(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]

"I'm not sure," he grouses, voice still a little rough. He's been out long enough that the worst of the sickness has passed, but considering what they've come through he'd probably feel like hell even if he'd been fresh when they started. Half of what's happened is still something of a mystery to him-- a literal blur.

"Everything's hazy."

It's a bit of clarification, hopefully. He can't be too specific, because the Falcon is so deeply ingrained in him he's sure his mind would make up the lines of its curved corridor, the old stains on her paneling. As long as no one's put anything out of place he could get through it in pure darkness. Maybe even fly her, as long as it was clear space.

But he's not eager to test the theory.

He leans on her, though his other hand reaches for the bulkhead-- the familiar, comforting texture of his ship.

"So, what now? Am I flying this thing?" He really hopes he's not, not without a dozen hours of sleep and a couple pots of caf.

[imahologram]

"Not if everything's hazy, you aren't." As miraculous as it seems to have him here--not only alive but back on the Falcon, free of Jabba's clutches forever--Leia's not about to let it go to her head. They're all worn out, but Han and Chewie are the ones that need a rest. "Lando and I will get us out of here once the storm clears a little."

Maybe Han Solo at his best could fly through that mess, but this isn't Han at his best. And anyway, Leia doubts anybody in his right mind (without Luke's Jedi skills, anyway) would punch the ship through this mess. With Jabba and Fett both dead and the Empire far from Tatooine's greatest concern, she's confident they can take the hour or two they'll need to cut out of here easily.

"And you--" but try as she might, she can't pull in as much sternness as she'd like, not when he's dodged death so often in the last day--"are off duty until you can see again."

I need to tell you something, is on the tip of her tongue, but he's barely been home two minutes. Let him breathe, Leia.

[straightouttacarbonite]

Han has never felt so relieved not to be flying his ship. He hopes he never feels that way again.

"Lando... You make sure he's careful," he mumbles, an utterly reflexive complaint. He's not entirely sure how long he's been gone-- when he can see a little more clearly maybe he'll be able to tell, Leia doesn't seem so much older but it must have been months, he thinks, if not years-- but surely they're used to this ship. Lando's logged his fair share of hours in the cockpit, even if he's probably not familiar with most of Han's modifications.

He straightens up a little bit, and manages only to stumble, not to fall flat on his face.

Ugh.

"Can you--" Even like this it stings his pride to ask so explicitly for help getting to the crew quarters. Taking a breath, he starts again.

"I think I wanna lay down."

[imahologram]

"I'll make him take copilot," Leia offers, giving Han the beginnings of a smirk she doubts he can make out. His grousing seems normal and therefore reassuring, though she has the feeling it might be more of a problem when he gets to the point of nearsighted and bored out of his mind.

(Besides, as much as she's starting to appreciate Lando's undeniable competence, she's not sure she trusts him at the Falcon's helm. With Chewie next to him, it's one thing, but Leia's not really prepared to rip Lando's arms off if he tries anything funny.)

"I think so, too." She starts steering them that way as she talks, taking care not to walk too fast for him. (There's an image to remember: long, lean Han Solo struggling to keep up with a princess half his size.) The thought of just how long a flight this will be--for both of them, but especially Han, who's still half-blind and has no idea they're going home to someone--gives her an idea. Maybe not the best idea, but there isn't really a good way to do this. Casually, she adds, "I'm going to need you to rest while you're down for the count--and get your vision back, too. When we get back, I have something to show you."

[straightouttacarbonite]

The finer points of her expression totally pass him by, but the tone of voice is reassuring enough for him to drop it. Or maybe he just gives up, knowing how little he can do to affect the situation. He trusts Leia immensely-- and as badly as things went over Bespin, he kind of trusts Lando, too.

Sort of.

His feet are more obedient than the rest of him, muscle memory taking over since there's not much conscious thought left. Sleep. Sleep sounds really, really good-- kind of funny, since he's been immobile, but hibernation is nothing like sleeping. Actual rest-- he thought he'd never have a moment of it. If things could just be boring for a bit-- just a little bit--

Leia is talking, isn't she.

"Something to--" He can't begin to figure that one out. Is she being coy? Normally he'd flirt, it's a measure of how worn down he is that he can't do anything but keep dragging himself toward the bunks. "Uh. Right. Okay."

[imahologram]

He sounds more confused than anything. Leia wonders how much of this day he'll remember, and what it'll look like in his memory. Maybe it won't look like anything at all--maybe all he'll have are feelings and sounds, of sand hitting his skin and wild shouts in a desert Leia knows she'll remember, unfairly, as smelling foul.

That was Jabba, not the desert, but they had plenty in common. The desert takes everything it can from its people, but it can be beaten. Luke's proof of that. And Jabba was the same way, in the end.

So she tells herself not to worry if Han wakes up and doesn't recall this conversation, even if she'd rather he brought the subject up next time. She sits him down on a bunk before plopping down beside him and reaching down to pull at his boots.

The moment she's sitting, she feels just how tired she is, too. I want to throw this outfit out the airlock. When she speaks again, it's patter to keep herself sharp as much as something to tell Han. "So promise me you'll have your sight back, all right? You don't get to see--" him--"it until you can see."

[straightouttacarbonite]

Confused is definitely the word of the day. (At least he knows it's day. Even in the midst of a sandstorm, Tatooine has enough sun to be decisive about that.)

Setting his hands on the reassuringly familiar mattress, he leans back, totally bewildered for a moment before he understands what she's doing. It's a lovely thought, but he couldn't care much less about his boots right now. He reaches out, a little hesitant about his depth perception, to lay a hand on her shoulder. And he's pretty sure he makes it. If he was in better shape he'd try to give her a kiss, but that seems like far too much.

"I'll be fine. Promise."

Yawning, he leans back, not quite ready to lay down til he's sure she's clear of his legs.

"How long--"

Has it been? Will it be, til they get where they're going? (Where are they going, anyway?)

Moot point. He doesn't finish, just yawns again.

[imahologram]

"Good." They both--all--will be, given time. Time and a few more successes like the end of Jabba's sprawling criminal network. Finally ending the Empire is her goal, but at this point, she just wants to get through the next week.

Maybe to *sleep* for a week, but she knows better than to hope. Rescuing Han was never a major Alliance focus. As impeach as he's been to the Alliance, this was Leia's pet project, and it was something she needed to get done between major missions.

If Leia knows Mon Mothma, she's already got more work waiting for them.

"A year," she tells him. More speech for speaking's sake--something to fill the space between them. "Get some rest. I'll check on you later."

And before she leaves to get the Falcon ready for takeoff, a kiss to his forehead. If she lets herself wrap her arms around him, she might not be willing to pull away after.

[straightouttacarbonite]

A long solid stretch of sleep-- he's pretty sure it's at least a full day before he stirs, but he doesn't bother asking and it's not like he checked the chrono before finally falling over-- does a lot to help matters. When he wakes up Han is disoriented and still a bit wobbly, but his vision is cleared up. The headache doesn't show any signs of backing down, but he's as willing to chalk that up to how long he's been sleeping or how long it's been since he ate anything as he is to the hibernation sickness.

So all in all, it's not that bad. Being stuck in a rock for a year, as it turns out, does wonders for your perspective about petty annoyances.

As soon as he's on his feet he heads for the cockpit, but true to word Leia and Lando have it all sorted, there's not much for him to do except check a few readings, whine about broken switches which have been broken for years already. Chewie is fine, Lando is fine, Leia seems fine... Fine enough, maybe a little quiet, but the truth is he's not quite sure where they stand anyway.

Someone who loves you. He's pretty sure he remembers that right.

Time wears on, though, with his sight restored and there's no evidence of what she meant to show him, and somehow he manages to be patient. Or maybe it's nervous, though the threat of death wouldn't get him to admit to that.

With his usual impeccable timing, he waits until literally the last moment-- just loud enough to be heard over the boarding ramp lowering into place.

"So what do you wanna show me?"

[imahologram]

Leia lets Han rest up as long as he needs, though she pushes some water into his hand the next time she sees him. After all that time on Tatooine, it'd be noteworthy if they weren't all dehydrated, and who knows when Han last ate? (Who knows what Han last ate?) All they have on the Falcon are ready-made meals and water, but that's enough.

You should warn him, she keeps thinking. Give him time to get used to the idea.

But if it's not an idea he can get used to, it's going to be a long flight back to the Alliance rendez-vous point. There's no reason to think he's going to jump for joy at the sight of Ben--that's why she registered him as an Organa when he was born, rather than count on a father who might never see his son. Who might, now that he's no longer frozen, not want to see his son. Every time she tries, she fails to get the words out, telling him other things instead. We're still based near Sullust. Something big is coming.

So they get all the way back before Leia can spit out the news. Just as Han's asking, she realizes the likelihood that someone will mention Ben is high. Lando already almost did at least once on the way, and Chewie's been full of significant looks in Han's direction. Among X-Wing pilots, not known for keeping their mouths shut when they ought to, and attendants who might just want to keep them informed, there's no promise Han will find out in the worst possible way.

"Follow me," she says, taking his hand and pulling him away from the milling flyboys and technicians, toward her private bunk. If they walk fast enough, they'll look uninterruptible--but, she realizes, if they're walking that fast and she's holding onto him, they're going to look like they're going for something a little more intimate than a meeting with General Madine.

Let them think what they want, she decides darkly, already steeling herself for the possibility that Han won't be interested in an inconveniently timed infant. They will anyway.

[straightouttacarbonite]

Things being a little tense doesn't quite clue him into there being anything up. He eats. Drinks. Sleeps. Thinks about making a pass at this woman who says she loves him, but things don't feel quite right for that-- and even if they'd be understanding, having other people aboard is kind of awkward. Besides, Han isn't quite back up to full strength for a bit, either. Maybe he shouldn't be waiting for her to make the next move-- orchestrating a huge year-long rescue effort is a pretty definitive move-- but he doesn't know where to go.

They're surrounded by familiar faces-- and unfamiliar ones, too, actually quite a lot of people who are clearly very glad to see Leia back-- before she can answer properly, and he can't protest when she's dragging him through the crowd. Okay, so, this feels urgent. Maybe he'll get some answers. Whether they'll be good ones remains to be seen.

"C'mon, I'm not up for distance running yet," he grumbles... Relatively cheerily, since by the time he's got breath to grumble they've made it to a quieter corridor already and slowed a bit. See, she's still holding his hand, that's a good sign. Right?

[imahologram]

"All right." Leia can grumble right back, especially when it's to cover nerves she doesn't want to admit she feels. Ben's a good baby--she loves him with a ferocity she didn't know she could feel about anyone, even Han--but he's exhausting. And he's unquestionably a baby, one that's going to need care and protection for years.

He's an undertaking, and he isn't one that fits easily into a smuggler's lifestyle. Hell, it's been hard enough just keeping him on a rebel base. She's not sure how she's going to manage the battles in the Alliance's future, how close she'll be able to get to the action without putting her son in danger of losing a parent.

More than ever, she wishes her mother and father were alive, if only to answer questions she's never thought to ask before. For instance: What does that noise mean, should he be making that noise? Or: How do I tell his father about him? It couldn't hurt to tell them she's sorry for how much she undoubtedly cried in the night after they brought her home, either.

Outside her door, she stops and looks up at him. A grim sensation settles into her stomach, threatening to bring back an echo of the nausea she felt through most of her pregnancy. "I should have told you about this earlier, but it's easier just to show you. Just...give the idea a chance."

[straightouttacarbonite]

Han has traveled from one side of the galaxy to the other; he's seen a lot of strange stuff, but honestly, he's not the least bit prepared for this. Or even clued in. Of all the possible things Leia could have in mind-- and he's made and abandoned a handful of guesses, to be sure-- the truth isn't remotely in his mind.

Leia is being cagey, which isn't unprecedented but certainly seems strange. What he's sure of is that she's deeply worried about whatever it is he's here for. She's looking at him like she expects him to bolt, which... is kind of a new look. She's spent years looking at him like she wished he'd go away, after all, and even when he was threatening to actually do it-- it wasn't like this.

"C'mon," he says, gently, a little worry creeping into his tone. Squeezing her fingers, he leans in half a step closer. "What's going on?"

It's now or never, princess.

[imahologram]

Leia shakes her head and turns away, keying in the passcode to the door. Inside, the bunk larger than most of their colleagues' quarters, but compared to a real room, it's still small: a narrow bed, not so different from those on the Falcon, a single chair, and a crib.

"Princess Leia." Saigra Andayen, apparently on Ben-watch at the moment, stands from the chair. "He's just fallen asleep--"

She falls silent when she gets a good look at the princess' face and hurries past them when Leia answers, "Thank you, Saigra. We'll take it from here."

The door slides shut with a little hiss, leaving them alone with their son. Leia pulls Han to the edge of the crib, letting him look down at the boy. He's around three months old, with surprisingly thick dark hair, and he's (mercifully) asleep at the moment. "This is Ben," she tells Han, looking down at the baby as she speaks.

[straightouttacarbonite]

Finding someone in her quarters is surprising to begin with, but it doesn't hold a candle to the more permanent occupant. He sees the crib and doesn't quite process it, but before he has time to really get there she's pulling him closer.

The baby, of course, looks like his mother, his face round and soft with sleep. Han, of course, makes entirely the wrong assumption. The name only helps matters-- he can think of someone easily who'd want to name a son after Ben Kenobi, who loves Leia, who she cares for immensely.

It's fine. Really. The important thing is that Leia is happy. Maybe it stings a little, but so what?

"You had a baby."

Taken by surprise like this, stating the obvious is the cleverest he can manage to be. It's just another moment before he gathers his wits. He should say something complimentary. What do you say about babies?

"He's cute."

Will that do?

[imahologram]

"I did." She glances up at Han, finally daring to see the inevitable shock in his expression. He looks...less shocked than she expected. Less upset, less ready to pace around, raring for an argument.

Either the carbonite mellowed him out or he doesn't want to wake the baby. Thank you for sleeping, she thinks in Ben's direction, then adds a few more possibilities that aren't quite so heartening: He's still in shock. He just plain doesn't care.

She's not sure what she wants the truth to be. It feels, a little, like getting Ham back alive and whole was more than she ever should have expected--she can't count on anything else to go perfectly.

And then he calls Ben cute--a little dazedly, sure, but he still says it--and her heart leaps in her chest. "Would you like to hold him?" she asks, trying to keep all the hope out of her voice.

[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."