I'm awoken by the sound of Han and Leia coming home. I glance at Anikin's alarmchrono—they're at lease an hour late. Must've been a fun meeting. They try to be quiet as they come in, but whisper-fighting is somehow more piercing than the usual sort.

I can't make out that they're fighting about, and it doesn't matter, anyway. I sit up carefully, trying not to wake up little Anikin, and rub my eyes in the dark of the bedroom.

Leia appears in a stream of light as the door opens. She smiles luminously at me—but then, all about her is luminous: her braid crown woven with white ribbons, her white gown with the high, gathered waist, her powder-blue cloak with melted snow, her pearl necklace, her flushed cheeks. She's absolutely glowing, either from the cold, or arguing, or from her pregnancy, or from seeing me wake up beside our son. "Did you fall asleep?" she whispers, sounding somewhat amused.

I nod sheepishly.

She smiles even more brightly, taking off her cloak. She already looks more pregnant than she did last I saw her, a week ago—and she's probably closer to seven and a half months than just seven now. I'd forgotten how quickly these things happen. She should have a daughter in a month and a half—sooner if she's born early the way the boys both were.

She's gorgeous.

She sees me staring at her, so I blink it away and stand. My head pounds with the movement—withdrawal. I'd done it, though. I didn't smoke spice once this afternoon, not even the legal kind I sometimes use to tide me over. Even Han smokes that kind, if it hasn't changed, so I'm sure the boys wouldn't have thought it strange if I went out the balcony for a few minutes. But I didn't. I made it.

"Were they good?" she asks.

I nod. "Yeah. They were both great." I look into her eyes. "It's thanks to you, you know." I step out of the doorway and close the door gently, standing now in the bright of the hall with her. "They would have turned out really.…" Don't say "fucked-up." "…Well, different if they'd been around me. But you raised them right. In spite of everything, you raised them right. Thank you."

I look into her eyes again, perhaps granted this short moment of sincerity by my nearly delirious withdrawal state. She locks eyes with me, and if I allow it to go on, I know something will pass between us, some sort of old emotion that I cannot bear. I blink, not fully looking away, but not allowing it continue.

Astonished, she gapes for a moment, if Leia can ever be said to gape. "Maybe," she manages at last, "But I think they need their father, too."

"They have Han," I say, a little distain creeping into my voice.

She shakes her head sadly. I don't know what she means by it.

"They love him, Leia. And he loves them. They don't need me."

"Han takes care of them, but…he never wanted to be called 'Dad,' and he doesn't much act like one…." She rests a hand on her stomach thoughtfully.

"But what about…." I look to her hand in gesture.

She sighs, letting the subject drop. "He's a good care-giver, Luke, and a good friend. But he isn't their father, which he can't seem to forget."

What am I to make of that?

In the living room I pull my boots on over my pants and put on my jacket and leather gloves. Leia watches me silently. I can't read her face, and I try not to look at her.

Han comes into the room, and evidently he and Leia aren't speaking to one another again. "C'mon, kid. Lemme give you a ride home. It's late," he says softly.

I nod, not wanting to argue this time. "Okay."

Leia hugs me goodbye, and I wish I had stopped her, because it makes me very uncomfortable. But she's soft and warm and smells the way she always has. She at once comforts and frightens me.

I pull away and give her a small smile. Han and I leave. He doesn't say goodbye.

As soon as the apartment door closes and we're walking down the corridor, Han shakes his head in frustration. "She's so damn impossible, that woman. How'd you get along with her, Luke? Huh?"

Thrown off my guard, I can only furrow my brow.

"Sorry," he says, calming. "But it's like, all we do is fight, you know?"

I do know. And I'm glad. It's like vengeance, like getting him back for sleeping with her eight years ago. But I feel as if I should say something encouraging, or at least, say…something….

"I dunno, Han. She and I never really fought that much."

"Yeah," he says with a slight sigh. "I guess not." After a pause he adds, "Wanna go get a drink?"

I shake my head. "No…I want to go home. Another time, okay?"

He nods. "Okay." And smiles. "The kids wear you out?"

I nod too, smiling. "Yeah."

We exit into the snow and walk down the ramp to the speeder platform. Han lights one of those legal spice sticks—often called just "sticks," but some use that word to describe the hard stuff, too. I ask him for one, as I usually don't carry the soft stuff with me. He gives it to me, watches as I expertly light it with my own pocket lighter. He raises an eyebrow. "Never seen you do that. I remember one time—you were like eighteen—you took a dark off mine and you were coughing for ten minutes."

I blow out some smoke. "I'm not a kid anymore, Han. These are harmless compared to what I usually use."

"Yeah, he says, concern in his voice. "I know. C'mon—let's go."