AN: Just wanted to give a huge shout-out to all the wonderful readers of this story, I have been very surprised by the positive response I have gotten and so very happy there are people who are enjoying it as much as I do! Thank you! And another huge thank you to my Betas - Leapylion3 & Amara Z.

The last month was rather rough, for numerous reasons I won't bore you with, so I do apologize for the wait.

And, as always, if you read, please review. :)

Leia sat, unmoving on the bed, staring out the door of the bedroom she had shared with her husband for almost ten years.

She closed her eyes, twisting her wedding ring slowly around her finger, listening to the twins chattering happily downstairs introducing the newly discovered stranger to every tiny aspect of their lives. They had pulled Han out of the room with them, fascinated by the extraordinary twist their day had just taken. Anakin had stayed. Watching his mother from just inside the bedroom door, riveted to the spot from where he had asked his one terrifying question to a familiar looking stranger. Leia pleaded with every god she had ever heard of that this man was right in his assumption. That her Han would be coming back. And soon.

Last night felt like years ago. The heels she had worn out for drinks with her friends still rested where they had been playfully discarded as she had moved through the door of the suite. Her dress, which he had hungrily pulled from her as she lay laughing beneath him, now sat crumpled on the chair beside her; jeering and cruel.

Guilt plagued her. What they had done was wrong. And what was worse, in way, it wasn't wrong at all. He was hers. Or at least, he would be. She shook her head, eyes coming suddenly open as a small hand touched her face. She gazed into the small, worried face of her small son, gave him a tight smile and motioned for him to join her. Responding immediately, he hopped up beside her, tucking his socked feet underneath of him, placing the comlink on his other side.

She looked around her, at all the holos hanging on the wall. All of the memories washed over her, her eyes filling up with tears once more. She wanted him back. She needed him back.

Anakin'a small hands clung to her. Digging into the tattered hem of the old, oversized sweater she wore, grasping desperately to its familiarity. She shifted and the tiny, determined fingers tightened. Leia let out the breath she hadn't realized she had taken. She leaned over to rest her forehead on top of her small son's dark blonde hair. Anakin moved closer and she pulled him onto her knees, wrapping him to her. Small splotches appeared on her sleeves and she tightened her hold, whispering words of reassurance she didn't completely believe herself.

They sat this way for a long while until, finally, Anakin's tears stopped and his fingers relaxed. She felt him take a shaky breath. "I miss Daddy." Leia's heart constricted once again.

"I know, baby. Me too."

Anakin plucked at the sleeve again. "This is Daddy's." He said simply.

"Yes, it is."

"But you wear it all the time." He stated.

Leia smiled and nodded, "I've been wearing it since before you were born." Anakin leaned back into her as she bent to kiss his hair, feeling the fabric move against her skin, worn and rough. A memory, bright and searing, clouded her eyes.

He had tossed it to her, rather roughly, after a spat regarding sleeping arrangements on their fateful flight to Bespin. Having become angry over a comment he made to her after dinner, she shouted at him, swearing that she would never, ever share that bunk with him, regardless of circumstance; and that she would, in fact, rather sleep anywhere else but there.

He had apologized, but again she rejected his offer to stay in his room, instead, stubbornly settling down on the holochess bench. He must have come to check on her, huddled against the corner, dejected, stubborn, frozen. The sweater hit her in the back, waking her; he stood, bare-chested, arms braced against the bulkhead, determined, staring for several uncomfortable seconds before muttering something about willful women and stupid heating units, turning back to his cabin. She had kept it for the remainder of the flight, clutching on to it. And later, when he had been taken from her, it had become something of a sacred object; she kept it with her always, reveling in the ability to be still surrounded by him. Over time, it had become part of her wardrobe, part of their familiar routine.

Her attention shifted, focusing solidly on the small body resting fretfully against her.

"Anakin?" She whispered against his head as she carefully spun her youngest son around to face her. "How did you know?" She asked softly, brushing a tangled mess of hair away from his worried face. Anakin held her gaze for a few moments before shrugging slightly, eyes imploring.

"He didn't feel right." He whispered in reply.