(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.

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[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.

[straightouttacarbonite]

"You must've talked him around."

Otherwise no way would he have kept quiet. Chewie cares a lot for Leia-- not just because Han cares a lot for Leia, but because the Wookiee has good taste in friends-- but he wouldn't have kept the secret if he didn't think it was the right way to do things. Probably, he imagines, Chewie thought it would be better to break the news with the baby there.

And maybe it is for the best.

Lando, on the other hand, is less of a known quantity. He thinks there are going to have to be some long, unusually serious conversations between the two of them. But if he's still around (and not in worse shape than Han was in carbonite, after Leia was through with him), then clearly he's coming around.

"You could've had me hold the baby and I wouldn't have noticed, then."

[imahologram]

"It took some arguing." There was snapping and growling in the Falcon on the trip out, for better or worse; they'd both been worried enough about the upcoming mission that it had leaked into the way they'd discussed when Han would hear about his son. I've read about hibernation sickness! she'd insisted, but what had convinced Chewie was I can't risk him misunderstanding. I can't do this twice.

Telling him once, with all that empty waiting time built up beforehand, had been bad enough.

"You could hardly hold yourself up," she points out, a little tease back in his direction. "You weren't going to hold any babies."

Not without dropping them, she's about to say, but Han hasn't yet tried, and she doesn't want to put that idea in his head. He's not wrong that she has no idea what kind of experience he has with children, but she's betting the answer is 'not much.' The last thing she wants to do is spook him out of trying to learn the ropes.

[straightouttacarbonite]

He hasn't thought of that possibility, not yet. Probably as soon as Ben is in his arms, that particular paranoia will raise its head. Never mind the question of whether he knows how to support a baby's head safely. Right now, Han can hardly wait for the opportunity; he ain't got a clue what a long road it'll be.

The more he thinks about it-- as the shock wears off, too-- the better her idea seems. If he'd known what he was coming back to it would've been the only thing he could think about, and who knows how he would have built it up? Or maybe he'd have scared himself off. Right now, he thinks he can get through a few hours and not be totally crushed if all his son does is cry and maybe throw up on him. Any longer and it'd get difficult.

But for now-- he isn't sure what to do with this stretch of time. There's plenty of work waiting, he's sure, but if they go back out and get started it's going to be forever before they can find some time for themselves, to try to untangle what it means to be a family.

"You know..." This is maybe not the right subject, it's certainly not going to lighten the mood. "I didn't really expect you were gonna come after me."

As thank-yous go, that's not great. It's really more of a sorry for everything that went wrong.

[imahologram]

Leia came into this having never held a baby more than once or twice, years ago. A distant cousin, the child of family friends or political allies--maybe? Regardless, she's certain she had no experience worth mentioning, and she's managed not to break the baby's neck. She has every confidence in Han's ability to pick this particular skill up; he's a man who lives and dies (but mostly lives) by the work of his hands.

"You--" She stares at him, her cheer evaporating. For a moment, she wonders if he'd been able to think that clearly in the carbonite, but it must have crossed his mind when he was dropping down into it. Those last horrible microseconds, when he'd known he was leaving them and couldn't do more than accept his fate.

And that's...not unforgivable, the thought that he might never have woken from the hibernation Vader put him into. They'd both thought that was a distinct possibility; she'd lived the last year telling herself not to fantasize about the ways they might be reunited, only to plan for the best possible chance. Still, it's with vehemence that she answers, "Of course I'd come after you. Even if..." There'd been nothing to come after. "No matter what Jabba did, I would have found you. I had to know."

[straightouttacarbonite]

If he'd been intent on getting out of it, he never would have been able to give himself up for her. That's the thing. Han has always-- well, for a long time-- been pretty damn selfish. Leia and Luke and the Rebellion have been changing him, slowly but surely. He didn't think he'd survive the freeze, really, and if he did he figured Jabba would have him smashed, or unfrozen and roasted alive, or any of a dozen less pleasant fates.

And it hadn't mattered.

"The only thing-- I mean. I just wanted to keep you safe."

But she'd been safe in spite of everything, maybe he should have fought harder. Then she wouldn't have been so alone, at least.

He looks down at her hand in his, rubbing idle circles over her knuckles with his thumb.

[imahologram]

Leia rarely finds herself speechless; she's someone for whom words are as much a weapon as a blaster, when applied in just the right time and place. But the thought that Han was ready to lay down his life for her--and Chewie, and everyone else, but especially for her--is something she's thought about and set aside, over and over again, for a year. After all that time, she's still not sure she has words to answer it satisfactorily.

(Deep down, she knows the only answer. It's the one she gave him when it happened and neither of them were sure they'd ever see each other again. But telling him here--now, when their lives aren't on the line--seems treacherous. An I love you in the relative peace of the rebel base is an I love you he has to answer.)

He laid down his life for her; without knowing it, he risked death so his son could live. She couldn't have accepted that sacrifice without doing everything she could to get him back again.

"I know," she tells him, her gaze on his lowered eyes. "That's one of the reasons I wanted to save you."

[straightouttacarbonite]

This is uncomfortable, uncharted territory for them. He kind of feels like he ought to say something mean on principle, but it's too delicate a moment to say anything at all. Of course she knows, but there's a difference between living it and talking about it, and-- as she may have noticed-- talking about serious things is not his strong suit. Self sacrifice didn't come easy, but he was absolutely certain in his conviction, and even the long nothingness of suspended animation hadn't made him regret it.

Right now, he isn't sure what-- if anything-- he wants. It's something like an apology, but they both know that's not necessary. In some sense, he's just at loose ends because he thought he'd wrapped his own life up neatly: she said she loved him, he'd done something brave and admirable, and as long as at least half the promises made were kept she ought to have lived, safe and close enough to happy. Maybe eventually she'd have married someone else (probably Luke, but it doesn't matter) and had a son not nearly as handsome as Ben, and she'd have thought of him fondly now and then and that would have been a satisfactory legacy.

But this, it's a bit of a mess-- a baby in the midst of a war, a hectic rescue operation-- and messes suit him just fine, but he's having a hard time finding his feet. This should be an easy place to start, shouldn't it? He's certain he'll come to love Ben-- it'll be easier if he's not screaming, but Han can out-stubborn an infant, probably. He definitely loves Leia-- which she must know, as certainly as he knew she loved him even before she said so. And maybe that's all it takes.

Giving her a quick, crooked smile, he leans in to kiss her brow.

[imahologram]

Leia smiles back after he kisses her, squeezing his hand gently. Han's a man of action, not necessarily of words, and he's already explained himself as clearly as she needs. What he did for her speaks for itself, anyway, as she hopes her own choices do.

They don't say much of importance after that, but the quiet surrounding them has its own value.

Eventually, Ben stirs, and Leia glances over, watching him yawn and blink groggily up towards the ceiling. It's a good sign for the moment; he seems content to figure out where he is and what's going on in the little world of his crib. Later tonight, that might shift--he always seems most upset when it's late--but for now, it seems a perfect opportunity for him to get to know his father.

"He usually eats after naps," she tells Han, keeping her voice pitched low. Ben's unpredictable at times, and the last thing she wants to do is set him off if he is thinking about howling. "Would you like to feed him?"

[straightouttacarbonite]

It's ridiculously indulgent, probably, to spend so much time doing nothing at all, but he finds he really doesn't give a damn. And he's not terribly driven to fill the silence, not when everything he should be saying is so serious and important, it's too much for one day. It suits him fine to laze about a little together. It seems like a good sign that they can be comfortable enough doing that-- not long ago, at least for him, they were perpetually digging at one another, after all.

He's aware of Ben stirring right after Leia is, slight as the sound is. For the first time he feels properly nervous about the prospect.

"All right," he says softly, trying to sound more confident than he feels in his abilities.

[imahologram]

She can guess he's a little uncertain. Anybody would be, she suspects, upon being presented a three-month-old baby and told it's theirs, especially a smuggler who doesn't spend a lot of time around infants. It's not an entirely explainable feeling; perhaps it's a near-imperceptible shift in Han's bearing, or maybe his voice, but mostly, it's instinct.

"All right." Leia smiles at him, stretching up to peck him on the lips--for luck--before she goes over to the crib. For a moment, it's as though it's just the two of them again, as she brushes back a few locks of Ben's dark hair and murmurs nonsense to him through the process of picking him up. "Hello there, sleepy-head. I've got someone for you to meet..."

She brings him back over to the bed and sits down next to Han. "The most important thing is to hold his head up. Your elbow does most of the work, don't worry. Bring your arms up--like mine, see--and I'll set him...there. Perfect."

[straightouttacarbonite]

People have, he reflects, been having and raising babies for thousands and thousands of years, with little to no training and on average a reasonable amount of success. He's not a total idiot, he can manage this. Han obligingly folds his arms to mimic her. He is, he reminds himself, one of the finest pilots out there. He can slip in and out of hyperspace so smoothly you wouldn't spill a drink. He can do this.

And then... There they are, face to face, Ben's eyes (so wide in his tiny face) meeting his. There's nothing mystical or electric about it but it's special and intimate nonetheless, and he's far too fascinated by the novelty of the experience to question it. He shifts a little, some of the stiffness getting out of their pose, settling the baby in more comfortably against him. To his eye, Ben looks a bit like his mother-- he doesn't see the resemblance to himself-- but maybe that's the kind of thing that you learn to see in time.

A smile, soft and frankly amazed, creeps across his face. And maybe it's the only thing he really can say under these circumstances--

"Hey there, kid."

[imahologram]

Han's there in the shape of Ben's face, Leia thinks, and perhaps in those broad ears of his. She can count colouring and little else in her favour, as far as she's concerned.

(Well. Maybe his cheeks. They're rather heavy on his face, and she can't deny a certain resemblance there, though she'd rather that wasn't their main point of comparison.)

Up until the point that Han has Ben settled into his arms, Leia's not sure it's going to work out comfortably. One way or another, he might change his mind, or they might lose the comfortable silence they'd resided in earlier, with no way to get it back. Things might fall apart. But the moment he smiles down at their son, she feels certain of everything. Suddenly, irrevocably, Ben really is Han's; they're family in fact, not theory.

Ben smiles up at Han, a bright, open-mouthed smile that his tongue gets in the way of at times. One of his arms flails up, without much purpose or direction, but that grin has purpose. He's awake and happy, and it shows in the way he looks up at Han, then out at other parts of the room, and back again. Leia's grateful to every bit of the Force that they arrived in time for this.

"I think he likes you," she tells Han with a little grin, setting a hand on his shoulder for a moment before she stands and goes to a cupboard in the wall to get Ben's meal ready.

[straightouttacarbonite]

It's anyone's guess whether it's instinct or mimicry that has him murmuring nonsense at the baby, not looking up. It just seems like the appropriate thing to do. And Ben, for his part, seems to like it, still smiling in that innocent, all-consuming way.

"I hope so," he says after a moment, when the fact that she's spoken registers. He's a little distracted, and Leia, of all people, isn't likely to take it personally. Particularly considering the cause of his preoccupation. Han has a few things going for him, when it comes to holding his son for the first time. He's tall and broad-shouldered, and he's steady handed. When it comes down to it, the difference between actual confidence and faked confidence is fairly slim. Certainly Ben seems to feel safe. He is safe, absolutely. Han has no doubt of that; he'd like to see anyone try anything.

He goes back to murmuring, humming tunelessly, offering his free hand up so Ben can grasp his finger. As if he needs anything to make him look even smaller, more delicate.

"Good grip." Okay, even Han knows that's normal-- but he still sounds proud.

[imahologram]

"I've got a good feeling about it." Everything's set up to use the small space in the room as efficiently as possible, and when it comes to the tiny conservator and nanowave stove built into the wall, it's all thanks to Chewbacca. Having everything Ben needs in one bunk makes a huge difference--but right now, the main benefit is the fact that she can heat up a bottle without missing a moment of Han crooning little hellos to the baby.

He's a natural with this, as much as anyone can be. Maybe because he's spent so much time guiding the Falcon through runs that any sane pilot would balk at, or maybe fatherhood brings a certain instinct with it. She's inclined to think the former, personally. Too many scattered moments of wondering what in the stars she was doing with Ben, and too strong a memory of dodging asteroids.

(If only her own parents were still alive--it's a thought she's had over and over since she found out about the baby in the first place, but it rears its head again at the sight of Han playing with Ben. How she'd like to introduce him--them--to her father and mother.)

"And only a few years before you can start flying lessons," she says, smothering a little laugh as she sits back down next to him and holds out the now warm bottle.