(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]

"That sounds promising."

Even his sarcasm is tempered a bit, his tone softer than it might be. Partly it's not wanting to upset the baby, mostly it's the inordinate pride he feels at not having screwed this up yet. Look, he likes kids well enough, but he doesn't know a thing about babies. Least of all his own.

He glances at the bright fabric. This, apparently, is his life. (Somehow it makes a little more sense to him this way-- in cramped quarters with makeshift materials, nothing too fancy.)

"So, I pick him up?" He can do that. Without his head falling off. Yeah.

[imahologram]

"That's right." Leia watches. Maybe she hovers a little, hands hovering near his. Maybe. It's easier to let him try to get this right if she knows she can intervene if he doesn't. "Then all you have to do is pat his back."

There are explanations that go along with it: that even at the best of times, Ben swallows air along with the milk, that helping him out with this might make him cry less later tonight, so on and so forth. But she doesn't want to overload Han with the details right now. What really matters is that he burps the baby successfully. The nuances can come later.

She sits on Ben's side of Han, ready to catch him if anything should happen, but she's confident Han can handle this. They haven't even gotten to (X-wing orange and white) diapers yet. This is the easy stuff.

[straightouttacarbonite]

Ordinarily he might grouch and moan about her hovering when he's perfectly capable of doing something, but these are anything but ordinary circumstances. She's got every reason to be uncertain. Hell, he's plenty uncertain himself. Still, his hands are steady; broad and strong, making the baby look even smaller as Han slowly lifts him, careful, settling him against his shoulder with a soothing little bounce of his knee.

His back-patting is a little too tentative at first, but he's on the right track.

[imahologram]

Leia relaxes as Han gets settled with Ben. He's picking this up pretty quickly, and Ben doesn't seem too unsettled by the fact that he's being carried around by someone new. With as many people as have watched him lately, he's probably getting used to strangers' hands, but it's still good to see how calm he is. It's not always the word that comes to mind first when she thinks of Ben, after all.

Eventually, Ben burps, and a little milk comes up with it. Success--at least by some measure.

"One feeding down," Leia tells Han, giving him a tentative little smile. "A million left to go."

[straightouttacarbonite]

"It's mostly eating and sleeping at this age." At least, that's his understanding-- maybe he's fishing a bit for confirmation. No doubt this is going to get old fast-- but for now it's all new and fascinating and a little terrifying.

It'll be good for her to have another pair of hands with this, he figures. Maybe good for him to have something more to worry about. (As if he didn't do enough of that, much as he'd claim otherwise.)

[imahologram]

"That's right." They've been apart, but some things don't change, and that hint of uncertainty in the question is easy for her to find. Her voice is gentle, for Han's sake as much as the baby's. Ben, after all, is as secure in his abilities, however limited, as ever. "He doesn't want anything complicated from us yet."

He's about the only person on base she can say that about. It's one of Ben's graces, the fact that he wants simply and entirely. There are times when caring for him wears her out, but her inability to understand what will soothe him isn't his fault.

(Of course, it's a lot easier to say that when he's happily sticking his hand in his mouth, his fat little cheek pressed against his father's shoulder. Eyaeyaeyaaaaa, he vocalizes around his curled fingers, and Leia carefully wriggles the soiledcloth out from under him.)