A/N: Bratanimus and MrsTater have been friends for years, since we met in the Harry Potter fandom. This is our first fanfic collaboration, because we just couldn't resist filling in the blanks in the Solo family's story between the original trilogy and The Force Awakens. For our purposes, the only "canon" we've utilized is what we actually see in the films, not in any of the novels, graphic novels, or interviews from the film cast and crew. Based on what we see in TFA, this is our interpretation of what might have come before. We hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it. (Although "enjoy" doesn't seem like nearly the right word for the amount of feeeeeeels we poured into it. :))
1. My Love, My Land
A howl pierced Han's eardrum through the commlink, and he poked his head out of the maintenance access bay to glare toward the cockpit at the Wookiee responsible for almost deafening him with sarcasm.
"Whaddya mean, What've I done now?" Han shot back. "Wasn't me who piloted the Falcon straight into those falling boulders in that pass on Naalol and damaged the-"
A woof from Chewie, accompanied by the gesture of a shaggy hand. Han's scowl remained until he followed it, then dropped as his gaze settled on a female figure approaching down the hangar with a purpose in her stride that defied her petite size.
"Great. What have I done now?"
Chewie barked out a laugh, which earned him another glare, though Han quickly replaced it with his most winning grin as he clambered down to greet Leia.
"Afternoon, your royal loveliness," he said, rubbing his greasy hands on a shop rag that had already been used so much it just made them dirtier. "I'd kiss you, but I'm covered in oil. And not the sexy kind," he added with a wink.
In his ear, Chewie groaned and Han, smirking, tossed the cloth at the cockpit viewport before returning his attention to Leia. Who, predictably, looked simultaneously aggravated and affected by his charm. Han noted with satisfaction that her eyes had gone to his lips, and no slight degree of effort was required to lift them up to meet his gaze.
"That's just as well," she said, "as I think we've spent more than enough time kissing when we should have been talking."
Now it was Han who had to put some effort into maintaining his cool expression so she wouldn't see his inward panic at her implication of every man's most dreaded phrase, which Chewie woofed in his ear: We need to talk.
Damn.
"Do you?" he replied, stepping forward to close some of the distance between them. "'Cause from where I stand, we did a hell of a lot of talking before we ever got around to kissing."
"We did," Leia acquiesced, raising her gaze to maintain eye contact.
"So in my opinion, we're just making up for lost time."
"In your opinion."
"Uh-huh."
Han moved in even closer, so that Leia's gaze was at about chest level and he could smell the sweetness of her perfume above the stink of engine grease. She steadfastly refused to look up at him, but when he gently took her chin between thumb and forefinger to tilt her face up toward his, she didn't flinch away.
Not until he bent his head to brush his mouth to hers in spite of the oil and her opinion about how much time they spent kissing.
"Han," she murmured, a slightly exasperated exhale he felt warmly against his lips, and pressed her palm to his chest.
"You're right." He straightened up.
"You're admitting I'm right?"
Han smothered a smirk as he noticed a smudge of grease on her defiantly jutted chin. Without wiping it away-it would be fun to see how long it took her to notice, and how she reacted-he looked over her head at the scene of the hangar, a hive of mechanics, pilots, and droids. "We should take this someplace private. To talk," he clarified, anticipating her argument, swinging his gaze back down to see her mouth open in retort.
Leia pressed her lips together, smiling, although Han didn't miss the way it failed to reach her eyes, or the fine lines that etched the smooth skin around them. She was too young for that, despite how much those eyes had seen. It could only mean something was really eating at her.
"Okay, Chewie ol' pal, you heard her highness. She wants to come aboard and have a private audience, so I can't have you in the way."
Han was glad the reply about being his own worst cockblock was for his ear only, although Leia's expression as she turned to go up the gangway told him she had a pretty good guess about the gist of it. Probably didn't need the Force to do it, either.
In the Falcon's main hold, Han took off his headset and went straight to the corner nook that served as a galley to wash the oil off his hands. He really needed to upgrade it for Leia if it was going to be their ship, he thought, not for the first time since Endor. Yavin 4, Hoth, now Mirrin Prime, the rebel bases were all the same: gaping maws of need, where personal wishes got pushed to the bottom of everyone's list.
"Can I get you anything? Caf?" He leaned forward to examine the contents of the dinged-up chrome durasteel Spiran caf pot on the cook surface and tried to remember who'd brewed it, him or Chewie, and more importantly, when.
"Thank you. I've had so much already that I'm jittery."
Han glanced over his shoulder to see her pacing and frowned. Not that Leia wasn't always keyed up, but this was more than her usual state of over-caffeination or restless energy or even agitation. She was like a caged animal. She pressed one hand to her stomach, too, almost as if she were in pain. That time of the month?
He turned on the heating element beneath the caf pot to rewarm it. Hell, he didn't care if this sludge had been sitting here for a week, he needed to be fortified for this conversation.
If Leia was actually going to have it. The fact that she hadn't started talking at him by the time he'd heated the caf and sat down at the holotable was as worrying as her pacing. He tried not to let it show as he stretched an arm across the back of the seat. He wished she'd come sit next to him, nestled in the crook of his shoulder where she fit so perfectly with her head tucked under his chin, but she clearly wanted some space at the moment, so he stretched out his legs, too.
"So... what haven't we talked about because you've been too busy kissing me? Then we can get the talking over with and resume kissing."
He raised his mug to his lips, grinning over the rim at her as she stopped and faced him, but she didn't smile back, only gave a slight shake of her head.
"You're so sure that's the outcome."
The caf burned his tongue, swirled thick and bitter around his mouth and down his throat. "We kinda have a history, sweetheart."
"Yes. But do we have a future?"
The question hovered suspended between them, as if it were in fact a message transmitted by holo. That she could even ask it, after all these years, after everything they'd been through pushing them together only to pull them apart, seemingly forever, before finally putting them back together again, was alarming.
And angering.
"Why don't you tell me? You're the one with the Jedi powers." Caf sloshed from his mug as he gestured.
If Leia had rolled her eyes any harder, they would've generated their own gravitational field.
"I'm Force-sensitive, I don't have Jedi powers. Luke wants to train me. Mon Mothma and the members of her cabinet want my continued assistance with the New Republic." She always remembered to call it that, unlike Han, who still hadn't adjusted to the Alliance's name change following the Battle of Endor. "And you…"
The bitter taste of the old caf clung to Han's mouth as he waited for her to go on. She didn't. Just stood there, staring at him with her wide, beautiful eyes, and he realized she wasn't telling him, she was asking. Asking him what he wanted from her.
Steaming mug in hand, he swung his feet off the seat, boots thunking against the metal grating that formed the Falcon's floor.
"Hey," he said, crossing the small space to her in a couple of strides. "I just want you."
He reached for her, but his fingers met only air as she sidestepped him to resume pacing.
"What is all over my chin? Han…"
She'd caught her reflection in the shiny surface of the caf pot, and swiped vigorously at the oil he'd left on her chin. It wasn't quite as funny as he'd thought it would be.
"Neither being a Jedi nor fighting the Empire is conducive to having a family," she said.
"I'm not sure whether you're breaking up with me, or asking me to marry you."
"Then that makes two of us."
Leia might not know how to fight with a lightsaber like her brother, but she sure as hell was a master of verbal blows. Maybe it was the damn Force-sensitivity, who even knew?
And Han had always been fool enough never to run from a fight.
"You said you loved me," he fired back. "Or weren't you sure about that, either?"
"Of course I was sure. I am sure. But-"
"But nothing!" His voice echoed off the hard surfaces of the hold. He hadn't meant to shout. "Either you love me or you don't," he went on, at first bringing his volume down a notch, though it steadily rose again with his temper. "You want to get married or to part ways."
"Don't do this, Han. Not now, not like this."
"You're the one who wanted to talk." He spread his arms wide, sloshing even more of what remained of his caf. Leia's nose wrinkled as her gaze fell to watch it drip through the grating. "So by all means, let's talk."
She continued to stare at the floor, face pale, both arms wrapped around her middle. Not at all her usual princess-perfect posture.
"Could you please get rid of that swill?" she asked in a pinched-sounding voice. "It smells like Bantha dung."
Han exhaled, bent slightly at the waist in a mocking bow. "Your worship's wish is my command."
She winced, and instantly he regretted taking an attitude. This was how it always ended, with him shooting off his mouth-though this was the first time he was the one asking to define their relationship, and still he was screwing everything up. If Leia had been unsure about a future with him before, she'd probably made up her mind by now. Maybe he really wasn't cut out for permanent relationships, even if he finally had decided he was ready for one.
The unpleasant thought coiled around his heart and squeezed. As if it were a physical thing he could shake off, he stalked around her to the sink, dumped what was left of the caf down the drain, resisted the urge to throw the mug across the hold and hear the satisfying shatter of ceramic. He could probably break the handle with his grip alone. Deliberately, he set it in the basin, and leaned over the counter, clutching the edge of the counter till his knuckles ached.
"I'm pregnant."
Han wheeled around. "You're-"
He stopped short as the meaning of what she'd said hit him, almost physically. He slumped back against the counter, scrabbling with his hands for balance again.
"Pregnant," Leia repeated.
Han was stupidly grateful she supplied the word for him, because he couldn't quite make his lips and tongue form it, let alone wrap his brain around it. His eyes dropped from her face to her waistline, which was as tiny as ever.
"When did you…?"
"Find out? Get in this condition?"
"Yes."
"I've suspected for about a week."
"A week! And you didn't think maybe you should've let me in on the secret?"
"It was too early to know anything for certain. You would only have worried."
"Yeah, but we could've had this conversation then, and you wouldn't be picking fights with me about not talking about stuff."
Leia's nostrils flared with a sharp intake of breath, but as she clenched her jaw, she seemed to swallow the point. "Maybe I shouldn't have kept it from you."
"Maybe?"
Han knew he was just being petulant now that the flare-up of temper had subsided, but he was left feeling more than a little bit hurt that she'd kept it from him. Sure, it was sweet that she hadn't wanted him to worry, but why had she been so sure that would be his reaction?
"What's done is done," Leia said, coolly composed, as in command of herself and the situation as she was in the battle room. "This morning I confirmed it. Eight weeks along."
"Eight weeks. Huh."
Leia said nothing, but when he returned his gaze to her face he saw her regarding him from beneath raised eyebrows, as if she were expecting him to say something further.
Eight weeks.
He felt his own brow arch above widening eyes in realization. "Eight weeks ago we were on Endor." Celebrating the Rebel victory. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, and he stood up a little straighter. "Guess the Falcon wasn't the only one of us who fired accurately that day."
"This is hardly a joking matter."
No, it wasn't. And he'd be damned if he just stood here like a spectator and provided the witty commentary while he watched the only woman he'd ever loved leave him because he couldn't take this seriously. Pushing off the counter, Han went to her, soles scuffing on the floor. Again his arms went out to hold her. When had that become as instinctive to him as breathing? This time, she let him lay his hands on her shoulders.
"What do you want, Leia?"
She looked up at him, brow furrowed.
"You talked about what Luke wants for you…what the New Republic wants…hell, even what I want. What about what you want? Have you thought about that?"
Her chin tightened, lips pursing in an expression that clearly said she hadn't. His chest constricted at the thought of her going through her adult life wanting nothing for herself because of her laser focus on the rebellion. Maybe, too, she'd been afraid to want because of all she'd lost. Her parents, her world…him, nearly. But she'd gotten him back, and Luke, the brother she'd never known she had.
"Do you want to be a Jedi?" he prompted.
A brief hesitation, then she heaved out a breath and said, "No. I don't want to let Luke down but…I think I've proven my ability to do good in the Galaxy without wielding a lightsaber."
"Okay."
Han squeezed her shoulders, as much to reassure her as from relief he wasn't going to lose her to the Force-though he'd feel a little more assured if not being on board with that whole vow of celibacy was one of her reasons. Heaven only knew politicians didn't make any such promises.
"So that answers my next question: you want to continue working for the New Republic."
"Well, yes," Leia replied, in much the same way she'd answered him when he asked if she loved Luke. "After spending my entire adult life fighting for it, I certainly can't walk away now."
"Like the Damerons?" Han interjected, a little more bitterly than he intended.
Leia had been disappointed when two of their top pilots, a married couple, resigned their posts, but she'd understood Shara and Kes' reasoning, not wanting to continue taking so many risks when they had a young son. If he was honest, he'd wished Leia would stop risking her life, after the close shave she'd had with Shara on a mission to Naboo, even if she didn't have the same reason. His stomach performed a swooping aerial stunt at the realization that in fact she had been pregnant at the time.
"Not exactly like that," Leia retorted. "Obviously we won't be fighting forever, once we've cleared out the last of the Imperial holdouts. I was a senator before I was a general, after all."
"So how is that incompatible with…" A husband. A child. "…a family? I mean…it worked for your parents, right?"
The Organas, not Vader-and if he was struggling to come to terms with that, how much more difficult must that be for Leia?
Han's throat tied itself into a knot. He swallowed, painfully.
"That is…assuming you even want…"
Because he didn't know. She was right; they hadn't ever talked about marrying…carrying on the family line…
"I do," Leia replied, with only the slightest tremor of uncertainty in her voice, "but is it really as simple as that?"
"Well, you see, when a man and a woman love each other very much-"
"I don't mean biologically."
Her confidence returned with her annoyance, along with the twinkle in her eyes and the purse of her lips that told him she even secretly liked his inappropriate jokes. But as she continued to look up at him, her eyes begged for real answers to her questions. It was the way she'd looked at him on Bespin, when he'd brushed his lips across her forehead and his misplaced trust in Lando let her down.
With a heavy sigh, Han released her shoulders, scuffed his hand across his own chin, the stubble prickling.
Ridiculously, her voice reverberated in some back corner of his mind, scruffy-looking nerf-herder. Looks aside, he was nobody's idea of a fit consort for a woman like her, much less the picture of stable fatherhood. You think a princess and a guy like me…? Luke's answer had been a resounding no. Of course, Luke liked him better now. So did she, obviously.
"The hell if I know, Leia." Han flopped down onto the holotable seat once again. "I've never really lived my life with any kind of plan or future vision."
It had always been job to job, this mission to the next-if he lived that long.
"So I've noticed."
"Even now that the war's mostly over, I still don't have a clear image of the future."
He paused, unaccustomed to verbalizing his deepest feelings in the open way that came to him now. Then again, he'd never felt anything this deep before. Holding back never got him anywhere with Leia. He forged ahead.
"Only that I can't imagine any version that doesn't have you in it."
Leia's face softened, and this time, when Han stretched his arm out along the top edge of the lounge, she joined him, pressing herself snug against his side as he wrapped both arms around her, resting his cheek against the hair he loved to let down from its intricate arrangements.
For several minutes neither of them spoke, then finally Leia broke the silence.
"It won't be just with me."
"We've established there will be a third smaller person, too. And probably a fourth larger, hairier person."
"And the Republic," Leia said. "It'll be a lot of work, rebuilding it."
"You'll be making a better galaxy for our kid."
"I'll likely have to travel a lot. I don't really know where we'll call home."
"Luckily, I know a guy with a ship."
Her head moved on his shoulder to look up at him with an incredulous expression he knew all too well. "I was going to say they might be able to find us two-bedroom quarters here on base, but...You want us to live on the Falcon?"
So he guessed that settled it. They were having a baby. Could she feel his heart about to pound out of his chest?
"Haven't we practically for the last however many years? Come on, picture it. We can hang curtains."
Leia snorted. "Curtains?"
"Rip out one of the crew bunks, put in a crib. Hell, I'll even put in a proper galley."
"About damn time," she said with a husky chuckle.
Han looked around the ship, the vision he'd indulged in his mind's eye suddenly appearing in front of him more clearly than any future he'd ever imagined. And then it blurred.
"I never had anything all my own before," he said through an unexpectedly tight throat. Was he going to cry? "Except the Falcon."
"All our own," Leia corrected, but as she straightened up to look at him, she wore a pleased little smile.
"That sounds even better."
They fell silent for another moment, looking into each other's eyes as Leia stroked his cheek with gentle fingers. "When did you become so wise?"
"You know, it would be nice if you could at least pretend not to be surprised."
"Sorry. Surprised is my general state of mind at the moment. You really think we can do this? That it's…safe?"
"Why wouldn't it be safe?"
Her eyebrows pulled together, and as she turned, Han felt the tightness in her shoulder as she hunched in on herself.
"Leia?"
"We've made a lot of enemies for ourselves…"
"Most of them are dead," Han said, his hand sliding down from her shoulder to trace circles in the small of her back. "The rest will be soon."
"You're right…I just…have this feeling."
"We've had plenty of those."
Or did she mean a Force feeling?
"It's probably just paranoia," Leia said, although she didn't sound convinced. "The lingering effects of trauma."
They'd had plenty of that, too. Few nights passed that one or the other of them wasn't roused by nightmares about what they'd been through.
"You got nothing to worry about," Han did his best to reassure her. "I'll keep you two safe."
You two. The baby was too small to show any physical sign of its existence-unless, of course, it was the baby that made Leia unable to stand the smell of the caf-and they never even knew it existed until today. Yet already they were connected. He was connected, forever, to his child, his son or daughter, and nothing could ever break that connection. His hand slid back up to her shoulder, drawing her against him again as his other hand covered her smaller one as it rested against her stomach.
"I know you will," Leia said, weaving their fingers together.
"You're not so bad at protection, either."
Han half expected her to make a joke about all the times she'd saved his sorry ass, but instead she looked up at him with those imploring eyes again.
"We'll be good parents?"
"Sure," Han said. "I'm great with kids."
"You are?"
He grinned at her look of surprise. "I raised myself, and look how I turned out."
"Very reassuring."
"And yet you want be with me."
"Is that a proposal?"
"Is that a yes?"
In answer, Leia leaned in, head tilted to kiss him. Before she could, Han caught her chin and held her back. "I think we should talk about this first."
She rolled her eyes. "If you want me to give you an answer, you've got to ask me a question first."
"All right then, princess. Will you marry me?"
"Yes, you big stud, now will you shut up and kiss me?"
He grabbed her ass to lift her off her feet, and Leia's shriek of laughter echoed through the Falcon.
