I've been posting little ficlets in this 'verse on my Tumblr based on requests and figured I'd crosspost here as well. Thus – now a loose collection…

Jedi_fish81: I'm really curious about how you continue to build the relationship between Lynnie and Han. I really like how they seem to intrinsically understand each other but Han still seems so uncertain.

Nightmare Watch

He'd never noticed how quiet it had been, just the two of them, until it wasn't. The two of them, that is. Or quiet. Then it was like suddenly their tiny place was spilling over with sound, flooded, puddles of it everywhere perfect for splashing in – something a kid would see an adventure in. He found himself thinking that way a lot, recently – looking at things how a kid, their kid, might see them. First as a safety thing, like looking warily at everything in a could this kill a toddler kind of way. Then with a little bit of amusement, smiling into his mug as shoeboxes became cradles for the ragged stuffed animals she'd brought with her, blue markers into a cold alien lipstick, crooning Joli, Mama? Joli, joli?

Joli, joli – that sweet, shy little voice, the kind that makes you worry you'll step on it – bitty and piping and always asking questions he couldn't interpret. Chatter everywhere, all over the place, and chatter maybe wasn't the nicest word but because he couldn't understand most of it it did feel a lot like chatter… in all their silent places that had never registered as places – suddenly a squeal coming from the closet, when had she gotten into their closet, and calling out from under piles of Leia's nice work clothes tugged down from the hangers and wearing heels on her hands: qu'est-ce que c'est! Qu'est-ce que c'est!

Babbling quietly to those ratty, well-loved toys, the group of which was collectively, protectively mes amis, Mama!, always said with a little bit of fear, arms tight around them all, eyes huge and nervous. Talking to them always in her soft, tiny voice… He'd asked Leia once, leaning casually in the doorway while she tried to help the baby with her teeth as she chattered to her, what it meant, if it was a name or a place or something cultural, and Leia had laughed – it's just "my friends," Han. She's saying, "my friends, Mam, my friends!" I think it's hilarious – don't you think so?

Leia walking around, too, with Lynnie trailing behind her, tugging on her dress and peppering her with questions – what sounded like questions – fragments, really, she was just a baby… and Leia prompting her, always, she was so damn insistent – children need routine, Han – with questions and Basic and numbers and blocks.

Squatting in front of her and beaming at her, tucking flyaways back into her teeny-tiny buns and holding her hands and prompting, her voice a sing-song lilt, Lynnie, Lynnie, quel âge as-tu? Quel âge as-tu, sweetness, hmm? How old are you? So careful to pronounce the Basic with the exact same intonation, matching up the little melodic pronunciation so the correlation was crystal clear – such a fucking good mother, already, only a handful of weeks in? And when the baby took her thumb from her mouth and smiled all coy and soft and shy like the damn sweetest thing he'd ever seen and held up three fingers, whispering Twois… Leia clapping her hands and saying Yes, trois, you're three, can you say 'three'? Peux-tu dire 'three,' baby?

…Thwee…

Oh, yes! Tu es tellement intelligent, yes-yes-yes… and swinging their held hands, repeating it over and over so it stuck, words everywhere, spilling into puddles, perfect for dancing and jumping and play.

There was a part of him that unambiguously loved it, loved the sound wafting through their place, making it feel like a home, loved all these new tones of Leia's voice – so often sharp, precise, commanding, who would've thought it possessed a million different shades of endearing and loving and playful?

They were just tones, though – tones he could only really half-parse, could only smile crookedly along with.

There was, though, some time that was still quiet – namely, nighttime. Silent, still… Daytime Leia translating back and forth between them with ease, going through dinner noting she says she had a very fun day, she says you're being silly without hesitation. Daytime – talk time – had always been Leia's domain, as long as he'd known her – explanation, interpretation, communication. He'd always been more adept at every nighttime thing: all stillness, all silence, all movement and touch and expression and instinct.

Every nighttime thing – a category which, until recently, did not include the following: namely, stirring in the middle of the night when something pulled on his arm and practically jumping back upon seeing the ghostly three-year old standing just beside him, thumb in her mouth, quivering and peering at him.

"Mm… Lynnie? Y'okay?"

She blinked in response, hugging herself tight with the arm whose hand's thumb wasn't in her mouth, and he could see the dimple in her elbow peeking out from just below the short sleeve of her little white nightgown. Small things illuminated in the blue light of night, lost in the blur of activity – crayons and blocks and mes amis – of day. Something he hadn't noticed yet.

He yawned and rubbed his eyes, mumbling gentle as he could, "Huh? Y'alright, sweetie?"

She sort of swiveled a little, lips trembling – right, she didn't know what he was saying, right…

For a moment he considered waking Leia, but it was so rare that she was really out cold like this, flopped on her stomach and snoring lightly, wiped from getting up with the kid so early and from so many hours of mommy "on"-ness…

That, and the fact that the little faerie ghostlike thing, eyes big like some kind of nocturnal bird, had come to his side of the bed, not hers.

He found himself reaching out a hand and brushing it over her hair, smoothing it in a way he hoped was comforting, smiling just a twinge when she relaxed the arm hugging herself tight and instead twirled a loose thread with it. "Huh? What's wrong, baby?" Whispering now, all slow and soft. "D'you have a bad dream?"

She whispered something back shyly he didn't understand, but it didn't matter – he'd seen Leia through enough nightmares to know the afterward shakiness. Heck, he'd suffered through his fair share growing up – sure, what kid didn't – could still remember the way they through you from every reality you understood, how you'd wake up in the blue nighttime world and it'd feel like another spooky fantasy. A house bathed in blue suddenly not your house at all.

"Hey… d'you have a bad dream, sweetie? Mm, m'sorry, m'sorry, you're alright."

More to himself than her – but then again it was clear that even though she didn't know the words she knew the tone because she gave him a weak little smile, the kind of I'm-being-brave smile he'd worn so often as a little kid. A kid who was so sure no one would want him, who'd maybe seen stuff kids shouldn't see. A kid like he'd been, a kid like him.

What he would've given, to wake up after a bad dream and have a nightlight to guide the way to the door, someone's hand to tug. A big, warm bed to crawl into, the feeling like someone would keep watch after him. Something Leia had had, he'd never had… three weeks ago when Lynnie had a nightmare, had there been a place for her to toddle over to? Someone whose hand she could tug?

Thinking she must think a lot of him, then, in her toddler way. To make the long trek down the blue nighttime hallway. So confident someone on the other end would scoop her up and hold her close and keep watch over her. Not confidence, trust. Trust in him. In him…

"Alright. You wanna sleep in here? Huh?" Pulling back the blanket then, scooting over, and patting the spot beside him. "S'alright, you can sleep in here. S'okay."

She broke into a wide smile then, all those tiny teeth Leia'd brushed so well twinkling at him, and then suddenly – darted out of the room.

"Lynnie?" He rolled out of bed, then, stumbled down the hall… "Lynnie?" Whisper-calling, careful not to wake Leia.

And then she was back, her arms full out that motley menagerie. Few things she knew of as hers, maybe someday she'd see the two of them as hers, maybe she already did. Whispering, shy and embarrassed, "Amis…"

"Right, of course. Gotta have your guys." Tapped each of their frayed, greying heads – each understuffed thing, so unrecognizable, probably salvaged from everyone else's discards, made into her most important accomplices. "Friends."

"Fwiends," she echoed.

"Yep, they're your friends, gotta have 'em looking out for you, gotta look out for them. C'mon now, up. Gotta be quiet so we don't wake your mama." He scooped her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck easily, automatically – and he carried her back towards the big bed.

"Wake Mama?" she echoed softly, pressing her face to his neck.

"Yep, all awake, like grumpy and tired… no good."

"No good," she echoed, the words all soft edges out of her mouth, and it almost was like she was agreeing with him, trusting him.

He put her down soft on the middle of the bed and watched her very meticulously arrange all of her friends in her arms, so that she could hug them all equally. A sweet, soft, fair little thing. She'd be neurotic, like – her mother, Leia was her mother. She'd be loyal, like him.

And then once he got back into bed, she was immediately snuggled up against him, warm and at easy. No trembles anymore.

"Mmmm… hi, baby, hi…" Leia, then, mumbling and only half-awake, sweeping her arm out and fumbling to pat the baby's back. "Qu'est ce qui se passe, honey… are you alright?"

"S'under control, princess," he murmured, finding her outstretched hand with his and giving it a squeeze, and he could feel her fall back to sleep. Trusting, satisfied with his answer, content enough to drop right back off into her dreams.

He looked at Lynnie, holding all of her friends so close, and watched as her grip slowly relaxed as she drifted back into sleep, certain they'd still be there in the morning. He'd still be there, waiting for her, keeping watch for any nightmares, in the morning.

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