(almost) the silliest au.

[imahologram]

Leia's never been so grateful to see a cloak in her life. She pulls it on long before the sandstorm on the horizon reaches them, despite the way the fabric traps the desert's heat against her skin. The weight of the thick, scratchy wool is comforting; it's a barrier between her and the rest of the galaxy, and specifically from the tongues of Hutts who have never thought of anything but their own appetites.

She's quiet in the skiff, by her standards, only cutting into the conversation occasionally, and takes advantage of the huge cloak to ball her fists up in the fabric where no one can see. They all survived the Great Pit of Carkoon, and they're on their way back to the Alliance. Ben will never have to know that his parents were a few steps closer to death than usual. Anyone would be elated by that--right? She's elated, she tells herself. This is the best news since they'd come up with this plan in the first place.

But all she seems to be able to remember is the feeling of holding her chain garrote around Jabba's neck, the way he tensed before her and then--finally--went limp.

It's not until she and Han are staggering out of a sandstorm, up the gangway to the Falcon, that Leia starts to feel close to normal again. She could play the warm, happy friend for Luke, kissing him goodbye with a smile, but it only feels right when she's someplace fortified. Even with Chewie in need of medical attention--Lando can handle that, she hopes--they're a dangerous group to cross when their diplomatic tactics include quad-lasers.

"What can you see?" she asks Han. The last of the wind is muffled by the closing gangway, leaving them alone in the hold with only a dull roar beyond. Han knows the Falcon so well that she probably doesn't have to help him walk from here, but she can't say she'll mind if he leans against her a little longer.

Comments

[straightouttacarbonite]

Oh, he's plenty shocked. It's just the insidious sort, the quiet kind of shock that lets people walk miles on broken ankles without noticing.

"I don't want to wake him up," he says softly. Something about the question is strange, but figuring it out feels like trying to read street signs from low orbit. She's waiting for something he can't make out.

And she hasn't said anything-because the obvious guess is right? Maybe she wants him to ask rather than saying so.

(The right guess doesn't even occur to him. Maybe it's just the skewed sense of time he's working with here.)

"His father...?"

Luke, it has to be.

[imahologram]

So much for that. Han has the right idea--when Ben's awake, he's as likely to cry as to hold his head up and look around at the busy world around him--but she'd hoped. If he just held him, maybe, the idea wouldn't seem so preposterous for him. Maybe they could settle into some kind of life together: the two of them, the baby, the war. Enough of a family that at least one of them can try risking their neck for the cause.

With two of them around, Ben will never be a war orphan.

And then Han asks the last question she expects to hear. It doesn't even have the decency to be a question. It's just a couple of words with a lift in his voice at the end, waiting for her to fill in...something.

"...What?"

Something dark and cold curls around her heart. He can't actually be asking this, can he? After she told him she loved him--twice!--without asking anything from him in return? After she made sure he wouldn't spend the rest of his life frozen on a palace wall on the far end of the galaxy? After every long lightyear to Bespin, he's asking who Ben's father is?

He can't possibly be suggesting there's a question about this.

"What do you mean, his father?"

[straightouttacarbonite]

Someday they'll laugh about this.

Possibly not today, though.

"I mean--"

Well, isn't it obvious what he means? If she's moving on with her life, maybe she doesn't exactly owe it to him but or seems like it's the decent thing to do, to let him know whose son she's introducing him to.

Which is kind of a funny thing to do, come to think of it.

And she's angry, which leaves him standing there staring blankly at her as he tries to puzzle it out.

She can't mean--

He looks at the sleeping boy, then back to her.

(But they were so careful--except for when they weren't careful--)

Wide-eyed and uncertain, he points to his own chest. She can't mean that. Unless she does.

[imahologram]

Leia nods, slowly and deliberately, giving him a hard stare all the while. The fact that they have to confirm this is doing little enough for her mood, never mind her feelings for him. Just what kind of woman does he think she is?

"Whose did you think he was?" she asks, and only the fact that the baby's sleeping keeps her from raising her voice. It'd be tempting to tear into him right now, but their arguments tend to be noisy enough that it won't be worth calming Ben down again. She sets her hands on her hips, waiting. "Luke's?"

She says it like she'd say General Madine's name in this situation, or Admiral Ackbar's. Surely he knows he's the only possible answer to the question. And even if he wasn't, somehow, the only man she's ever loved, just how quickly does he think she'd fall into bed with somebody else?

Which brings her all the way back to the first question. Just what kind of woman does he think she is?

[straightouttacarbonite]

His mouth falls open and snaps shut uselessly, but the answer to that question is plain on his face. Of course Luke's. That makes sense, a girl like her, a guy like him. Han is all too aware what a ridiculous notion it was for a smuggler to fall in love with a princess; that's just not the kind of thing that happens. It doesn't make him any less serious, just...

He never expected this.

His hand curls around the edge of the crib, a little white-knuckled to be honest. Another quick glance at the baby-- his son-- and a moment to make the unconscious mental shift between cute, probably? and the most perfect small being in existence. He can deal with that thought properly later, assuming she doesn't throw him out.

"This is a pretty big surprise," he argues. Be gentle, princess, he hardly knows where and when he is, and suddenly he's a father on top of it.

[imahologram]

"Believe me, it was a surprise when I found out, too," she mutters. I can't believe you think I'd go to bed with Luke. Not even with Luke after everything that happened; just plain with Luke. He's her best friend, and that's all she wants him to be. Even Luke figured that out--but maybe Han never got the message.

But Han's right. It's a lot to put on him right now, and maybe it would have been better to tell him back on the Falcon. He could have looked forward to this moment, instead of wondering what this moment would be. But telling him meant hearing his conclusions before he even saw his son.

There's not much to say besides I'm sorry, and she can't seem to force the words out. So she waits, watching him, trying to suss out just what this means for Han, the fact that he has a son.

[straightouttacarbonite]

As far as he knows, she loves Luke. (She loves him. There's no reason, he thinks, she can't love the both of them, even if she has to choose.) It wouldn't even have to be so scandalous, he thinks. The two of them dealing with grief, the aftermath of being tricked, the adrenaline of a narrow escape from the Empire--

But that's not what happened. He turns, not to turn away from her but to look at their son more intently. What happened is-- they flew to Bespin, and when they got there she said she loved him, and he thought that was the end of it-- and really, it wasn't the worst way a man could go, spending his last moments conscious looking at someone who loved him, even if she'd waited til then to say it. But she'd escaped, and he'd survived-- which might not have been the kindest fate, for a time-- and she'd gone on to find herself pregnant, and she'd kept his child, and she'd gone after him, and here they are, the three of them.

It seems a shame to spoil that perfect, peaceful rest, so he doesn't reach for the baby, even if he'd certainly appreciate that solid sense of connection. What it means-- how the hell should he have any idea what it means, he's never planned or even thought about this in his life. But frustrated and shocked though he is, he's not running way from this.

He'll settle for pulling her close, if she's all right with it.

[imahologram]

Leia loves Luke, but he's a friend, and he'll never be more. And that's enough--to have a friend who delights in being Ben's Uncle Luke and seems to know everything she's worried about before she says a single word. It's Han she loves enough to trust with something like her heart. Her heart, and her future. Perhaps more importantly, their child's future.

He doesn't say anything, just reaches out for her, and she can't resist the comfort she knows she'll find in his arms. Sinking in against his chest, Leia wraps her arms around him and draws in a deep breath. It feels right, somehow, even as she's a little annoyed with the way their conversation here has gone. (Luke's son! Of all things, Luke's son.) Before Han knew, she couldn't quite bring herself to curl up with him; the secret was too heavy between them.

But now, she can bury her face in his chest and, for a moment, feel some of the tension of the last year slip away. It's a brief flash at best, and it isn't entirely fair to everyone who's helped her since she came back from Bespin, but she can't help thinking it: I'm not alone now.

[straightouttacarbonite]

There is, he thinks, a good chance eventually they're going to have a fight about this. Not too terrible of one, but keeping a secret like that-- there's too much complicated, tangled emotion here to go smoothly. And no doubt she'll want to have at him for the implication that she might have left him for Luke. As hard as it is for him to learn this, it must have been difficult for her to keep the secret. It's all right. They'll feel better, he thinks.

(Somehow, when they bicker, they always do.)

He feels better now, too-- he hasn't imagined the distance she's been keeping, only misjudged the reason, and now there's no need for it. For the moment he's moved from shock to awe, which is still shock for the most part. It's not necessarily the bad sort. Overwhelming, certainly, but good. He holds her tightly, though still only with one arm-- the other hand hasn't strayed from the edge of the crib.

Kissing her temple, he leans against her, still looking down at Ben.

"He's perfect." See? He can do better than cute. And now he feels ludicrously sappy.

"Short, though."

[imahologram]

"Not by baby standards." The med droid says that Ben's long for his age, and the human doctors have confirmed it. "He's going to be as tall as you when he's older. I can just feel it."

She's a little less giddy with relief at the fact that Han's taking the news well than she was earlier. The remaining feeling is something more solid, though, steeped in the knowledge that whatever else might be true, Han knows, and he's still here.

"He's pretty perfect, though," she adds, leaning down just a little, too brush her fingers against Ben's cheek. He stirs without rousing, one tiny hand rubbing ineffectually at the spot she touched,and Leia leans back against Han. "I named him Ben Prestor Chewbacca Organa. When he was born, I wasn't sure if you'd--"

Want him. Come back at all.

[straightouttacarbonite]

"He's almost as big as you already," he concedes, turning to teasing out of habit. Fond teasing, though. If he couldn't joke with her, this would feel all wrong-- they haven't been together long at all (though, of course, it's a lot longer for her), but that's how they've always gotten along.

Imagine that, this little creature some years down the line-- talking and laughing and learning. Han can't wait to teach him to fly, but that must go without saying.

The name gives him pause, but after a moment he nods. It's a funny thing to be bothered by-- he's never cared so much about a family legacy, never worried about his name being carried on, but it feels strange now. Comprehensible. Chewbacca ought to be enough, and the inclusion makes him smile softly, for a moment, before he nods.

"I might've been dead."

And even though he wasn't-- obviously she was worried about breaking the news.

[imahologram]

Leia can't help laughing, nudging Han with her elbow. Thanks. It's surprisingly freeing to tease him. For most of the last year, she's felt little but a bitter, quiet fury, tempered with the knowledge that she doesn't have time to fall apart into it. When she's been happy--truly happy, not just we finished this mission successfully satisfied--it's been with Luke, and later with Ben. And now, it's with Han, who can make her smile even when she's ready to punch him.

Which, mercifully, she hasn't been since she got him back.

You should have seen him when he was born, she wants to say, but they both know he should have. The words calcify before she can say them.

"We could change it," she says, uncertain how to answer besides I couldn't accept that possibility, "if you didn't like it."

Ben, she thinks, is staying; already, she can't imagine him called anything else. But if he isn't sure about Chewbacca, or if he'd rather it was Ben Solo, maybe they can discuss it.

[straightouttacarbonite]

For a moment he considers it, but shakes his head. It doesn't matter-- or at least, it doesn't matter enough to think about now. It might be nice, maybe, it might make sense. Right now, though, it's enough of an adjustment-- he's awed by this (and who wouldn't be?) but he's all too aware that he has no idea how to be anyone's father. Better to focus on that than on being his father in name, and risk ending up a father in name and nothing else.

"Let me get to know him," he says. It's not quite the right way to put it-- sounds too much like he means to run off the first time the baby starts crying-- but he doesn't know what else to say. Now that he's here, they can take this a little at a time, can't they?

He leans in, reaches to brush a curl of hair off Ben's forehead, not that it's terribly necessary but it's a convenient excuse to make contact, to look for some connection that's not so theoretical. For all that he's uncertain about this, he feels fiercely protective-- but that's as much an extension of how he feels for Leia than anything. It's an awful thought, her dealing with an unexpected pregnancy in the midst of the war, her unborn son in essence fatherless. Not alone, of course-- there's a literal army's worth of support here, and Han can imagine that Luke would have stepped up as readily as if the boy was his, he cares for Leia that much-- but... She loves him, and she might well have lost him, wouldn't have known for a while what Jabba intended to do with him.

Ben stirs again, and he's torn between the desire not to wake him and an eagerness to meet his eyes for the first time. Late, but with any luck not too late.

"What'd Chewie think?" He asks quietly, warmly. It suits him just fine to have his friend so remembered.

[imahologram]

"All right." Leia's relieved, if she's honest. Han likes the idea of Ben right now, while he's sleepy and easy to handle. Whether he's going to feel quite so fond of him when he's screaming like someone's sticking pins in his sides remains to be seen. While she thinks she should trust in him--and she wants to believe she can--she'll believe it when she sees it.

The way she believes the moment of tenderness when Han brushes Ben's hair back from his face. It's something she wasn't sure she'd ever see--but now that Han's stroking his fingers over their son's forehead, his affection is obvious. Unquestionable. It might be tested in the future, but right now, she's certain of his desire to make this work.

Against his father's hand, Ben is suddenly small once more. Leia wants to pluck the baby up and arrange him in Han's arms; he'll be tiny, cradled against Han's chest, the way he is when Chewie picks him up and growls stories in Shyriiwook.

"He hugged me so hard I thought I'd go into labor right then and there." She laughs a little. "He loves Ben."

[straightouttacarbonite]

It's impossible to believe this tiny thing might ever be half his size, much less as tall as he is.  Babies are easy enough-- particularly asleep.  What's going to take time to adjust to is the thought of their son as a person with a mind and manner of his own.  At least they've got a while before he can start talking back to them.  

The answer makes him grin, though it's not a surprise.  Wookiees have an enormous capacity for affection and a stronger appreciation for family than almost anyone else he knows.  It's relieving, too, to think that if things had gone differently, at least Ben would still have a hairy uncle on his side. 

(Maybe Leia's not taking it into account, with her nerves-- even if he was inclined to try to shirk this responsibility, Han doesn't think Chewbacca would let him get away with it for a minute.) 

"Good."  He means far more than just good, but finding words to contain the complexity of feelings is a little beyond him right now.  Hell, it's a wonder he isn't panicking.  Han is not the sort of man who deals well with being tied down. At least, he's always thought of himself that way... but here he is with the Rebellion, with a woman he loves, with a child.  

"So what do we do now?" he whispers, not sure of the scope of it even as he's asking.  The baby's asleep which as far as he can tell means there's not anything they actually have to do to ensure his continued survival-- which is a strange feeling, it seems like he ought to be doing something as a father.  And of course there are much bigger concerns-- they've got someone else to look after, now, and a not-inconsiderable obligation to one another-- and there's a war on, unless he's very much mistaken. 

(Maybe panic isn't that far off.) 

[imahologram]

Without Chewbacca and Luke, this would have been a far longer year for Leia. She and Chewie didn't talk much about the subject, besides a few necessary conversations: that she was going to have a baby, that he'd have Chewbacca as a middle name. But they'd played endless games of chess when they'd been in the same area, and she'd fallen asleep leaning against him at least twice. He's more than proven himself a part of their family, not just Han's.

(Eventually, perhaps she'll realize just how thoroughly the specter of Chewbacca's disappointment could keep Han involved in Ben's life. Up to this moment, it seemed entirely likely that Han could put up a fight--and possibly argue his friend down. It was easier to plan for the possibility of a man who wanted nothing to do with fatherhood.)

"I have a comlink," she murmurs back, fishing it out of one pocket. Even on trips away, when she's well out of range, she keeps it with her. "I can have one linked up for you--if he wakes up, you'll hear him."

I can, not I will. She still can't entirely bring herself to assume he'll be all in for this. Never even mind I can find another bunk, one with a larger bed; he's only had ten minutes to take this in.

"And we have people on shifts, keeping an eye on him. Ben's pretty popular on base--when he's in a good mood." More importantly, he's the most vulnerable member of the Alliance. They have plans for safeguarding him under just about any circumstance.

[straightouttacarbonite]

There's no one in the galaxy he'd trust more than Chewie to look after Leia, after his son. The thought of it is immeasurably strange-- something he hasn't worried about, hasn't known he ought to worry about, has suddenly become more important than just about anything else.

"Okay," he murmurs obligingly, glancing just for a moment at the comlink in her hand. It's sort of an answer to his question. As good an answer as can be given to something so vague, but it falls somewhere in between what he wants-- it doesn't answer what they should be doing now and what they're going to do. But a way to keep an eye on Ben without having to hover over his bed like this, it seems like a good start.

"Okay... but what do we do now?"

And how bad is it when Ben isn't in a good mood?

[imahologram]

"Right now?" Leia's expression is a little blank. There's always something to do here--she usually hardly has time to think about what it is she's going to do before she actually does it. When she comes back from work off-base, she spends a few minutes with Ben before she goes on to whatever the next job might be. "Whatever you want."

They just pulled him from a half-death at the edge of the galaxy. They can justify letting him have a day to familiarize himself with the base and his son. Even if they can't, Leia will argue that they can anyway.

Besides, as selfish as she knows it is, she wants a day here with Han and Ben. Just a few hours, even, of catching Han up and holding Ben would be enough. After moments when she'd wondered if they'd really escape Jabba, she's longed for this moment of quiet with them both.

And that means there's only one question to ask. "What do you want to do?"

[straightouttacarbonite]

He's convinced he can see it, the part of her brain that automatically wants to get right back to work. At the moment he might have gone along with it if she insisted; he's a little too scattered to figure out where to go next.

"I have no idea."

The frank admission, somewhat amused, is probably not very helpful if she's anywhere near as lost as she is.

"Just.." It's a lot, he needs time to process it. More time than they'll get, but certainly they should be able to take a day or two, right?

"How long do you think he'll sleep?"

[imahologram]

Leia smiles, reaching for one of his hands so she can give it a squeeze. This is a lot to put on him when he hasn't even been debriefed on the Tatooine situation yet. The longer they stand here, the more she sees it: that this wasn't the best way to do things, but that she's not convinced any explanation would have gone over well.

If she had told him earlier...but telling him when he was disoriented from hibernation sickness doesn't sounds like that much better, as solutions go.

"Maybe an hour or two. His last nap is always the longest one." And then there are a few hours--sometimes pleasant, sometimes unbearable--before he falls asleep for most of the night.

[straightouttacarbonite]

The right way to announce this would've been to do it when she found out herself, so they could get used to it at the same pace.  And maybe have it happen at a better time-- a few years down the line, perhaps, when they're not in the midst of a war, risking their lives every other week.  But in these less than ideal circumstances he can at least know she's doing the best she can.  If she'd told him while he was still sick, possibly he'd have dismissed it as an hallucination, or misunderstood, or something-- and it does soften the shock, at least a little, to see the baby sleeping peacefully here.  

For lack of a better idea he takes a step back and toward her narrow bed.  Sitting down would be good-- he's not shaky, like he was that first day on the Falcon, but it does take a certain amount of energy not to keel over from shock at a time like this.  Besides, he's pretty sure his impulse to spend the next hour or two standing here watching Ben sleep just in case is entirely irrational.  

This isn't the sort of dragging her to bed he'd ever planned on, but well.  Han feels like he might float away if he doesn't keep hanging on to her arm.  

[imahologram]

Leia raises an eyebrow, a tentative smile at her lips. It's almost as narrow a bunk as the ones in the Falcon, and they'd only used those in lieu of anything else--though she doubts they'll do more than sit at the edge of this one. At least for now.

So she follows, and when he pauses, she pulls him the last step or two over and takes a seat. This way, at least, there's room enough for two.

"It's a lot to take in," she says, because she's not sure what else to say, but she feels like she ought to be saying something. The silence between the three of them isn't quite comfortable to Leia, even with the knowledge that Han's not about to bolt.

[straightouttacarbonite]

It might be a while before he even thinks of anything more complicated than sitting on the edge of the bed. For one thing, he's still stunned, and for another, Ben is young enough that he's pretty sure she'd be in her rights to not be the least bit interested in that yet.

Mostly, though, it's distraction.

"Yeah," he murmurs, shaking his head a bit. "It's-- I mean, it's..." He wants to say great, but that'd sound a little forced. It's big, it's overwhelming. A good thing, but far too serious for him not to have reservations. Hopefully she realizes that-- his reluctance isn't really reluctance, he's just not sure he's got what it takes.

Sat side by side he leans heavily against her.

"I think I just need a while. To get used to it," he says, a little apologetic, giving her a weary smile.

[imahologram]

It's something, she wants to cut in darkly, but she genuinely wants to know what he thinks. And the way to find that out is to keep quiet and let him find his words.

Leia's made her peace with it, but there was a time, months ago, when she was terrified and nearly overwhelmed with anger at the situation. Luke helped, with his certainty that they should trust in the Force--even if she'd demanded an explanation for why the Force thought she should have a child in the middle of a war and gotten nothing like a satisfied answer. What helped most was the knowledge that some part of Han could live on, no matter what happened to his block of carbonite.

She slides an arm around his waist, tempted for a moment to stroke her other hand through his hair. With as much as she's missed him, she wouldn't mind finding a few other uses for the bed, but when Han says he's going to need time, that puts paid to that idea. They'll get there, or they won't. Until then, all she can do is hope he'll grow accustomed to a life with a few more strings attached.

"You can have a while," she says, and looks over at their son's sleeping form. Ben will hardly know the difference, at this point. (For a moment, she wonders just how young she was when her mother passed away and her parents took her in. She must have been small--she hardly remembers her birth mother--and she adjusted to a happy life on Alderaan. Ben can do the same, no matter what happens next.) And then, "We're going to be busy, anyway."

[straightouttacarbonite]

This is at once far more and far less complicated than it sounds, and he can't help a slight frown. It feels, still-- again, perhaps?-- like she's holding herself at a distance, which isn't what he wants. It makes sense; he hasn't always been the most reliable. (Except that he has, even as he's told her he isn't. He keeps showing up.) Maybe she's got every reason to expect he'll leave, that it's just a matter of time.

He's said exactly that, a dozen times. But now everything's different, and nothing's different.

They're on orbits with mismatched inclinations, not quite intersecting, frustratingly out of sync. He needs time to adjust to all of this-- but he means to be present for it. He doesn't want her to hold back. Their relationship has a newfound gravity, and in time they'll hit perigee and the resonances will sort it out. Things are just going to be a little... eccentric til then.

For now, after a deep, steadying breath and another glance over at the crib, he turns to kiss her.