a/n: another little Ben thing? but in case you can't tell, when I do dabble in this universe, I ignore any notion that Han and Leia were "bad parents" and thus to blame for the total disaster that is Crylo Ren

Bad Days

Years of this, years of commitment, and years of experience with her, and yet still there were some nights when he felt like he was failing – failing her, failing himself, failing their relationship. She never made him feel like that – but watching her suffer, it was hard, and somehow, it was even harder on nights like tonight, when it had been so long since the last bad day, and he found himself sitting up with her, keeping vigil, providing comfort, listening to her, or talking to her, and thinking – no, no, not again, don't let her feel like this again –

Reminded, always, that it didn't matter how far removed she was from the terrors of the past – it didn't matter that; even when good days were more the norm than bad, there was still so much that haunted her.

He was off his game; he just hadn't seen it coming this time – wrapped up in the demands of his own hectic schedule, he'd forgotten the date, failed to see the days on the calendar converging on one point that ached for her; he'd been baffled by her reticence all day, the way she'd picked nasty little fights with him – he'd missed it completely, until she woke up for the first time in – a year, it seemed like a whole year had passed since one of these nights – woke up screaming for her mother, and her father, and mercy, and he calmed her down, thinking - Leia, I'm so sorry I forgot –

He hadn't really forgotten; the occasion was not one that was given to absent-mindedness, but he had forgotten that it still hurt so sharply for her, still felt so fresh, and because it had been so long since she'd been like this, he felt inadequate and exhausted, unsure of himself.

He set his jaw and grit his teeth and raged at himself, frustrated, muscles aching – he was tired, he was stressed, and he didn't blame her, just hated that she could never quite escape the nightmares and the flashbacks –

Shaking his head, he stumbled in the dark towards the bedroom door, finally having convinced her to let him get her some tea with a strong sedative in it – she often tried to resist sleeping aids, but they both knew she needed it. It was nearing four in the morning and she hadn't been able to sleep for longer than half an hour without waking in cold sweats and hot panics; it was no wonder that after the past hour of crying and hoarse raging against the Empire, the Empire that was dead but that never let her have any peace – she relented.

Han opened the bedroom door, slipping out quietly and avoiding letting in much light from the dim hallway – and he stumbled, dropping down to one knee as he lost his balance. He flung his hand out in surprise for support, bracing knuckles against the floor, and looked up, blinking harshly.

He found himself level with a pale little face, framed by dark, messy hair – knotted with sleep and sticking up in odd places. His son winced and took a scared little breath, drawing his legs up, and hugging them, his face a puckered apology.

Han knelt up more steadily, considering him – he'd been sitting with his back against the wall, staring straight at his parents' bedroom door, legs outstretched. He huddled now, afraid Han was going to yell at him, possibly start swearing, but Han swallowed his irritation at being unceremoniously pitched onto the floor and straightened his shoulders.

"Ben," he said quietly, only a little stern. "Why are you out of bed?"

The boy's large, gentle eyes blinked back at him, huge as saucers, and brown and a little wet – the same eyes that he and Leia frequently argued over; he said they were hers, she said they were his, and so on and so forth until Luke told them both to shut up.

Ben took a breath and it hitched a little, and Han compressed his lips – Gods, if Ben was having nightmares, too –

"My chest hurts," Ben complained in a small voice. "My head."

Han let out a breath quietly, and glanced back at the door – he'd left it cracked, when he went down on one knee, and though he couldn't see her, he focused on the room for a moment, reflecting on Leia curled up under the sheets in bed, shaking, dehydrated – tired and upset.

He stood up, clearing his throat a little, and held out his hand.

Ben looked up at him uncertainly, and then took it, letting Han haul him up to his feet. Han pulled Ben against his side tightly, ruffled his hair, and looked down at him seriously, standing still for a moment.

He inclined his head towards the kitchen.

"C'mon, kid," he said gently, taking a step and leading Ben down the hall.

Ben kept up with him at a bit of a lilt, taking large, uneven steps to mimic his father's pace, and Han flipped on a low kitchen light. Ben blinked wildly, adjusting to the glimmer, and Han stepped back a moment, folding his arms and looking down at him – perhaps it was foolish to think Ben had slept through all of the chaos tonight.

Ben chewed on his lip, slouching back against some cabinets, standing opposite Han – and he put his hand to the side of his head anxiously, lifting his shoulders tensely.

"You feel sick?" Han asked, taking a step forward and crouching down a little.

He put his hands on Ben's shoulders and examined him, thinking – great timing, kid – but it wasn't a malicious thought, just a little defeatist; Han was never good at triage when it came to Leia or Ben.

Ben nodded, but shrugged one of Han's hands away.

"I'm not sick," he said, looking perturbed. He leaned closer, his lips shaking.

"What's wrong, Ben?" Han asked, arching his brows tiredly.

Ben's eyes welled up.

"What's wrong with Mommy?" he asked in a tiny, frightened voice.

Han leaned back and studied him intently, and then stood up. Without thinking, he leaned over and hoisted Ben up – at seven, he was entirely too big to be carried, but Han was easily capable of lifting him, and Ben was clearly under some serious duress. He had enough experience with Luke and Leia and their eerie emotional connections to know that Ben had sensed something.

Ben clung to him, and put his head on his shoulder. Han sat him on the counter, and then braced his hands on either side of Ben's legs, leaning down a little to look at him.

He struggled for a moment with what to say – there was no point in lying, a frustrating fact Han had already discovered; Force sensitive kids had the maddening ability to sense falsehoods. He didn't want to scare Ben - but this was Leia's reality, sometimes, and he also didn't want Ben to think it made her weak, or shameful.

Han smiled a little.

"Mommy's having a bad night," he said carefully.

He paused a beat, and then cleared his throat.

"You hear her yelling?" he asked.

"She was screaming," Ben said, touching the heel of his hand to his forehead. "I thought someone was attacking her."

Han shook his head.

"No, she's safe," he assured him. "She had a lot of bad dreams tonight. You know how scary bad dreams can be."

Ben nodded slowly. He lowered his hand and twisted his fingers together in his lap, questions bubbling at his lips. Han gave him another half smile, and then arched his brows.

"You want to help me take care of Mommy?" he asked.

Ben nodded earnestly, and Han held up one finger.

"Sit tight," he said.

He retrieved a mug, a spoon, tea with the sleeping aide, and set the kettle on for hot water. He handed Ben the tea and got back down on eye level, giving him a meaningful look.

"You're going to drop that tea flower into the hot water when it's ready and stir it real good, okay?" he instructed.

Ben nodded earnestly again, looking past Han for a moment at the simmering whatever.

"What will it do?" he asked quietly.

Han sighed a little hopefully.

"It'll help her sleep," he said – and threw in a silent prayer of hope that it really would.

Ben nodded, and cupped the tea flower delicately in his palms. Han turned and leaned against the counter next to him, both of them facing the stove and the kettle – and Han cleared his throat, haunted by the look of wide-eyed fear that Ben had given him as he sat in the hallway.

"I don't want you to worry about your mom," he said gruffly. "She's tough. She's really tough. She just has some bad days."

Ben kicked his feet against the cabinets below him.

"Is it because I didn't behave today?" he mumbled miserably.

Han reached over and ruffled his hair, pulling him towards him and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

"No," he said firmly, the answer muffled affectionately in Ben's mussed hair. He tilted his head and caught Ben's eye seriously, shaking his head. "It's not your fault," he promised.

Ben frowned, picking lightly at the tea flower.

"Then…because why?" he asked hoarsely.

He looked at Han pleadingly, wanting to understand, and Han listened to the water boil lazily and wondered how he was supposed to explain post-traumatic stress disorder to a seven-year-old, when Ben's biggest problem – thank Gods – was that he kept breaking his training speeder, and Leia wouldn't buy him a new one.

He couldn't expect Ben to grasp the ins and outs of trauma and depression and how it all struck Leia so unexpectedly sometimes – the trauma, more than anything else, because she'd long since considered herself to have conquered the other.

Han shifted his weight, and then settled on the simplest explanation he could find.

"Well," he began thickly, "on this day, way before you were born, some bad people did some bad things to her," he said carefully. "You remember how Mommy is the Princess of Alderaan, but we don't can't live there or visit there because it's all gone?"

Ben nodded solemnly – his understanding of what had happened was limited, but he knew it was his mother's home, and it didn't exist anymore. The New Republic was riddled with memorials and references to Alderaan – and of course, he heard of the place often at home.

"Today's the day that happened," Han said quietly – and added, to himself – and it slipped my mind, and I wasn't gentle enough with her today.

Ben's face puckered, and he swung his feet solemnly, looking down at the flower. He held it up and tilted is head, and Han watched, quietly impressed, as the petals folded and unfolded, dancing lightly – the barest manifestation of the things Ben would be able to do one day, under Luke's tutelage.

"I wish I could make it alive again," Ben murmured.

Han nodded, folding his arms.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Me too."

He'd do anything, if he could, to assuage all of this pain Leia carried around – Sith, she was so good at fooling everyone, at making everyone forget that it had happened to her, and these days even he fell victim to her expert traps, lulled into a false sense of peace, of thinking she was completely whole –

He hated being reminded that there were always going to be bad days, even if they were fewer and farther between, and he hated that he could never do anything but be there to anchor her through them.

Ben stretched out his arm.

"Steam," he said, and Han lunged forward to take the kettle, removing it from the stove, and turning to pick up the mug.

Ben reached for it, and Han shook his head; it would be too hot. He poured the water, then set everything aside, set the cup next to Ben's leg, and gestured for Ben to drop the tea flower in.

The kid did so with care, immediately reaching for the spoon to stir, watching the water froth and steam and turn a calming, mesmerizing shade of periwinkle blue. He watched his reflection ripple in the medicinal water, and then looked up at Han.

"Can I come and see her?" he asked.

Han hesitated.

"I think you ought to go back to bed," he said slowly, letting Ben continue to stir the water. "It's not a good night, Ben."

Ben's brow furrowed.

"Am I a bad thing that happened to Mommy?" he asked.

Han's chest felt tight; his mouth dry – he hadn't meant – he only meant that thought Leia would be devastated if she knew Ben was up and worrying about her, and he didn't want to make her feel worse – there was so much he was unable to make Ben understand at this age –

He reached out and put his hand on Ben's, stopping him from stirring. He reached over with his other hand and tilted the boy's head up, catching his eye seriously.

"No," he said emphatically. "That's not what I mean," he assured him.

He paused, clenching his teeth, grappling for something to say. He came up with nothing, and sighed, leaning forward dejectedly – and he relented.

"You can help me bring her the tea," he said. He pushed Ben's hair back. "That way you can see she's safe, okay?" he compromised. "Then you let me put you back to bed, and I promise I'll make sure Mommy feels better."

Ben frowned and pointed at the spoon, setting it to stirring on its own with a tiny bit of concentration – and then he looked up at Han and nodded. Han smiled a little and straightened, picking Ben up again and setting him down on the floor.

He picked up the mug and tested it against his palms, wincing a little. It was hot, too hot for Ben to –

"Daddy," he said, reaching up pointedly. "It won't burn," he assured him brightly. "I can tell my hands to not get burned."

Han looked at him in mild amusement, the little grin, the earnest desire to help, and he crouched and gingerly transferred the mug to Ben, holding on for a moment to make sure Ben really could use some sort of innocuous trick to make the heat bearable –

-and, it seemed: he could.

Hand on his shoulder, Han guided Ben back towards the bedroom, where at the door, he stopped, and gave a little warning knock, pushing it open and poking his head in. He indicated that Ben should stay put for a moment.

"Leia?" he asked.

He saw her shift, sitting up, pushing her tangled mess of hair back. Her eyes glittered as she blinked in the dark.

"Ben wants to see you," Han said gruffly, and then added, quickly, to let her know she should watch what she said: "He's right here."

Leia turned her head. She leaned over, turned on a dim bedside light, and Han saw her nod; he pushed open the door and let Ben carefully walk in. He strode straight to her bedside and earnestly handed her the tea, leaning up against the bed and reaching for the hem of her t-shirt.

He held it in his hands, and Leia cupped his chin, holding the tea mug against her chest with one hand.

"Hi, baby," she greeted apologetically.

He sighed, relieved to see her, and furrowed his brows.

"Daddy said you're sad," he ventured.

Leia smiled thinly.

"Shhh," she soothed. "I'll be fine," she comforted. She touched a fingertip affectionately to his nose. "You don't worry about me."

Han came to stand behind Ben, and Leia shared a look with him, a reluctant, nervous look - she didn't want Ben exposed to much of this, that much was evident, but suddenly, looking at her, Han felt the opposite – Ben had every right to know that Leia had bad nights, and he certainly shouldn't think Han was keeping it behind locked doors or was bothered by it.

Leia set aside her mug for a moment.

"You should," she started, her voice shaking, "you should be in bed – Han?" she asked. "It'll just scare him," she whispered tiredly.

Han rested his hand on Ben's shoulder, squeezing.

"C'mon, buddy – "

Ben wrenched away and scrambled up on the bed, throwing himself into Leia's lap. He tumbled down onto the pillow next to her and put an arm over her waist, resting his head right at her ribs, his face a stubborn, determined little mask.

"I'm not scared," he retorted, rolling his dark eyes. "You're just Mommy," he scoffed. "It's not like you're a monster."

Ben buried his face in her side for a moment, and then turned on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He seemed content to stay there, settled in, and Leia turned her eyes on Han, speechless – he was getting too old to be kept in the dark about things like this, and she felt anxious about appearing unstable – he was her child, and he needed to be able to rely on her –

"Mommy," Ben sighed, rolling over again and snuggling up to her. "I love you."

Leia leaned down over him and stroked his hair back affectionately, comforted. She looked over her shoulder at Han, and he had a silent conversation with her – was Ben allowed to stay, did he need to go back to bed - ? He can stay, was the response.

Han nodded, and came around to his side, getting back into bed with them both. Leia leaned over Ben and pressed her hand to Han's shoulder, lips pursed. He read the emotions in her eyes – fear that she'd scared Ben, horror that she'd woken him up, and he just shook his head, took her hand, and kissed her ring finger.

She wrapped her arm around Ben and rested her cheek on his head – wasn't he a positive thing, wasn't he a bright, shining light that had been given to her even after all the horror and bloodshed? She pressed her nose to his hair, and smiled a little, breathing out slowly.

Ben twisted in her grasp, sitting up.

"Drink your tea," he said, peering at her, small face close to hers, the same concern in his eyes that was often reflected in his father's.

Leia smiled at him, sitting up a little. Ben gave her a stern look.

"Drink it," he almost whined. "Daddy says it will make you have a nicer sleep – I'll make it nice," Ben promised, and, held up his hands, palms out, mimicking Luke. "I'll keep all the bad guys away, 'cause I'm a Jedi."

Leia smiled, and sat up fully, reaching for her mug obediently. Han grinned and slung his arm around Ben's shoulder, pulling him close and pinching his ribs lightly. Ben laughed and twisted away, and Leia took a deep breath, and a long sip of the heady, soothing tea –

Years of this, years of this pain and darkness in her heart, and yet she always found a way to fight and claw her way on – and these days it was always getting better, because even on those few-and-far-between bad days, there was a lot of good to keep her going.

...and Ben grew up & became a Jedi and everyone was happy, the end :)

-alexandra
story #317