the front and starts to pull it away from her.
Rey comes back to reality with a suddenness akin to a bucket of cold water being poured over her head. She pulls away abruptly with a barely stifled gasp and tears the towel from his hands, wrapping it tighter around herself.
“Still too soon,” she manages to gasp out. “Said to wait a bit longer.” At those words, she brushes past him.
Once in the safety of their room, she quickly pulls a pair of sleep pants on under her towel and pulls one of Ben’s shirts over her head. Only then does she allow the towel to fall to the floor. Ben walks in as she’s bent over, drying her hair with the other towel. He sits at the edge of the bed and stares at her. He doesn’t speak and neither does she. Once she’s vigorously rubbed the towel through her wet hair, beyond the point of what’s necessary, she drops it to join the other one on the floor and then crawls into bed.
“Can you pass me my datapad?”
He turns to look at her and makes no move to do as she’s asked.
“Please, Ben,” she wheedles. Let it go. Please let it go. “I told Finn I’d check their trajectory for tomorrow and see if I could find him a better route than the one they’re taking. If he can avoid—"
“What’s going on, Rey?” he interrupts, impatient with her efforts to dodge the issue. He has eternally, frustratingly, been nothing if not straightforward. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Did the medic say something was—” He visibly needs to collect himself, jaw clenching, “—wrong? With the way you’re healing? It’s been over five months…” His voice trails off and he looks at her, almost pleadingly. “Talk to me.”
She responds in a visceral way to the worry and anxiety in his tone, but a knot forms in her throat at the thought of having to explain to him what, exactly, it was that was wrong with her. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Not like that. I just don’t – I don’t feel ready, that’s all.” She can feel her hackles rising, an innate defensiveness borne from a need to survive first and foremost at an early age, and she tries desperately to quash it before it consumes her. This is not Jakku. This is not Unkar Plutt or the other scavengers and traders. This is Ben. She can be honest with Ben. She can be herself with Ben.
