She was three keystrokes in when the communicator chimed again.
Maria glanced at it, ready to ignore it, but the caller ID made her pause. A name she hadn't seen in months. She tapped the answer key, and the screen split, a familiar face appearing in the corner—angular, sharp-eyed, with a shock of red hair and a perpetual smirk that had always made her want to throw something at him.
"Beautiful Gorgeous," Maria said, her voice flat. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Maria." His smirk widened. "You look like you've been sitting in that chair for twelve hours straight. Your hair is a disaster."
"I've been working."
"You've been watching other versions of yourself have sex." He said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather. "I can see the monitor bank behind you. And the frozen image of two teenagers on a bed. You're a degenerate, you know that?"
"I'm a researcher." Maria's hand drifted to her belly, a protective gesture she couldn't quite suppress. "What do you want, Gorgeous?"
His expression shifted, the smirk fading into something more serious. "I heard about the baby. Rift's kid. The dimensional anchor-child." He paused. "Congratulations, by the way. That's... a lot."
Maria's hand pressed harder against her belly. "It's fine. I'm managing."
"Managing," he repeated. "You're eight months pregnant, living alone on a space station, and you spend your days watching other people fuck. That's not managing, Maria. That's hiding."
She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand.
"I'm not calling to lecture you. I'm calling because I have a proposal." He leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "I've been doing some work on dimensional architecture. The math is... complicated, but I've figured out how to stabilize a rift opening for extended periods. Long enough for you to step through, have the kid, and come back."
Maria's breath caught. "You're offering to—"
"I'm offering to watch the station while you're gone," he said. "The monitors, the archives, everything. I'll keep it running. I'll even catalog any new timelines that come through." He grinned, that familiar smirk returning. "You know how much I love a good archive."
She stared at him. "Why would you do that?"
"Because you're my friend, Maria. And because you're going to pop any day now, and the last thing you need is to be alone when it happens." His voice softened. "Go have your kid. Let me hold down the fort. When you come back, I'll have a full report waiting."
Maria was silent for a long moment. The baby kicked, a sharp, insistent flutter against her palm, and she felt the truth of his words settle in her chest—the loneliness she'd been carrying like a second skin, the fear she hadn't let herself name.
"Okay," she said finally. "Okay."
---
Three days later, Maria stood in the doorway of the monitor room, her bag packed, her hand resting on the swell of her belly. Beautiful Gorgeous was already in the command chair, his fingers dancing across the console with a familiarity that surprised her.
"I've got it," he said, not looking up. "Go. Have the kid. Don't rush back."
"You'll call me if anything—"
"I'll call you if the station explodes," he interrupted. "Otherwise, I'll handle it. Now go."
Maria hesitated, then crossed the room and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He startled, nearly knocking over a cup of coffee, and she laughed—a real laugh, the kind she hadn't let out in weeks.
"Thank you," she said.
He waved her off, but she saw the faint flush on his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah. Go have your dimensional anomaly baby. I'll be here."
She left the monitor room, the door hissing shut behind her, and walked toward the rift that shimmered at the end of the corridor—a tear in space that led to a world where she could be safe, where she could have her child without the hum of dimensional energy pressing against her skin like a second heartbeat.
She stepped through.
---
The rift closed behind her, and Maria found herself in a small, quiet room—white walls, soft lighting, a bed that looked like it had been waiting for her. She let out a long breath, her hand pressed against her belly, and felt the baby settle, the frantic kicking subsiding to a gentle flutter.
"We made it," she murmured. "We're safe."
The labor came twelve hours later, fierce and relentless, and Maria screamed through it with her teeth gritted and her hands gripping the edge of the bed. The machines around her hummed, monitoring her vitals, tracking the baby's heartbeat, and she felt the dimensional energy surge and peak and crash as the child finally pushed its way into the world.
A girl.
Maria held her daughter against her chest, tears streaming down her face, and looked into eyes that were the same shade of amber as Rift's, the same shade she'd seen in a hundred timelines, a thousand variations of the man who had given her this child.
"Hello, little one," she whispered. "I'm your mother. I'm so sorry it took me so long to meet you."
The baby blinked up at her, and Maria felt something crack open in her chest—a love so fierce and unexpected that it stole her breath.
She named her Nova.
---
Months passed. Nova grew, her amber eyes sharpening, her tiny hands reaching for everything within grasp. Maria watched her daughter with a wonder she hadn't felt since the first time she'd seen the monitor bank bloom to life, the first time she'd realized she could see anything, anyone, any world she wanted.
But the hunger never quite went away.
It was a quiet thing now, a low hum in her blood that she could ignore during the day, when Nova was awake and demanding attention. But at night, when her daughter slept and the station hummed around her, Maria found herself drifting back to the monitor room, her fingers finding the controls with a familiarity that felt like coming home.
Beautiful Gorgeous was true to his word. The archives were immaculate, the timelines catalogued with a precision that made her smile. He'd even added a few of his own—a timeline where a version of her had become a pirate queen, another where she'd found peace on a quiet farming world, a third that she'd filed under "DO NOT OPEN" with a note that read "trust me."
She left those alone.
Instead, she scrolled through the familiar designations, the ones she'd archived herself, and felt the old ache stir. Shadow's Awakening. Sonic's Heat. First Times.
She paused on that last one, the image of Max and Roxanne frozen on the screen, tangled together in the afterglow of their first time. The sweetness of it, the clumsiness, the desperate wanting—it made her chest ache with something she couldn't name.
She closed the file and opened a new search.
---
The image resolved slowly, the Ark's dimensional sensors still calibrating. A middle school hallway, all beige lockers and fluorescent lights, the floor scuffed with a thousand footsteps. The bell had just rung—students flooding out of classrooms, backpacks slung over shoulders, voices overlapping in a cacophony of pre-teen chaos.
Maria adjusted the focus, her hand resting on her belly, and watched.
Two figures broke away from the crowd—a boy and a girl, moving with a purpose that set them apart from the milling students. The boy was lanky, all elbows and knees, his dark hair sticking up in a cowlick he clearly hadn't noticed. The girl was shorter, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, her eyes scanning the hallway with a nervous energy that made Maria lean closer.
She recognized them. Not from her own world—but from a timeline she'd glimpsed before, a world where the Force didn't exist, where people solved their problems with paper and patience instead of lightsabers and destiny.
Tommy Lomax and Sara Bolt.
Maria watched as Tommy caught Sara's wrist, pulling her aside, his voice low and urgent. "Did you get the note?"
Sara nodded, her cheeks flushing. "Yeah. I got it."
"And?"
"And I'm here, aren't I?" She glanced around, making sure no one was watching. "The janitor's closet. You said three o'clock."
"It's three now." Tommy's voice was strained, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Come on."
He led her down the hallway, past the lockers, past the water fountain, until they reached a door marked with a faded "JANITOR" sign. Tommy pulled it open, and Sara slipped inside, Tommy following close behind. The door clicked shut, plunging them into near-darkness.
The closet was small, cramped, filled with mops and buckets and shelves of cleaning supplies. A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a dim, yellow light over everything. The air smelled of bleach and dust, and Maria could see Sara's nose wrinkling as she took it in.
"This is... romantic," Sara said dryly.
Tommy laughed, a nervous, breathless sound. "I know it's not much. But it's private. No one comes in here after third period."
"You've been planning this?"
"I've been thinking about it." He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "About you. About this. About—" He gestured vaguely at the space between them. "Everything."
Sara's flush deepened. "Tommy..."
"I know we're young," he said quickly. "I know this is weird. But I like you, Sara. I like you a lot. And I've been thinking about this for weeks. About what it would be like to—" He stopped, his face going red. "To be with you. Like that."
Sara was quiet for a moment, her eyes searching his face. Then she stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and pressed her lips to his.
The kiss was clumsy, tentative, both of them learning the shape of each other's mouths. But it deepened quickly, Tommy's hands finding Sara's waist, Sara's fingers tangling in the back of his shirt. They broke apart, breathing hard, and Sara laughed, a soft, nervous sound.
"Okay," she said. "Okay, I want this too."
Maria shifted in her chair, her hand slipping beneath the waistband of her shorts. The baby was asleep in the next room, the monitor's soft glow the only light in the darkness, and she let herself be pulled into the scene unfolding on the screen.
On the screen, Tommy and Sara were shedding their clothes, piece by piece, each garment falling to the dusty floor of the janitor's closet. Tommy's shirt, his jeans, his boxers. Sara's tank top, her shorts, her underwear. They stood naked in the dim light, looking at each other with a mixture of wonder and terror and desperate wanting.
"You're beautiful," Tommy whispered, his voice raw.
Sara's breath caught. "You think so?"
"I know so."
He crossed the room and pressed himself against her, his hands finding her hips, her waist, her back. She gasped, her arms wrapping around his neck, her bare skin hot against his. They kissed again, deeper this time, and Tommy's hands slid down her body, tracing the curve of her spine, the swell of her hips.
Then he lowered himself to his knees.
Sara looked down at him, her eyes wide. "Tommy—"
"I want to taste you," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Is that okay?"
She nodded, unable to speak.
He pressed his mouth to her inner thigh, kissing a slow path upward. Sara's breath hitched, her hands finding his hair, gripping it as his lips reached the junction of her thighs. He looked up at her, his eyes dark, and then he leaned forward and pressed his tongue to her cunt.
Sara gasped, her hips jerking forward. "Oh—"
Tommy's tongue traced her slit, slow and tentative, learning her. He found her clit and circled it, and Sara's knees buckled, her hands gripping his hair hard enough to hurt. He didn't stop. He licked her, sucked her, lapped at her like she was something precious, something he'd been waiting his whole life to taste.
"Tommy," she breathed, her voice breaking. "Tommy, that feels—I can't—"
He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips slick with her. "You can. Just let go."
She came with a cry, her body convulsing, her thighs clamping around his head. He held her through it, his tongue still working her, drawing out every last shudder until she finally went slack, her chest heaving.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "Oh my god."
Tommy rose to his feet, his mouth slick, his eyes dark with wanting. He kissed her, and she tasted herself on his lips, and she moaned into his mouth.
"I want you inside me," she said, her voice steady now, certain. "I want to feel you inside me."
Tommy's throat worked. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure." She reached down, her fingers wrapping around his cock, guiding him to her entrance. "I've never done this before. But I want to do it with you."
He pushed inside her, slow and trembling, and they both gasped at the sensation—the tight, wet heat of her, the way she clenched around him. For a moment, neither of them moved. They just stood there, joined, breathing the same air, staring into each other's eyes.
"Okay," Sara whispered. "Move."
He did. Slow at first, awkward, finding a rhythm that made her gasp and arch. She felt a sharp, brief pain as he pushed deeper, a tearing sensation that made her cry out, and Tommy froze.
"Did I hurt you?"
"No," she said, her voice strained but certain. "Keep going. Please."
He kept going, his thrusts deepening, and Sara's cries turned from pain to pleasure, her hips rising to meet his. He could feel the resistance give way, the barrier of her hymen breaking, and the slickness of her blood easing his passage. He drove into her, faster, harder, and she clung to him, her nails raking down his back, her breath coming in desperate gasps.
"I'm going to come," she breathed. "Tommy, I'm going to—"
"Me too," he gasped. "Sara, I—"
"Inside me," she said, her voice breaking. "Please. I want to feel you inside me."
He came with a groan, his hips slamming into her, emptying himself deep inside her in long, pulsing waves. She came a heartbeat later, her body clenching around him, her cry muffled against his shoulder.
They collapsed together against the shelf, breathing hard, tangled in each other's arms. The janitor's closet was silent except for their gasping breath and the distant hum of the school's ventilation system.
"Wow," Sara whispered.
"Yeah," Tommy agreed, his voice hoarse. "Wow."
Maria let out a long breath, her hand falling away from her thighs. The baby stirred in the next room, a soft cooing sound, and she smiled—a small, knowing smile.
She reached for the keyboard and typed:
"Timeline designation: First Time in the Closet."
Then she saved the file, closed the window, and rose from her chair, already moving toward the sound of her daughter's waking cries.
Authors note:
Origami Yoda series represention! Baby!