4 ABY
Good morning, gorgeous! Gotta go to a meeting on the bridge. I'll be back with breakfast. Stay in bed, don't get dressed.
You are perfect. Last night was perfect, too.
Completely & utterly yours,
H
Hi again, sweetheart,
Admiral Ackbar commed me at 6.30—can you believe that?—to go over some last-minute changes to the crew and more useless information that I could've figured out by myself. So that's where I went. Remember last week, when you asked me if I regretted joining the Alliance officially, and I said no? Now the answer's yes. I changed my mind at 6.30 this morning. You were so warm and beautiful all curled up around me, I nearly resigned my commission over the comlink, just to stay in bed with you.
I thought I'd get a chance to say goodbye to you, but we went straight from that damned meeting to the hanger and now I'm in hyperspace, heading for 'classified target #1.' I'm so sorry I didn't get to talk to you. Hope you're not still naked in bed, waiting for me to bring you breakfast. Although that is an intriguing image…oh, that's a very intriguing image. Great. I'm never going to be able to concentrate on ship formations and supply orders and all the other stuff I'm supposed to be taking care of right now.
I can't believe I didn't get to say goodbye to you. I can't believe I won't be back for eight weeks. I'm gonna wither away without you.
Okay, enough griping. I really am taking my responsibilities as a general seriously. This cruiser is full of kids who are so wet behind the ears, I don't know how or why we let them into the Alliance. Republic. Whatever we are now. But they look at me like they think I know what I'm doing, like I'm some great hero, so I'm going to focus on living up to their expectations. You think I can do this, so I guess I can.
I'd still rather be thinking about you, though. I already miss you. But don't let it go to your head.
I'm smirking at you.
Han
Hi Leia,
I got a priority message from Coruscant—I take it three weeks is as long as you can go without missing me enough to send me "priority" interstellar messages?
I wish I'd been able to take your call, but these Moffs don't seem to get the idea that the war's over, and we're having a hell of a time cleaning them up. Anyway, I was in a battle for the last day and a half, out of com range.
There was no video from you attached, just a written communique that I was supposed to contact you. So here I am. Waiting by the monitor for you, darling.
Love you.
Han
Dear Leia,
I'm sorry I was so…I don't know, idiotic…on the com today. I was shocked, worse than I think I've ever been shocked, so I reacted badly. Now that I've had a few hours to think and calm down, I wanted to talk to you again. But now we're on audio silence (heading to 'classified target #3'), so a written letter will have to do.
First, a couple of apologies.
I didn't mean to use the word "fault." It's nobody's fault that we're pregnant. You were right to blow up at me for that word. I was as wrong as I could've been.
Second apology, you were right when you said I wasn't happy when you told me. I felt a whole bunch of stuff, but "happy" wasn't exactly part of it. I'm sorry I didn't react more positively. The more I think about it, though, the happier I am. And why the hell shouldn't we be happy? This is kind of miraculous. I still haven't completely gotten over the fact of you yet, so when I see our baby, I think I'm going to have some kind of breakdown. You might actually see me cry.
Third apology, I didn't tell you on vid that I loved you. I know you know, but I should've said it. More than once. I love you and I'm awed that we somehow created a life together.
This baby is going to knock the galaxy off its axis. At least, my galaxy. I mean, if this child is half as stubborn as you or me, we're gonna have a serious 7-year-long headache when the kid becomes a teenager. The more I think about the combined strength of our personalities, the more I think we might be creating a hurricane on legs. It's called karma, I think; you drove your parents nuts when you were little, so you're going to get it back twofold. The thought of a little miniature version of you, stomping her foot at me when I tell her to put her toys away, it cracks me up. I really hope the baby looks like you.
I told Chewie. I hope you don't mind. After I got off the com with you, I stared at the blank monitor for a while, then went to the mess for a drink. Three drinks, actually. Then Chewie came in, so I told him. It's a secret for a while still, I know, but the Wookiee's not telling no one. He, incidentally, thinks it's great. Big hug for you, congratulations, etc. When I told him we'd ended up fighting about it, he hit me twice on your behalf. He doesn't get my hesitation at all. If it were up to him, we'd have been married a long time ago and be on our second or third kid by now. (I don't think he quite gets human gestation periods. But we'll let that go.)
My hesitation…I couldn't tell you before. I'm not really sure why I'm so scared, but I got some ideas. First, I really don't know how good a dad I can be. I never knew my father, never had any kind of good example of what a father is supposed to do. I know that I'm going to make a lot of mistakes, and that it's gonna drive you crazy. Also, I can't imagine myself in one place for the next 20 years. I love being around you, and want nothing more than to be wherever you are, but you don't stay in the same spot for long—at least, you haven't since we met. Maybe now that the war's over, you'll just stay on Coruscant and build a government, but I figure we'll still see plenty of action. How are we going to, you know, run around saving the galaxy while we have a toddler? And will I want to stay home changing diapers, or will I want to be out on the Falcon somewhere?
You know what doesn't worry me, though? The Jedi thing. If the baby's got some Jedi ability, we'll just deal with that. Luke turned out just fine. As sweet as can be. Just think of Luke if you get worried about, you know, the bloodline stuff. You know that's a non-issue for me. But I get why it's scaring you.
What I didn't tell you on the com today is this: I have doubts about my ability to take care of a baby, but I don't doubt you. Not your ability to run a government and parent at the same time, not your mothering instincts, not my love for you. I am absolutely sure you can do this. You'll be a great mom. As long as the kid looks, thinks and acts like you, we'll be fine. (Except when he or she's a teenager. We're doomed then.)
When you tell Mon Mothma and all those stuffy generals, they're going to hit the roof. Don't let them bully you. If they tell you I won't stick around, that I'll abandon the baby and go back to smuggling or whatever, tell them to shove it; I ain't going nowhere. If they tell you that the people won't support you as a senator if you have a baby without being married, tell them to get into this century. And the people love you. You could run for Chancellor of the Republic and win. If they tell you I'm not a suitable husband or good father material, well, they're probably right about that one. But for some reason, you see something in me that I don't. Something noble and dependable. So I'm just going to trust in your faith in me, and try hard to be the man you think I am.
I don't know if I'll be any good at this parenthood deal. But if you really think I can do it, and you want to do it, I'm in. Bring it on.
Just give me another seven months or so to get ready.
I love you completely and unflaggingly.
Han
PS: Marry me?
(That isn't an actual proposal. I just want you to think it over until I'm back with you. 5 weeks, 1 day to go.)
