A/N: This isn't super clean. Just a nagging idea I had. I hope there's something in it that you like. Also—for the purposes of this fic, Jacen Syndulla was born 2-3 months BBY. When do you think we'll find out more real, canon stuff about that kid? Fic is fun, but I'm dying for something concrete.

Midnight Oil

The briefing had lasted much longer than Bail had expected it to, and nothing really even came of it. By the time he was on his way back to his quarters on the Tantive, he was in an unusually pessimistic mood. Today, the fight against the Empire seemed too big, the odds insurmountable. It wasn't too late, he figured, to go back to Alderaan for good, bury his head in the sand, and spend more time with his family. He'd spent too much time away from Breha and Leia already, and he knew it would only get worse.

Everything was only going to get worse; the Alliance was starting to hear rumors about an Imperial superweapon under construction. So far, there had been no confirmation, but Bail was just jaded enough to believe it was true; why shouldn't it be? The Empire had muscled thousands of systems into submission. A superweapon would help them bully the rest. It was just a matter of time now until the Alliance—probably a day late and a credit short—would find out just how bad the situation was. The only productive thing that had come of tonight's meeting was the decision to move forward with an aggressive investigation into the superweapon claim.

Bail prayed it would be fruitful.

It was late when he made his way through Yavin Base's massive tunnel system and got out to the landing field, headed toward his ship. A long look toward the Tantive told him there were only two other beings out this late. Pacing at the base of her ship's lowered ramp, silhouetted by the light within, was Hera Syndulla, a crying baby in her arms. Suddenly, Bail forgot all about the Empire and the rumors of the superweapon. Compassion squeezed around his heart as he drew closer and heard the young mother's soothing hums and hushes; how many times had he and Breha spent the night walking the floor with Leia?

And that was the thing—he and Breha had been there with their baby girl. Hera Syndulla was alone. Bail remembered well the terror that accompanied being a new parent; he couldn't imagine experiencing that in the face of a war and without his loving wife. He was sure this wasn't what Hera envisioned her life would be like; in another time and place, she should have been happily settled, both her child and her partner by her side. But she'd been born in the wrong generation. She was a product of circumstance, indirectly suffering because of choices that had been made more than twenty years ago.

For the ten thousandth time, Bail wondered: How could we have let this happen?

And then he shoved that thought and the old anger aside, stepping toward the Twi'lek general with a smile he hoped looked genuine. "General Syndulla," he greeted warmly, "I see you're on duty this evening."

She turned toward him, glancing at her baby son. The worst of his cries had abated, but he was still fussy and disquieted, grabbing at one ear. "No rest for the wicked," Hera said with half a smile of her own. Her cheeks, he noticed, were damp. A pensive crease formed between her eyes. "I apologize for missing the briefing. Jacen has an ear infection—"

Bail shook his head dismissively, interrupting. "Your time was better spent with your son. There'll be a memo sent in the morning; you didn't miss very much, trust me." He paused. "I was just on my way back to my ship and since you were both up, I thought I'd stop by to meet the Rebellion's youngest recruit. I've heard nothing but the highest praise. May I hold him?"

Equal parts willingness and reluctance showed in Hera's eyes. "I'm afraid he'll only fuss," she warned.

"That's alright. Leia was often…restless as a baby. I remember what that's like."

"I forget you've done this before." Hera smiled and stepped forward, carefully placing her son in his arms. She seemed to hold her breath for a moment or two after Bail took him, no doubt waiting to see how he'd react to the change. The baby looked up at Bail, calm if only temporarily, and curiously evaluating this new person holding him. Hera made a shaky sound that was almost like a laugh. "You have the magic touch," she said. There was a quaver in her voice. "He hasn't been this still in hours."

"I'm just someone new," Bail said gently. He knew that look on the general's face—the one that told him she was feeling like a bad mother because she'd been unable to comfort her child's cries. "He'll want you back in no time at all." He looked at the child in his arms—what a delight it was to hold a baby again!—and was amazed by just how much the boy looked like his father already. "What's his full name?"

There was a hesitant pause before Hera answered, "Jacen Caleb Syndulla."

"Your surname," he said in surprise.

"Yes." The single syllable was strained. She wrapped one arm around her waist, her other hand reaching to touch the opposite shoulder. "I—the Empire knew Kanan Jarrus as a Jedi. I didn't think it wise to…" She trailed off, pressing her lips tightly together. Trying not to cry.

"Of course," Bail said dumbly, realization just a second late. "Forgive me." His heart ached for her; how well he understood wanting to distance a child from his Jedi heritage. "Do you—do you know if he has any of his father's…talents?"

The Twi'lek visibly shuddered. "I hope he doesn't," she murmured.

Bail nodded. He understood that, too. "Perhaps by the time he's grown, it won't matter." Perhaps we'll actually defeat the Empire, he thought. Perhaps children his age will know peace and freedom. And perhaps all seven Corellian hells will freeze over tomorrow.

"That's what I keep telling myself." She didn't believe it any more than he did; not tonight, anyway. She looked toward the base and threw her arm out in an expansive gesture. "This is no place for a child."

Her words were worry-and-guilty-ridden and Bail knew that right now, she wasn't General Syndulla. She was a scared mother. He thanked the Force and every unknown god in the galaxy that he and Breha had been able to raise their daughter in relative security.

"Oh," he said slowly, "I don't know. I've heard that Rogue Squadron has made Jacen their mascot. Is it true sometimes you do entire briefings with the baby getting passed from one pilot to the other and you have to ask to have him back?"

At that, Hera laughed genuinely. "Yes," she said, stroking the top of the baby's head. "They are very fond of him."

Bail locked eyes with her. "There are worse things for a child than to be fiercely loved, general."

Her expression softened and she sighed, nodding. "Thank you," she said meaningfully. "Thank you."

"Of course." He shifted the baby back to her, and Jacen cooed happily to be back in his mother's arms. "I hope you won't have to be up for much longer," he said sincerely.

She shook her head. "Now that he's settled down, I think we're going to try bedtime."

Bail smiled. "The best of luck to you, then. Good night, General Syndulla."

"Good night, Senator Organa."

She turned up the ramp of her ship and Bail kept walking toward his own, feeling a little lighter than before. Seeing the young mother and her child reminded him of simpler things and stirred his hope that the future could still be redeemed. With a renewed sense of purpose, he went straight to his office on the Tantive and sat down at his computer, sifting through dozens of senate documents. He scoured for anything which might indicate what the Empire was up to. He was burning the midnight oil, but he didn't care; it may have been too late for his child to grow up in a free and peaceful galaxy, but it wasn't too late for Hera Syndulla's. Not yet.

Thinking of both Leia and Jacen, Bail worked long into the night.