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[imahologram]

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[imahologram]

He looks like he's going to speak, but he doesn't, just stares at her like she's grown a second head. Her hands settle in her lap, squeezing the handle of her hairbrush until her fingertips are white. Whatever she was expecting--an argument, mostly--she hadn't planned for silence.

In retrospect, she should have. Han is a man of action, not a man of words, and there's nothing he can do here. Small wonder that he's gaping at her like a scalefish.

"Positive." Slowly, she forces herself to go back to finding the tangles in her hair. She can't sit here and stare back; she needs to do something. "It's--" worse--"more than that. It's twins."

And she doesn't know what to feel about it. When she came home from her appointment with the medic, she'd locked herself in their room and wept as she'd never be able in front of anyone else. And then she'd gone and picked Ben up from school and started looking for a way to explain this to her not-quite husband.

[ephidrosis]

Sometimes Han thinks he'd be likelier to argue with her if she were the woman he'd married. There's no call to treat her delicately-- Leia is Leia, she's a strong-willed woman in any reality, he's sure-- but something about knowing she's lost her husband once already gives him pause. They do scuffle now and then-- always have, it's part of what he loves about her (both of her)-- but how do you argue with that? It's not as though he can say no, you're not, as impossible as it seems.

If things were different-- he should be glad, shouldn't he? He would, except there's always been that peculiar uncertainty about them. There's always the chance that one day he'll be out walking in a rainstorm and walk back into his own apartment. His own-- but not his, now, for years. One day her husband might walk in and find her waiting with his son. And this-- it complicates things in a way that terrifies him.

He rises without meaning to, crossing to her and reaching out to touch her hair, idly trying (not very well) to help her untangle the errant strands.

Maybe they shouldn't be surprised at all.

"Runs in the family," he says softly. It's a weak joke, all he can manage.

[imahologram]

Leia nods, looking for words she's not sure exist. Words that express just how worried she is, how scared and disappointed in herself, without actually saying something that's going to hurt him.

None of them will ever live easily after this. If things never return to the way they were, her husband--her real husband, if she can say that after all this time--will live out the rest of his life wondering who Ben is. If he's safe, if he's happy. But if the Han before her walks back into his own world, he'll leave behind his children...and the right Han will see twin reminders of their time apart for the rest of his life. No matter what happens, someone will never see his child, or children, again.

She knew the dangers, and she disregarded them. What few precautions she took were clearly nothing compared to the duty she should have held to--duty to Ben, to Han, to this Han, to a Leia she's never met. To two unborn children whose father might disappear at any moment. Loneliness, as heavy and dark as it was, looks like a poor excuse in the face of the pain it could cause in the future.

In the silence, Leia reaches for his hand, her hair still caught between his fingers, and squeezes tight.

[ephidrosis]

He wonders, often, what his counterpart is up to in the world he left behind. They don't talk much about Han Solo; it used to be a thing that happened of necessity, when he had to clarify something that happened or didn't, when the subtle shifts in the course of their lives mattered more. It's never been comfortable, talking about what they've lost like that. But he imagines, for her to care about him the way she does, they can't be so dissimilar.

Which means, he thinks, that if his other self walked in and found their family grown, he'd throw himself into loving the kids because they needed it. But it's different, he knows; it wouldn't be easy like it was with Ben, because there's an element of betrayal to it... No matter how often he tells himself there isn't.

(And what would he do if he walked in and found his own wife now, with unfamiliar children crowding around her? That's not an easy question to answer. He wants to believe he'd do right by all of them-- his wife, his not-wife, and the man he can't meet, and the children, no matter whose they were-- but it's not simple, and it's not the sort of thing you can really know unless it happens, perhaps.)

"We said we weren't going to spend our lives waiting," he reasons. It feels a little hollow, but he's trying to feel decisive about it. This is a good thing. It is. It ought to be. Ben is one of the best things that's ever happened to him, strange as the circumstances may be-- another baby-- babies-- they ought to be glad.

Giving her hand a squeeze in return, he smiles unseen, crooked and soft. Maybe a little forced. It's all right.

"That's twice as many names to figure out."

[imahologram]

"Don't remind me." She groans at his joke, if it can be called that, and leans her forehead against his side. "We might have to ask Ben for help."

The thought of telling Ben is a small bright spot in this mess. He'll be happy, if anyone will--what child wouldn't want younger brothers or sisters? She'd always longed for a sibling when she was that age, never knowing that she was looking for someone she should have had. And the twins will have each other, whatever else might happen.

Leia lets go of his hand and, though she ought to finish dealing with her snarled hair, she stands, snaking her arms around his neck. The twins aren't the only ones who have someone. She and Han are in this together, as long as they're both here. It's if--or when--that changes that things get complicated.

"You're the one who loses out if things change," she murmurs, her eyes on his. "Are you sure you can accept that?"

That's the question that really matters. If he can't face the possibility of leaving them, she's not sure what they should do. There are solutions besides muddling along the way they have for years now, but Leia's not sure she can face them; as torn as she feels over the situation, she wants these children.

[ephidrosis]

"Things might never change."

It feels, most days, like it couldn't possibly be any different. There are never moments when he imagines it wasn't different, but living like this has come to feel as normal as anything else-- normal as being a scoundrel married to a princess in the first place, normal as being a war hero. Being a father. But all of it, he knows, could be gone as easily as anything.

"He'd take care of them," he adds, unwilling to mention her husband but feeling like it's a necessary point to make. She clings close, and he slips an arm around her waist, the other hand still tangled in her hair. It's hard not to think of that first night, suddenly-- the first moment when they'd realized something was wrong, when she'd brushed up against him.

There's something kind of thrilling about it, he can't deny. If not for the ever-present possibility that he might walk out the door someday and never come back--

"You want them," he ventures. That's an easier thought to parse than his own complicated feelings on the matter. (He wants them. He'd barely thought about it, before Ben-- but it's exciting, the prospect of being a father start to finish. It feels unfair to think it, even, when in every way that matters Ben is his. It's different, even if it's not different.)

[imahologram]

"I want to be able to live with myself." No matter what she does, she's not sure she'll be able to. That's something she's used to in her work--politics are messy at the best of times, and the war robbed her of the luxury of easy decisions--but in her private life, she longs for simplicity. In the last two years, she's learned to live with the knowledge that she's traded fidelity for a life that feels right, but this?

If they go through with this, they'll never be able to go back. If they don't, though, she's not sure how she'll go forward.

"And I want them," Leia admits, her fingers settling over the nape of his neck. He knows her too well. "You do, too, don't you?"

It's not really a question. She can see the answer in his eyes, feel it in his mood. With as much as he loves Ben, she can't imagine he'd be anything but a wonderful father to these two as well.

And the other Han, her Han, she thinks, would rather two extra children, given the options. He'd been so happy about Ben, back when Ben was Something and he was still here with her. He might not be happy about what they mean, but he would love them.

She'll just have to learn to live with it.

[ephidrosis]

"Of course."

He doesnt really need to say so, he knows-- surely she can tell-- but it seems like the kind of thing you ought to say. Especially in a moment like this one, where they're twisted up, caught between guilt and joy. He's been a father for years, now. (Years, they've been married to each other for years, even if they never married each other.) This isn't the unknown prospect Ben was, but it's still thrilling.

So maybe it's disloyal, maybe it's unfair, but he really wants to kiss her, so he does.

[imahologram]

All questions of loyalty aside, she could use a good kiss. And in Han, as always, she finds one, stretching up to meet his mouth and relaxing a little against him.

It's going to take time before she can really call herself pleased by this news, or excited, but at least she's decided. Having a plan is more important than feeling at peace; a plan allows her to do things, even if she's not entirely happy about them.

"I'm almost two months along," she tells him, when her heels touch the floor again, and wryly, "I wonder what did it."

Her guess--and admittedly, it's only a guess--is their own private afterparty from a fundraising dinner. The actual function was average, but Ben was surprisingly annoyed by the fact that his parents were going out that evening; they'd returned well after his bedtime and kissed his sleeping head before retiring to their room to undress.

[ephidrosis]

Paradoxical as it is, the contact makes him feel better-- less guilty. Maybe it's just knowing they're in this together, right or wrong; maybe it's that at least he can do this little bit to make her feel more comfortable. Feeling conflicted about this isn't unmanageable. There'd been an element of that with Ben, if only because of the timing, to say nothing of the complication of his arrival. No one should take it lightly, the responsibility of having children, but least of all people living lives like theirs. Things are peaceful enough, but that doesn't mean there's no danger.

He has yet to meet a Leia Organa who isn't worth the risk.

Her speculating gets a sly smile, and he hums thoughtfully, running his palm along her side. There are, he has to admit, no shortage of contenders-- they haven't been shy, since they made the choice that first time.

"How long ago was that time in the speeder?"

[imahologram]

Leia laughs, and it feels like something inside of her slackens. Whatever tide pulling at her, through her, has ebbed and calmed, at least for now. It might simply be the realization that they can still joke, despite what a shock the news is.

(Perhaps, she thinks, it's the children--but they can't already be showing signs of the Force, surely. The medic said they were the size of denta beans.)

"That was...hmm..." Her eyes slip shut for a moment as she thinks back. Just the thought of that night, and of Han's strong thighs straddled by her own, warms her skin. "After the Mandalorian summit, so it was three months. Try again, hotshot."

[ephidrosis]

(Even if he wasn't habitually a skeptic, Han would poke holes in that one. They don't need any outside-- or rather, inside-- influence to get them through this. They've held up through worse. They're resilient. Of course they can still joke. And more.)

"That long?" The idle surprise is mostly for effect. He mulls it over for another long moment, still smiling at her.

"Maybe I need a reminder," he jokes.

[imahologram]

"You want a reminder, huh?" She lets a sharp little smile grow on her face, her brows raising. For you, flyboy, maybe a full repeat performance. "You think you can handle that tonight?"

Probably he can--after a few days away from home, he always grows as hungry for contact as she does. And tonight, especially tonight, they could both stand to take comfort in each other's presence. It's a peculiar way to solve this problem, but besides an argument or a mission, she can't think much that they do better together

(Besides, it's not as though they'll end up with more of a pregnancy at this point. They might as well.)

"Because," Leia continues, letting her fingertips slide down his neck, coming to rest at his collarbone, "that could be arranged."

[ephidrosis]

It might say something awful about him, that his go-to reaction is to flirt with her as a way to push past the guilt. Really, though; they've made their bed and laid in it, now's not the time to be shy. Right or wrong, he does love her. And he loves the idea of this, beyond all the uncertainty and worry and complication. The idea of a child-- two!-- all theirs, no questions.

"Can I handle you?" He says it like of course, leaves it unanswered to flatter her. As well as anyone can. He reaches to curl his hand around hers, lifting it to kiss her knuckles, never taking his eyes off her. This is a much better way to work through it than an argument, he thinks.

"It's definitely been too long." It hasn't been that long at all. But still.

[imahologram]

Maybe it's not the most flattering of facts about them, but nobody else needs to know. If it works--and it does, if the way the tension slips from her shoulders is any indication--then that's what matters. Their lives are complicated enough without bringing Han's status as an outsider to this universe into the picture. If they can make that part more bearable...

Besides, the way he's looking at her, his mouth at the backs of her fingers and his eyes crinkling with amusement, she wants him. It's impossible not to, with his hand warm on hers.

"And Ben's asleep." So, for that matter, are the twins, if they can be said to sleep. She'd bet ten credits that they're going to start making her mornings a nauseated hell in a week or two, but for now, they're in the clear. "You know, it's going to be harder to find time for it with three children."

Especially when two of them are needy little infants. She doubts they'll want to look for much besides sleep.

[ephidrosis]

With all they've been through-- apart and together-- it's little wonder they've gotten good at comforting one another, even if their methods are a little particular.

He hums approvingly. Ben's asleep-- he'd never have imagined what a triumph it would feel like, the first time their son slept through the night-- and for now, that's all they have to worry about.

"Then we'd better make the most of it," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss her again, tangling his fingers in her hair.

[imahologram]

"Mm," she agrees, her mouth buzzing light against his. It doesn't seem so bad to have things out this way, mostly because the press of his lips is enough to quiet some of her worries. There's something a little celebratory to it, worried as she's been for the last day--or there should be, at least. They care for each other, and they're resigned to taking the future as it comes. They might as well try to be a little welcoming of that future.

Taking hold of Han by the belt buckle, she pulls him along toward the bed. Give her an inch, and once she's decided to go along with it, and she'll take a mile.

"Come here." Next to the bed, she's pulling at his shirt, looking up at him intently. "I want to see just what you can handle."