Otterandterrier: okay, I couldn't stop thinking about your part 2 of the Lynnie 'verse last night! and I was thinking... she calls Leia "Mama", but I don't think she's referred to Han as her father yet? is there any chance you'll ever write the first time she calls him papa or daddy?

Sickbed Whisper

She had a funny way of talking, then, all two blurred languages and toddler talk and strange little possessives. Would tug on his leg and ask Ou my mama est? all business – where my mama is? Announcing she was gonna go sit with her mama, that her mama had a nightgown also, that her mama ate sandwiches too.

She think I don't know ya or something? he murmured to her one night, arms around her waist from behind as she worked through the dishes – all this "my mama" talk?

Oh, I think it's more – asserting that we belong to her permanently, right? Or else just baby-speak – I like to think that she likes to reiterate that she's ours, though…

Though there was a voice in his head that did want to ask – ours, or yours? Whispering to Luke, to Carlist, to anyone she met, her eyes wide and serious and eager – my mama est là-bas, my mama vient d'Alderaan. My mama, my mama… and damn, that little voice – how it made everything sound like a special secret, confessing softly into your ear about loving her yellow striped dress, vanilla pudding, like you were her most prized confidante.

Soft and secretive, small and shy, until one awful-as-hell night – then fuck, he'd never heard anyone cry out so loud and strangled, screaming and crying. By then it was maybe 0200, and Leia had been sitting with her in the 'fresher for hours, hours – perched on the lid of the tub, the baby straddling her waist like a spider, hot red tear-stained face pressed to her neck, puke in her hair… crying… He'd been tortured, seen torture, but there wasn't anything quite like pacing back and forth in the unit and hearing those hysterical cries coming out of the 'fresher.

He could hear Leia's voice, too, as she did her best to murmur reassuringly, even though, he knew, she definitely had vomit on her and was definitely worn way, way down from the many, many hours of soothing the at turns feverish and freezing baby through vomit and diarrhea. Rubbing her back and sighing tiredly… "I know, baby, I know it hurts… yes, I know, Mama knows, Mama's here… Han, please, I need you––"

"Here, right here," he called, moving to lean in the doorway and holding out the refilled sippy cup to Leia. She took it gratefully, sighing again loudly, and Lynnie groped desperately for it, but Leia held it back for a moment.

"Peu à peu, please, very slow… small sips, precious…"

Instead the toddler slurped desperately, to the point that he watched Leia wrestle the cup out of her little grasp, inciting another round of hysterical cries. "She's throwing up everything, Han, even water if she has more than a little," Leia explained desperately, trying to avoid Lynnie's thrashing hands. "And her fever won't break, and she's trembling so badly – Han, I don't know what to do…"

I don't know what to do – the first time he'd ever heard her even express something like that, the whole time of this crazy adventure – picky eater, she knew what to do, language barrier, she knew what to do, teaching numbers, making introductions, rules on clean-up, she knew it – bath-time, she knew it – but holding a thrashing, sick toddler in the night, a fever, somehow – Leia didn't know what to––?

Trying to bounce her and hold her tightly – "Do we have – fever-reducers, any of those pills from when I was sick last year? Or––?"

"Mm, dose won't be right," he muttered, mostly to himself – he could feel his heart in his chest as he watched the baby, her face scrunched up tight, weeping, trying to bury herself in Leia's skin…

"Should we just wait it out?" Leia asked anxiously. "I mean, will it break? Surely she can't keep getting sick for much longer, she doesn't have a thing in her stomach anymore…"

"I think we should just – make her comfortable, focus on getting her comfy, okay?" Reaching out to stroke the baby's damp, sticky hair… "Comfy, okay sweetie? Alright? More comfy?" Hoping the sound and tone would reassure her even when the words wouldn't mean much.

Leia was still looking up at him in mild terror, and he squeezed her hand. "She's gonna be fine – I'll go get her some clean pajamas, okay? Be right back."

Leia nodded rapidly and he turned to go, quick enough that he almost didn't hear it, moaned sleepily and weak into Leia's neck – veux-mon-da…

Could hear Leia, a bit, murmuring back to her – "Hmm, honey?"

A little louder, then, as he rifled through her things to grab a new nightgown. "Veux-mon-da…"

"Shh, shh… Mama's here…"

"Veux mon da… veux mon da––"

"Veux-tu ton da, baby? You want your da?"

"Veux… veux…"

"Han? I think she wants you, can you––" and then was cut off by the baby gagging into the toilet from her spot on Leia's lap, keening, crying, and then he was there before he realized it, crouching beside them, helping Leia to hold back all that fragile hair, rubbing her back as she shivered and gagged––

"Gotcha-gotcha-gotcha, sh-sh-sh… s'okay, s'okay…"

Reaching for some tissue to wipe her chin, her mouth, then squeezing Leia's trembling hand to reassure her too. "You're okay, Lynnie, you're okay." Petting her hair – "Here, okay? Gonna swish some water in your mouth, okay?" and demonstrating with a handful from the sink, giving her the sippy to do it too – kissing her hair, reaching for a clean towel to bundle her up in.

That delicate little voice – "Veux mon da…"

"Won't she just get warmer?" Leia asked anxiously as she let him take the baby into his arms.

"Hmm, no, here we go…" He grabbed a washcloth and soaked it in cold water, pressing it to her forehead firmly and rubbing her back with his other hand. "Mmm, see, you're okay, you're okay…" He kissed her hair, sighing. "In a little bit I'll rinse out her hair with some cold water, that should help too… get her in some clean pajamas…"

"You're amazing," Leia breathed gratefully, running her fingers through her own sweat-drenched hair. "She hasn't stopped crying since… I don't know when…"

"Think the worst is over," he replied easily, rocking Lynnie lightly.

"Mmmm… I can take her back, if you'd like to go back to bed…" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"Think I'm alright here, princess. Right baby? We're alright. You though – get some sleep?"

"Okay…" she said reluctantly, and she kissed the baby's slick forehead, murmuring to her softly before slowly heading to their bedroom.

He held the baby closer as she blinked sleepily, surprised to find himself – was he singing, softly? More just breathing out the words, rocking her very gently, resting his chin on top of her head. Words in an old language he didn't really remember, something about a cat, a clock, being at home… something someone had sung to him once but he barely remembered, but she would remember him singing to her, holding her tight on the cool bathroom tile in the dark, blue night… singing her to sleep, til her breath was slow and even…

He shifted slightly to re-soak the cloth, detangling himself from the baby for what he considered just a second to do so, and that's when it happened, whimpered so soft he almost missed it, keened into his shirt when he tried to pull away – "daaAAAAdddddyyyyyy…"

He'd been so certain she was asleep, half-thought she was now – she'd never said – surely she was – "Mm, baby? Shh…"

Her eyes, though, had blinked open, and she was nuzzling her cheek against his shirt and clinging to it desperately, hands still hot and slick. "No… daaaaaaAAAAAAdddDDyyyy…" Eyes saying everything – eyes saying what his eyes had said, to too many people, when he was a kid – saying stay, stay…

He scooped her back up and brushed over her forehead with the cloth again, let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding for weeks and weeks and weeks. "Sh-sh-sh… daddy's here, not going anywhere. Daddy's gonna stay."

Reviews are like snuggles when you're sick.