Ink
"all I know is that I love you so, so much it hurts."
Small. So impossibly small in her hands which suddenly seemed too big for him to be cradled in, wrapped in a blanket blinking up at her with wide eyes. There were tears in hers, she was so, so tired. Exhausted. But there he was, her tiny baby, resting on her chest, held tightly in her arms with a strength she didn't know where it came from. Tears kept running down her face and she could feel her husband's thumb sweeping them away, asking if she was okay, yes, yes, yes, she was okay, she was just tired to the bone, and happy and scared, and every other emotion under the sky. It all seemed to flood her, hit her, all at once, that this was hers, he was hers, theirs, and he would be forever. It was too big of a concept to comprehend, she would be his world, he only knew her, she was all he had ever known, the safety of her body and her warmth and her love. So much love, so much light. She was overwhelmed by the light emitting from this tiny creature in her arms that was still smeared with blood and squirming on her breast, scrunching up his face and she let her slim index finger slide down his cheek and he opened his fist and caught her finger and closed it in a tight grip, tighter than he should be able to at barely five minutes old. She could her his father laughing breathlessly over her shoulder, stroking her hair, but she was barely registering it, all her focus on her baby boy, who was still nameless. The rest of her fingers closed around his fist and she kept it there, right on her heart. She knew, she knew in that moment, that no matter what she would do, she would never be enough for this precious boy, this innocent life that had never known pain or darkness. He felt safe in her arms, she could somehow, impossibly, feel him, feel his confusion at this incredibly bright and loud world, and she had to smile. She would have held him there forever, against her heart, the place where he belonged and would always belong.
And as he got older she would pull him onto his lap, he always wanted to rest there, curled against her chest, her resting her head on top of his, their hearts beating in sync. His first birthday, a face full of blue icing and cake, so tired that he fell asleep in her arms and she could have never imagined a happier day. His first steps, her gratitude for the fact that she had been there, just after dinner, setting him on mat and clearing the table, him pulling himself up on one of the chairs, nothing out of the ordinary, but then taking a wobbly step, standing free and she had squeaked and crouched down in front of him while his father fumbled with a camera and he had taken the three steps into her arms, laughing wholeheartedly, pleased with himself, burying his face in her neck and looking out sheepishly as she spun him around, grinning and kissing his face all over.
The baby's first time being allowed to help fly the Falcon, perched on his father's lap, the proudest smile on both of their faces, looking so similar, it seemed improbable. The same frown of concentration on his little forehead, lips pursed, his father's arm wrapped tightly around his middle, making him feel safe and loved. Oh, she loved them both, so much happiness coming off of them and wrapping her up and making her feel like she was floating in the sky. The little boy then turning on his father's lap looking over and freeing himself, crawling over to her, sitting on her again, this familiar position they had perfected over the years, her body seemed to be made for him to be there and she couldn't imagine a day he would not be pressed up against her heart with his fingers in her braid.
Fingers always in her braid, from the very first night and ever since. He seemed to use it as a safety blanket, refusing an actual blanket or stuffed animal, content with the fact that her long hair enabled him to always be able to hang on to her. She actually didn't mind too much, most of the time. She finally understood why she had felt reluctant to cut her hair in the past, besides tradition. It had waited for him to be there, providing comfort.
On the bad days when her nightmares would creep into her days and he would smile, his tiny, almost toothless smile and put his miniature, sticky hand to her cheek and soothe her, just like she soothed him, and making himself at home next to her on the bed, one hand still on her cheek the other resting on her heart and she had to cry because she was supposed to take care of him, not the other way around. And when his father had come home that day, to her teary face, the baby asleep next to her, almost buried inside her and he wrapped his arms around both of them and she would feel happy again, knowing that this was the place she belonged.
His very first nightmare, he had just started school, when he woke up screaming, and so had she, storming into his room, fumbling with the light switch, he was shaking, covered in sweat and she had frozen on the spot, seeing her son, her tiny baby so scared, scared the way she still got sometimes, it terrified her more than any nightmare she had ever had. Getting him out of his wet clothes stripping the bedsheets and scooping him up, he was getting heavy, and carrying him into her bed, his father mumbling something from the other end, throwing an arm around both of them. Him curling into a ball, seeming to want to crawl back into her body, the only place he had always felt safe. She had cried silently that night, anxious for his future, never wanting him to feel unsafe, yet having in failed, seemingly just because she was his mother, the one who should protect him from exactly this, the irrational fear for her bloodline coming back, suddenly not seeming very irrational anymore. It was the first time she had closed their connection when he was upset. Their force connection, as her brother had determined it, something so strong that sometimes it felt like they were one person still, instead of two very separate units. She had actively closed it, shielding him from her anxiety, and she could feel him fidgeting in his sleep, not having her there, soothing him, making him feel safe because she knew she couldn't, because for some reason she felt like it was the beginning of something dark.
His increasing temper tantrums where he would break things, blow up vases and knock over chairs, not being able to calm himself and not letting her help, not letting her in, pushing her away. How it had gotten so bad one day that they just locked him in the apartment and waited outside the door, her hands pressed up against the wall outside of the apartment, her knees weak and crying, crying so much because he wouldn't let her in, because he was hiding his pain from her. How when he had quietened down, they had carefully stepped inside, everything seemed to be trashed and they found him sobbing on the floor in the middle of the room and she had rushed forward and scooped him up into his lap, not realizing it would be the last time she would ever do it, and pressed his head against her, his curls slick with sweat and tears, and he wrapped his arms around her, so, so tightly, him whispering how he was sorry, how he didn't know what was happening, that he didn't mean to, telling her, almost pleading, help me mom, and she had tightened her grip telling him she loved him, they loved him, he was loved but silently breaking inside because she wasn't able to help him and would probably never be. When they decided to send him to her brother a few days later, he seemed so small again, like he had when she had held him in her arms that very first time, his eyes looking at her with so much pain that she couldn't bear it and just kissed him on the cheek and they reassured him that they loved him, that they always would, and for the first time, it seemed like he didn't believe it.
He could feel her now, feeling her love for him flooding through him, knocking the breath out of him. His finger hovering over the trigger, feeling her close her eyes and almost preparing to die, and yet, yet, trying to soothe him, soothe him like she had when he was young and it was the first time in years she had reached out to him, the first time in years he had, unintentionally, let her in. Her light, her spirit, was overwhelming and consuming, and for a moment, he could see his childhood flash in front of his eyes and as the two fighters raced past him and blew up that bride, even if just for a second, he wished he could crawl back into her lap, the last place he had felt at home, and feel her heartbeat under his hand.
A/N: Okay this is my first Star Wars fanfic, and I just want to say, I am most definitely not pro Kylo (this is more supposed to be about Leia as a mother) and I do believe that Han and Leia were amazing parents. Anyway, I hope you liked it and will leave a review..?! Make me feel less insecure :)