Chapter Text
The knife’s edge glides cleanly through red tissue. Armitage works the blade in his calm fingers, concentrating.
“Mama?”
He drops the knife. It clatters into the empty sink.
Armitage stares, frozen in place. He emerges from an inexplicable, uncharacteristic haze.
A kitchen knife. Dinner. He is preparing dinner as he does most evenings.
He inspects his work. Neat cubes of red meat litter a chopping block. A flat pan radiates heat on an active cooktop. He looks up through the window above the sink. The sun is setting just over the horizon, gold haloing the distant metropolitan area beyond the other quiet houses of the suburbs. The weather is clear, as it is most days this time of year. He washes the meaty residue from his hands and dries them absentmindedly on a rag.
“Mama…” a child groans, irritated from being ignored.
His reflection crystalizes in the glass. He brings his clean hands to his collar. The fabric is pale blue and it encases his body snugly. Tailor-made. Armitage frowns, inspecting the lapel, the buttons, and the tapered seam at his waist. Has he ever worn this color before?
A white apron is tied neatly around his stomach. He fingers the skirt of it, tracing along the black geometric embellishments at the hem. The apron ends just above his knees, framing nicely the fan of his blue dress. His toes wriggle in a pair of comfortable black slippers cuffed around his slim ankles.
Armitage looks to his left. His refrigerator is decorated with printed photos. In the first, he sees himself smiling brightly and embracing his husband.
Husband.
Heat fills him, deep in his chest. His husband. Mr. & Mr. Solo. The handwriting along the border of the photo is his own.
He remembers that day. It’s foggy like a dream, but even the most treasured of memories fade in time. Armitage traces the photograph with his fingertip. A fond smile creeps onto his lips as he lovingly admires his husband’s dimpled grin.
“Mama!”
Armitage turns as if caught doing something wrong.
Two small children blink up at him from their sprawl on the tiled floor. He swallows, shocked as if this is the first time he has ever laid eyes on them.
His daughter and son: Dilan and Cael. They blink up with bright green eyes. Reason tells him his shock is unwarranted. Every day, he spends with his children. They merely startled him. He finds a seat beside them, the pleats of his skirt opening as he crosses his legs.
“What is it, Dilan?” he asks. He takes his daughter and pulls her close, kissing her bulbous cheek. He does the same with his dear son, heart full. He is comforted by the weights of his precious three-year-old twins in his lap.
“Can I have ice cream?” Dilan asks sweetly.
“Sweetheart. It is almost time for dinner. After we eat our growing foods, I promise you can have some ice cream.”
Dilan sighs, throwing a bit of a tantrum. “After dinner,” Armitage says, holding his ground.
“Mama, ice cream,” groans Dilan. Cael gets in on the griping, copying his sister by treating their mother like a climbing gym. Armitage sighs, letting his children muss his orderly hair.
Baby’s cries emanate from the living room. Baby. His baby.
Armitage inhales, alight from the unmistakable little voice of his six-month-old daughter.
“Come on. Let’s see what the fuss is about,” he tells Cael and Dilan. They obey, eagerly toddling over to their little sister.
“Oh, Rue. Mama is here,” he admonishes. He picks up his baby from her bouncer, kissing her soft head. Rue has dark hair and dark eyes, just like her father. The twins have light eyes and blond, shaggy hair, not quite the same as their mother. His children complement both of their parents. Armitage smiles wide, inhaling his baby’s warm scent.
The twins distract themselves with a light-up musical toy, jabbing away wildly and creating discordant noises. The disordered sounds fill his peaceful home with life. Armitage steps back into the kitchen to continue preparing dinner, his Rue a pleasant imbalance on his hip.
Rue blubbers in his ear, chewing on a teething ring with her gums. It clatters to the ground as she flings it from her grip.
“Here you go,” he says, passing her a freshly washed ring from the drying rack. Rue takes it graciously, drooling down her chin as she gnaws on it.
Armitage hums as he tosses the cubes of meat onto the skillet. His husband loves his pasta recipe, especially after a long day at work. Rue grunts in his arms as she bobs excitedly. For some odd reason, she just goes crazy anytime he fries something on the skillet. She hollers as the food sizzles and cracks. Armitage chuckles. He loves her.
Once the pasta is in the pot, Armitage sets the table one-handed. By now, he’s an expert.
Outside, Ben Solo stares at the small, tidy home. Slim saplings dance in the evening breeze. He recalls digging each hole and planting each tree. When had he done such a chore? Was it last year? The year before? He squeezes the toolkit handle in his hand and approaches the house.
Ben stands in front of the closed door. A keypad lights up from his presence. He enters the code without having to think about what it is. The door swings open.
“Daddy!” he hears. Ben gapes.
Daddy?
His confusion evaporates as Dilan and Cael run up to him, filling his heart with their sparks.
“Hey,” he breathes. His toolkit clunks to the floor as he bends low to wrap his thick arms around his two little troublemakers. His throat ties in a knot, and he closes his eyes, feeling them in his arms.
“Welcome home,” Armitage smiles. His stomach somersaults at the sight of his husband.
Finally, they connect eyes. Time seems to stop right there.
Ben steps towards him, staring. Armitage looks at his husband up and down. If one were to catch them in this moment, they would appear to be two foes having a standoff. All that’s missing are blasters in their hands.
“Hey…” Ben greets. He wants to come closer. Armitage scrutinizes him as if Ben doesn’t look quite right. As if he’s skeptical of his husband’s presence altogether.
Ben smiles when Rue laughs freely at the sight of him. He looks from their beautiful baby to his partner – the housewife, the homemaker, the mother – consuming his troubled expression. Something felt off the minute they laid eyes on one another.
“Dinner smells good,” Ben says, eyes dancing. Not quite reading his wife as effectively as he wants to.
“Wash up first,” Armitage instructs, narrowing his gaze and turning away.
Ben looks down. His work jumpsuit is smudged with oil and various metallic residues. His hands are no different. He’s filthy.
Armitage glares at his husband’s retreat into their home. The uneasiness from his presence was palpable. Was it Ben’s post-work filth? The confused look on his face? Or was it the sight of his beloved Ben himself, broad and imposing in the sanctity of his kitchen?
When Ben re-emerges from his quick shower, his attention fixates on his wife, Armitage Solo. Ben is mesmerized. Armitage works diligently to finish dinner. His blue dress swishes with every step and its pleats part invitingly when he bends low to grab the twins to put them in their chairs. Ben cannot stop staring. Oddly, in confusion, apprehension. Not so oddly, in deep, simmering desire.
Armitage turns and brings the two small portions of cooled pasta to the trays in front of the twins. Dilan chomps hastily and Cael takes his time, mushing the noodles with his fingers. He looks up. Ben has showered and changed into lounge pants and a devastatingly snug t-shirt. Leave it to Ben to wear pajamas to dinner.
“Come. Sit,” Armitage says, placing his husband’s plate to his setting. His heart rate jumps as Ben comes to take his seat. There is an energy between them as if something tremendous is crying out in silence.
“Thank you,” Ben says. He waits to dig in until Armitage has served himself a portion. They sit at opposite ends of the table. The two highchairs are sentinels on each adjacent side. Armitage stares down its length, posed as if expecting him to present battle plans.
The tense moment diffuses when Cael accidentally sends an airborne noodle to his mother’s chest. It sticks for a second, then flops into his aproned lap.
Armitage doesn’t scold Cael, and Ben would not have expected him to. His wife’s temperament with their children contrasts with how he interacts with the rest of the world. Ben himself included.
Ben’s memory is littered with instances where Armitage pointedly chose to show him no mercy. Ben feels no ill will from the dynamic; most of the time he deserves the treatment. Their children never could. There isn’t a bone in his wife’s body that could show their children a fraction of the impatience he has for his husband.
That’s not to say Armitage treats Ben as his verbal punching bag. Most of the time, they mesh seamlessly. They are equals in all things, partners in this mission, applying their respective skills to keep their family in order. With all partnerships, there are rough patches.
“Sweetheart. Your food stays on the tray.” Armitage smiles at his precious son. He turns to Rue, snug in her smaller highchair at his right side. She suckles contentedly at the chewing ring. Depending on the day, he commonly gives her the bottle after dinner.
Ben eats. The food is good, and he tells Armitage as much, who vocalizes his appreciation for the comment.
“Work was fine?” Armitage asks. Slight consternation jolts him. His mind serves him with a recent incident that sent Ben to his workplace’s infirmary. The scar bisects his husband’s face, recently healed. It won’t fade altogether without cosmetic intervention.
“Yeah…” he says, trying hard to remember his day.
Just before dinner in their bathroom, Ben’s fingers traced the scar on his face. He works in an engineering wing of the city’s main spaceport. Their people are not spacefaring since the system is far from the reach of the political affiliates of the Core, Inner, and Outer Rims. It takes weeks through cautious jumps in hyperspace just to get here. Although the spaceport is not well-traveled, they still need savvy mechanics like Ben. He spends his workweek in the bowels of many battle-roughened freighters. Many lifeforms cross long, treacherous distances seeking refuge in their tucked-away system.
One ship had a live wire that he couldn’t dodge. The thick metal scorched his shoulder and face with a swipe of its red-tipped end. The regenerative treatment left a thin, dark seam across his shoulder, collar, and face as he was pulled back together.
“Good you kept your head on today,” his wife hums. Ben’s mind serves him with the memory of his furious and concerned wife visiting him in the infirmary, managing to tote all three children along, a twin in each hand and their baby in a cross-chest carrier.
Don’t scare us like that again. We need you in one piece, Armitage had said, his eyes severe with anger. The twins were intrigued by their father’s injury, having never seen him in such a vulnerable state. Armitage had kissed him fiercely as if to hurt him, then softened against him in remorse. Ben swallows, the kiss vivid and visceral. When was the last time they touched?
“How were things here?” Ben asks, in between forkfuls. He flicks his eyes to Armitage, picturing those soft, full lips on his. It must have been a while since they’ve done anything intimate if the mere thought of it gets his heart rate spiking. Ben breathes, composing himself.
“You know us. We keep busy.” Rue tosses her teething ring, one of her newest tricks. Armitage stands to pick up the ring and returns with a fresh one, kissing her soft head.
Ben admires his patience. Yes, he does know them. Their three children: Dilan, Cael, Ruthe – Rue for short. His handsome wife, loving partner, and talented homemaker, Armitage Solo. Together, they’re a perfect family. Ben soaks the moment in as if feeling his connection to them for the first time.
“Did you want me to call the doctor for Rue’s checkup?” Ben asks, brow pursed. He can’t recall if he agreed to make the appointment. It is a challenge to recall certain things. Maybe his accident had left him with minor neurological fogginess. Perhaps he should make an appointment for himself.
“Already done.” Armitage is always up to date with his children’s scheduled maintenance. “I made the appointment for your next day off, so you can keep an eye on the twins while I go into town with her.”
Ben smirks, cleaning his plate. He loves spending time at home with their children. “Sounds like a plan.”
The twins eat as much as they can but devolve into playing with the remainder of their food. Ben is a fast eater and finishes before Armitage. He gets a wet rag to clean the messes off the children’s hands and faces.
Armitage enjoys it when Ben takes charge of helping with the kids. Ben is a capable breadwinner, a caring father, and a dutiful husband. He is a very lucky housewife.
“Daddy, ice cream?” Dilan asks sweetly as her daddy cleans her sticky paws.
“What did Mama say?” her daddy asks, deferring to the boss of the Solo household.
“Mama said after dinner. Look, I ate,” she informs him.
“Ice cream. Me too,” Cael chimes in.
Armitage moves to get up but is stopped by a wave of his husband’s hand. “I got it.”
“Thank you, Ben.” Armitage glows with fondness, appreciative of the break in his duties. He leers at his husband’s broad back as he scoops a serving for each of the twins. The twins happily feed themselves and then decided to make a mess with the remainder, swirling the milky concoction on their food trays. Ben should have probably waited on the rag.
“You’re good with bathing them tonight?” Armitage says, running the faucet. Ben slides behind him, not touching, yet he feels his warmth. He shivers, imagining the press of Ben against him and it’s enough for the dirty dishes in his hands to clatter into the basin.
“Sure thing,” Ben replies, experiencing a similar cloud of tension. Since Ben came home, the air between them has been thick enough to cut. Is Armitage angry with him? Is there something on his mind? Or is he just dying to touch him as much as he is?
Armitage swallows, dabbing his hands on his apron. He turns towards the family room where the pair are roughhousing. Their baby sister sits in her bouncer, quaking its frame. “Cael. Dilan. Ten more minutes of play, then Daddy is going to run you a bath.”
“Okay,” they drone, probably not listening as keenly as their mother would like them to.
Ben finishes tidying the table as Armitage prepares their baby’s formula. He swirls the warm concoction, gently enough to keep it from bubbling. Throwing a towel over his shoulder, he heads over to join the children in the family room.
Armitage picks up Rue and finds a seat on their couch, its cushions protected from the children by a spill-resistant cover. He slides out of his slippers and crosses his legs under his skirt. Rue gargles excitedly as she accepts the bottle, suckling down the filling formula. Her little hums and grunts summon contentment in her mother’s heart. Every day, she grows and grows.
In the kitchen, Ben stares at the printed photograph on their refrigerator. Mr. and Mr. Solo. Armitage looks stunning, his eyes glittering and his smile full of teeth. His expression is more subdued, but his eyes burn bright with love.
Love. Of course, he loves his wife.
Ben plucks the picture off, inspecting it as if it were a forgery. But why would it be? He recalls the day of their wedding. It was a very small affair. They don’t have many friends or any other family.
Family. Ben and Armitage’s respective parents were never in their lives. That story is a simple one, not something that takes much of his mental space. The only family he needs is right here.
“Daddy, help!” Cael calls, pulling out the magnetic train set his young hands cannot quite get to work properly.
Ben perks up and secures the photo back to the refrigerator. He sits beside Cael, his long legs spread to form two walls around his son. The toy tracks are set into a circle and Ben guides one of the train cars onto it. Cael hums, excitedly pushing along the car.
Armitage smiles as Rue finishes her dinner. He dabs a bit of milk from her mouth with the corner of his towel. Rue burps, squirming in his arms. She is getting fussy. It’s almost time to put her to bed.
Although he hates to interrupt his husband and their children, it is well past the deadline he gave them.
“Bath time,” Armitage says, earning him groans and resounding rebukes from the twins.
“Listen to your mother,” Ben says, not too sternly but firm enough to quiet their squabbling. “Come on. You got toys in the tub, too.” Ben stands, his knees popping from the shift.
Armitage smiles, bobbing Rue up and down in his arms. She’s on her side fighting sleep. It’s hard to be the strict one all day, so he appreciates when the ‘fun parent’ shares the burden.
His husband all but drags the reluctant twins to the bathroom. After about twenty minutes of fighting her own battle, Rue finally passes out. Her mouth hangs open to reveal her wet gums. She is so peaceful in her slumber. Every moment he gets, he absorbs her radiance.
He pads into the nursery and places Rue gingerly in her crib. He switches on the baby monitor – a simplified holo comm – a gadget Ben got for him when the twins were young. Sleeping through the night is not a skill his daughter has developed yet.
“Goodnight, my dear. I love you,” he whispers, gently closing her door to protect her sensitive ears from the noises of her brother and sister.
He finds Ben in the bathroom, sitting on the floor with both his arms wet with suds. He’s carefully pouring water over Dilan’s head to rinse the tear-free shampoo from her hair. Cael splashes his dad with a slap through the soapy water.
“Everything good?” Armitage asks, studying his husband’s regal profile. His new scar makes him even more alluring.
“Yeah. This is the easy part.” Next, he must wrestle their slippery children into towels and clothing. He figures he’ll finish the job. His wife does this all day. It’s the least he could do.
Armitage hums then goes back into the living room to tidy the space. He has chests for their toys, and he stores each of them in ordered cubes. The table and the twins’ dinner trays are wiped clean. The sink is emptied, each dish sitting out to dry. Armitage hangs up his apron, satisfied.
A precious object catches his eye. His wedding ring sits on the window sill over the sink. He must have forgotten to put it back on after he washed his hands. Armitage slides it back into place, admiring the modest, sparkling diamond nestled in the setting.
This ring is a symbol of Ben’s commitment to him and their children. For better or for worse, until death and all that. He smiles, flushing with warmth. Above all, this is a symbol of their love.
Giggles from the hall alert him that his husband has gotten the twins dried as best he can and is currently wrangling them into their pajamas. He hears Ben’s deep voice trying and failing to be stern as his chuckle echoes through their home.
Armitage shuts off the kitchen and family room lights. Tomorrow is another day.
He finds Ben has successfully dressed their children in their matching pajamas.
“I got them. You can get ready for bed,” Ben tells him, sensing his wife’s instinct to help. “Go kiss your mother goodnight,” he tells the twins.
Armitage smiles, grateful for Ben’s help. He bends at the waist to kiss each Dilan and Cael.
“Love you. Love you,” he vows, in between kisses.
“Love you, Mama,” they parrot, near-identical faces beaming.
Ben smiles, swallowing thickly, feeling as though he should tell his wife the same sentiment. He isn’t given a chance as Armitage heads to their bedroom and his attention is yet again diverted to his children.
“Read a story, please?” Dilan asks, her green eyes wide like a puppy dog.
“Go ahead and pick one and get in bed,” Ben says. He finds a spot on the squishy stool in between the twins’ beds. It deforms under his mass. He opens the book and doesn’t protest when both three-year-olds climb into the same bed, snuggling up with their stuffed toys.
Ben gets through about a quarter of the story, closing the pages when the action hero narrowly evades a gundark’s hulking claws. In sync, the twins’ eyes have slipped shut and their bellies rise and fall with their slumbering breaths.
Setting the book down, his lips turn up into a soft smile. He doesn’t have the heart to put them in separate beds, so he tugs the blanket up to their small chests. His fingers scoot the bangs from their eyes. After a few minutes of watching them breathe, Ben stands and turns off the lights.
He pads into the nursery, needing to see Rue. Her little fists are bunched up against her head. Ben’s chest tugs, the raw emotions making a space inside him.
Ben closes the door and walks over to his bedroom.
Inside, Armitage is still in the bathroom. There are two basins, so he joins his wife to brush his teeth. He eyes him and his pajamas, red hair tucked into a towel fresh from his short shower. Armitage wears a thin-fabric pale nightgown, loose around his neck to frame his sharp collarbone. It’s shorter than most of his house dresses, simple and box-shaped.
Armitage stiffens as his husband fills the vacant space beside him. He spits into the sink, flushing his gunk down.
“They went down alright?”
“Yeah,” Ben says around his brushing. Armitage takes the towel from his head, satisfied the absorbent cloth has removed most of the moisture. He slides into his side of their bed. Of course, they share their bed.
Ben slips out of his lounge pants to reveal boxers underneath. He feels his wife’s eyes on him. The tension is too much to bear. Now that their children are put to bed, they are forced to fill each other’s space. Has it always been this hard to speak to his wife?
“Is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Armitage asks more so for himself.
Ben enters the bed on his side. They still haven’t touched all day. All week? Longer? He isn’t sure.
“You seem tense.”
Armitage scoffs. “I’m always tense.”
“No. Not with them,” Ben says. Armitage is a caring, loving mother, feeling everything so freely when it comes to their children.
“You do make me tense.” There isn’t any heat to the accusation.
Ben lays flat, mirroring him. “Any reason in particular?”
His wife’s supple lips twitch as if he is genuinely about to riddle off a list of them. They turn to face one another. They are close enough to solve the problem of intimacy but neither is brave enough to do so.
“I can’t explain it,” Armitage says instead. “You just do.” When he looks at his husband, he isn’t sure what he sees. Yes, this is the man he loves, the man he chose to marry and raise three beautiful children with. Something else is simmering under the surface.
“I’m sorry,” Ben says, sleepiness threatening to derail this conversation.
“Don’t be sorry.” What does his husband have to be sorry for?
They continue to stare, making up for the wide space between them by consuming one another from afar. Almost too afraid to close their eyes, as if one bedmate would lunge to slit the other’s throat the minute that happens.
Armitage is the first to surrender. It has been a long day. “Goodnight, Mr. Solo,” he says, keen eyes slipping shut.
Ben blinks, the name stirring something within him. He ignores the odd feeling – too exhausted from the day – and adjusts himself on the pillow, closing his eyes. “Goodnight, Mr. Solo.”