(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

[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.

[imahologram]

For a few moments, it's a perfect kiss: all the affection she'd poured into that first, desperate kiss after he came out of hibernation, none of the danger. Leia lets herself relax into it, her hands at his cheeks, hoping it says everything there might not be words for.

She wants to pull him closer, drag her hands down his chest and forget the world outside this room for a while. But the memory of Jabba's tongue on her skin surfaces, sickeningly visceral, and in that moment, she can't bring herself to keep going.

"Like I said," she tells him, breathless and wide-eyed and wondering a little if the way she breaks the kiss will end up feeling like Hoth all over again for him, "you can have all the time you want."

And I might need it, too. As much as she wants him--in her life and in her bed--learning to be together in their current reality isn't going to be a one-sided activity. If they're to make lives that allow their paths to cross, maybe even to fall into co-orbital configuration, she's going to have to put in the work as well.

[straightouttacarbonite]

Those few moments are worth a hell of a lot. He'd been starting to think he imagined the tender, passionate way she'd held him as he came out of stasis. It would make as much sense as anything-- he knows he was far from coherent at first, not sure anything was real, blind and exhausted and disoriented. But she said she loved him, again, and the sound of her voice had been--

Well, he's not the kid of guy who comes up with pretty words. It was everything.

He lets her pull away, looking deep into her eyes, a little off-balance himself. But he doesn't want to stay apart; he leans his forehead against hers, laces their fingers, but he doesn't angle for anything more.

"Til he wakes up," he murmurs, faintly amused.

[imahologram]

Leia groans a little at Han's answer, but she's smiling tentatively. The possibility of Ben's sobbing doesn't

"He's a nightmare sometimes," she admits, wishing she could say otherwise. The perfect baby, always well-behaved, happy-- "They think he has colic. I was up for two days straight once, between work and the crying."

She couldn't bring herself to admit that she couldn't calm Ben herself, not until she was so exhausted that she could hardly think. Now, she has options--she's set them up herself, to ensure nobody's completely worn out by the baby. And anyway, he's getting older, enough so that she hopes things will change.

But hopes aside, it's not fair not to warn Han. Running into a three- or four-hour crying jag without knowing it's business as usual isn't something she can stand by and let happen. "But when he's not crying, he's just about perfect."

[straightouttacarbonite]

Honesty is the best policy here. He has to admit he doesn't relish the idea of sleepless nights, and knows they're pretty common... Even if Ben isn't fussing, Han thinks he might be too wired to sleep for a few days, too busy trying to sort things out and watching Ben's rib cage rise and fall.

It must have been impossible, he thinks, and then corrects himself. Luke and Chewie and Lando and the rest of the rebellion outside-- Leia's greatest enemy must have been her stubborn pride.

"He can't be that bad."

Note that down and remind him of it the first time he complains, Leia.

[imahologram]

The way he's talking, he's starting to sound like a real optimist, and Leia loves him for it. His faith in his son already seems absolute. She thinks that might mean more than anything else could; no matter his experience with children or interest in them as a general rule, he cares about this child.

She's looking for the answer she wants to see, she knows, but she also feels like she's seeing what's there.

"Sometimes he behaves," she tells him, wanting to hold onto that cavalier attitude of Han's...even if she's planning on keeping it in he arsenal for later. "He'll stare up at you with these beautiful eyes of his, like he's trying to understand exactly what you're telling him. And sometimes he screams for hours at a time. 'That bad' depends on the day."

Sometimes the hour.

[straightouttacarbonite]

In fairness, Leia hasn't got a clue how he feels about children in general-- they don't see so many of them in this line of work. She's never seen him let the scrawny pickpockets in Coronet City get away with it. And there's a world of difference, anyway, between children and babies, between babies and his own child. How he feels about all that-- well, he's still working through it, admittedly. But that doesn't mean it's negative. At the very least he wants to have faith that this will work out-- he's looking for the sense of connection, even if he hasn't quite found it yet. It'll be easier, he figures, when Ben is awake-- preferably not screaming, but who knows.

"So he's got your temper," he teases.

[imahologram]

She rolls her eyes, but it's with a smile. "Maybe he picked the complaining up from you."

They both have their moments, after all--sometimes admirable, sometimes abominable--and Ben's probably inherited a little of both their worst. There have been times when he's looked at her with a certain tilt of his head, and she's seen nothing so clearly but his father. What's otherwise a vague resemblance suddenly becomes clear. Maybe it goes the other way around as well.

It's a pity he's asleep right now; the more they talk about him, the more she wants to hand him over to Han and let them get to know each other.

[straightouttacarbonite]

For all his uncertainties-- and rest assured, he's got plenty-- he feels the same way. They can talk about this all they want, all they can stomach-- there are parts of it he hasn't got the nerve to ask after; whether she doubted her choice, whether there were moments she hated him for doing that to her and then disappearing, what the worst of it was, what she'd have told Ben if she didn't manage to bring Han home-- but nothing really makes up for the fact that he hasn't really met the kid yet, not really.

Not, of course, that it'll be so dramatic, probably. At this age he's not gonna be any kind of conversationalist, and Han is just going to be another stranger. Still, it's remarkably difficult to manage his expectations rationally-- even if, until a few minutes ago, neither knew the other existed, it feels like it's gonna mean something, something hugely important.

He straightens up a little, not leaning on her only so he can get a better look at her face.

"I can't believe you got Lando and Chewie to keep their mouths shut."

Probably for the best, of course, but wow.

[imahologram]

"I owe them. Chewie especially." He hadn't liked the plan, and Leia knows it--but he went along with it in the end, and with remarkably little complaint. If Lando had felt similarly, he hadn't voiced those opinions, and not with nearly the same vehemence. "If he'd had his way, I think you would have heard all about it as soon as we got back to the Falcon."

And with Han hardly able to stand on his own and a sandstorm raging outside, Leia can only imagine how that would have gone over. But Chewie feels strongly about the notion of family, more strongly than just about anyone Leia's ever met. (Luke had agreed with him--he comes close, when it comes to family--but he'd backed down when Leia'd said she thought the news should wait until they left Tatooine.) And nobody will ever care for Han in quite the same way as Chewbacca.

"Lando nearly mentioned him to you the day after we got out of there. I don't know if you noticed." Han was so out of it that hearing a friend cut himself off right after your-- might not have made any real impact on him.