Notes: Thanks reading (and extra thanks for the reviews)! I really appreciate your kind response to this fic. :) Chapter three should be up early next week. This chapter contains sex.

Chewie and Luke both insist on walking in front of them, even though they've never had a problem in Maz's castle. Han keeps his arm around her back, because the rocks are uneven, and he likes to hold her. His mind settles when they're touching. The air's soft, humid and warm, which should make Han less worried. She woke up on the Falcon, moments before they landed, his soft hazel eyes hovering over her face. Even though, he'd been then when she'd fallen asleep, and might have been there the whole time, she still had to smile at him to make that concern fade.

He kissed her forehead, then muttered about her being feverish. Maybe she was. She's asked much of her body before: sleeping badly, eating worse, pushing blaster wounds and broken bones to heal faster then they should. Her body heals well, always has, and now she knows how much she relies of the Force to accomplish that.

She can't push the Force the way she could before, evem though now she's trained. Maybe because the baby is another person, and the Force flows through both of them. Pregnancy can't be rushed, even when it seems like their child has settled in and intends to remain within her for another year or so. Something insists that the baby is fine, just not ready, so she'll wait. Han carries enough of uneasiness for both of them, but Luke and Chewie's optimism gets through.

Han halts, looking up at the flags. His fingers stroke her side and she rubs her head against his chest. The stars hang above the fabric, points of white in the darkness, faded and distant after lightspeed. They're gentler on planets. She picks out familiar constellations, tracing the way back to the Core systems and everything she should have on her mind.

One of the scout groups is searching the Outer Rim for potential Imperial bases and she still has that nagging feeling about the Veragi system. She should ask for the scout reports.

Kissing her forehead, Han drags her thoughts from far reaches of space, back to Takodana, and its gentle stars.

Admiral Ackbar's in charge of the mission. He can worry about the scout group.

"Maz said she'd cook," Han says. "She loves to cook for Chewie."

Grinning at Chewie's back, she nod. Keeping him still, she guides down his face so she can kiss him. That makes his smile reach his eyes.

"You're okay?"

"I'm fine."

His hand drops to her belly. Months ago, Han's palm covered the the whole rise of her belly, and now, if he holds her with both hands their baby more than fills the space between his fingers. She can't imagine what their baby will look like, because the holos of her birth parents are strangers and Han can't remember more than a little about his. What does the best of him look like? Will their baby look up at her with Han's eyes?

Her birth mother was so beautiful, so wise, that she can't help hoping that there's more of Padme Amidala than Anakin, or even herself. Maybe this baby is a little girl, who will look like Han's parents. They're the people who made him, this man she loves so much. That would be wonderful.

Especially his chin.

She runs her hand over his scar, then turns back to Chewie and Luke. Luke's smile could light the courtyard and Chewie growls something quiet and warm.

"We're coming," Han promises. "We're coming. Maz knows I make you late all the time."

Chewie disappears into the chaos of Maz's main room, somehow vanishing into the colors and noise of the cantina even though he's well over two metres tall. Luke waits, letting them catch up, closer to him. He smiles again, radiating the Jedi calm that lets him slip into crowds of anyone.

"I like the music."

Han nudges his shoulder, then points to the left. "We're headed upstairs."

Luke follows that direction, clearing a path through smugglers, bounty hunters and other lost souls as if he was made of smoke. Han makes more of an impact, but seems to barely notice the stares in his direction. The Bothan in the corner's definitely recognized him, so has the trio of Componi but Han's much more worried that she has to climb the steps of the ancient staircase, and she hasn't seen her feet in months.

She'd be fine. She's always been steady on her feet, but his hands hold her arms and he's relaxed by the contact. Luke waits for them both at the top, and he shares a look with her. He knows how much Han's life has revolved around the arrival of this baby, perhaps more than Leia's because she's had so much she's been expected to think about. She's with this baby every moment, aware of the tiny mind forming within her that's only vaguely aware of her presence as the being who contains them. Her awareness is acute, all encompassing: her skin's too hot, her breasts too heavy, and the growing ache in the bottom of her spine doesn't let up when she stops standing.

Maz greets Chewie with delighted laughter and they speak in Shyriiwook, far too quickly for Leia to make out any of it. For a moment the pain in her back flares, making her breath catch, and Han's fingers the cover the spot a half-second after Luke meets her eyes.

"You okay?"

"Kid throws everything out of whack," she answers, reaching over to pat Han's arm and quiet his concern. "I'm fine."

"Han, stop worrying," Maz orders from her perch on Chewie's shoulder. "Come, sit and eat. Leia is very well."

"I don't think he's stopped worrying since Leia told him she was pregnant," Luke teases, dragging Han towards the table. Han sits, but he fidgets in his chair until Leia's beside him. The heavy wooden chair presses against her back, cool and sturdy. The ancient table's piled high with fish, roast game and brightly colored fruit and vegetables she only half recognizes.

Maz always says that she's had a lifetime to collect the seeds she needs for her garden, but there are still many she needs to obtain. The first time they met, she gave Leia a potted caraai flower. The tiny white flowers on blue-green stems were considered a weed for centuries, but they grow well, even on other worlds. She's kept that one alive so far, and she's never been good with plants.

"It's a stressful thing," Han says, watching Chewie pour the wine. "It doesn't compare to being pregnant, I'm not saying that, but-"

"Han," Leia interrupts, touching his arm on the table. The linen of his shirt catches on the calluses on her hand. "You're wonderful."

"You deserve that, better-" he starts to search for words, so she tugs his face closer and kisses him.

"I love you, and I wouldn't be doing this-" she gestures at her belly, dragging his attention to their baby, "with anyone else."

Chewie mutters something and Maz laughs. "Yes, you have suffered terribly having to watch them behave so."

Luke just continues to beam at them, and starts to put meat on their plates. "This smells incredible, thank you."

Leia lets them do most of the talking, she still doesn't understand what Chewie's saying most of the time, neither does Luke, but he must have some trick of the Force because he's less lost than she is. Maz laughs often, and keeps filling their plates, especially hers. It's delicious, well-seasoned, and some of the vegetables she doesn't recognize, which is odd, because she's eaten many things on countless worlds, but the purple roots are different, and she likes them so much that she takes them from Han's plate while he's talking about how Chewie saved him from being turned to Bantha fodder.

It's a good story. Han tells it well, and Luke has to know it, he must, but they're all listening, and Han's voice is so familiar. When she's finally full, she rests her head on Han's shoulder, because he's just the right height.

Han kisses her awake and his mouth tastes of wine. Maz stands on a chair beside her, studying her face with her ancient black eyes, her thick lens flipped back from her head. She holds up her hand, waiting for Leia to take her fingers in hers. Maz's palm is warmer than Leia's, and strong, even considering her age. Her Force presence comes with the touch, intense and old, like vivid color painted on parchment centuries past that has yet to fade. She continues to stare at Leia, reading through her shields.

There's no reason to be guarded, or to hide her fears, because Maz knows Vader is in their baby, in her, and no matter how many times Luke or Han tell her that it doesn't matter, that Anakin Skywalker was once a good man, that Padme Amidala is a legacy worth having, she sees Vader's mask in her nightmares. And he takes Han away.

Maz's other hand hovers over her belly, waiting for Leia to nod her permission. Baby's still, quiet perhaps because they can feel Maz as well.

Han strokes the back of her neck, shifting in his chair so she's against his chest, with his other arm around her hip.

Shutting her eyes, Maz's rests her hand on Leia's belly, reaching out. Not the way Luke does, not with firm control, this is more instinct.

"Your child is strong."

"Strength can be a burden."

"As you know," Maz agrees, still studying her. "But it is a burden that lessen that of others, and something your child was meant to inherit from you, Leia Organa of Alderaan. This is your child, yours and Han's, and that lineage is what matters most. Strength comes from you, and that will take your child far."

Then she smiles, breaking the moment. "Now go to bed, Han and Chewie can tell me stories tomorrow. You should sleep while you can, once the baby's here, you never sleep the same. I know. My children have been off on their own for hundreds of years, and I still don't sleep."

Leaning back and releasing her hand, Maz smiles at her. "It doesn't get easier, only different. You worry about other things. Do your children have good company, like I do, when they eat? Has my daughter finally upgraded her hyperdrive, because she's been using the one she let this questionable mechanic-" she points at Han, who makes an indignant noise, "-tinker with, for years, but she doesn't listen to me. At least, not about that."

Leia's eyes sting, then water, and Han kisses the back of her head because he's intimately aware of when she's going to cry. "Thank you."

Maz nods, then waves her hands towards Chewie. "Now, Chewie has much to tell me about his adventures, and Luke and I have much we can talk about, because I knew his Master Yoda when he was a padawan himself, yes, I did. So you'll stay, all of you, and we'll see much of each other. Han knows where your room is, and there's plenty of food. You'll stay, I will tell you all about my children and you can be grateful that yours is still so close at hand."

"I'd like that."

"Of course, of course." Maz reaches for the wine and pours Han a little more. "You'll need this."

Chewie laughs, and there's another story that Leia manages to stay awake for. Then they retreat to bed. She hasn't slept in a castle for years, and this one feels far older than her mother's was on Alderaan. Han knows exactly what room is theirs, and she wonders if he's been there before.

"I usually get one down the corridor," he explains, tilting his head. "This is Maz's favorite, because of the view. He opens the shutters and looks out over the starlight water. "See? I told you she likes you."

"She's very kind," Leia replies, shifting her weight. Her hips ache, and it could just be another long day, but maybe- Everyone sagely says she'll know when she's in labor. Han worries that she is whenever she even breathes a little oddly and Luke would tell her to listen to her feelings. Her feelings oscillate so quickly that there's not much to trust. Her back hurts near-constantly, that can't be labor because she'd have had the baby by now.

Han's fingers run down her spine, rubbing the tense muscles along the base where she's nearly always sore. She yelps, because his touch finds a sharp knot of muscle that burns. That sound surprises him enough that he stops.

"No, you can press harder."

He chuckles, leaning in closer. "Harder?"

"Kid must have been right up against my spine today." She rests her hands against the wall and braces so that he can really press into the aching knot. Pain radiates upward, snaking like lightning all the way to the back of her skull. She gasps, but the lightning fades and takes the heavier ache with it, at least for awhile. He rubs her back, then reaches for her hair.

Removing the pins that bind up her braids, he takes them down with practiced skill. He always makes a stack of all the pins it takes to hold up her braids because he never believes she can hide so many in there and he likes to make show of counting them. He undoes the braids one of a time, shaking out her hair with his fingers. He likes the little waves they leave in her hair and he loves playing with them. Still leaning on the wall, she studies the cool grey stone beneath her palms.

"What would happen if the baby comes here?"

"Maz always has a doctor or two around, smugglers are always getting themselves shot at through no fault of their own. Riiex is a pompous, stuck up type, and you'd hate him, but Waceera's much nicer. Fixed up nasty shrapnel wound for me a few years back. Besides, I hear delivering a baby's not hard."

Leia turns to look at his face, and the steady rhythm of his fingertips rubbing against her scalp is incredibly soothing. "You say that, and yet you're as nervous as tauntaun."

"A baby isn't our baby, isn't you, but it didn't feel any better at the Hosnian med center, did it?"

"That place was a maze," she reminds him, shaking her head. Gathering her hair, she braids it again lazily, just to get it out of the way. "And the lights were terrible. How is staring at a flashing pattern of lights supposed to help?"

Kissing her forehead, he nods. "I don't think they really understood who they were talking to when they told you how to manage your pain." Pulling off his boots, then his shirt, he looks out the window before meeting her eyes again. "Probably don't know how many times you've been shot."

Leia rests her hands on his skin, studying his scars in the pale light from the window. "Or they thought they were talking to a politician, who needs to appear as if she's in control at all times."

"Guess they really didn't know you," he teases.

"I don't need to cultivate an appearance of control."

"No, you don't need to cultivate that," Han replies, helping her out of her shirt. He folds it, setting it aside with his. He reaches for her breasts, bound up in a tight undershirt. They sit heavy on her chest, fuller than they've ever been, more round, and sensitive. She never paid that much attention to what she wore beneath her uniforms during the war, but the baby's changed her body so much that she's acutely aware of how her breasts can ache.

Standing against his chest, she strips off the undershirt. He draws her in, kissing her breasts along the blue veins that have made maps beneath her skin. She could protest that she doesn't need the control, to be in charge, because she takes orders in the field. When they're sensible.

"I like it here," she says, resting her hands on his shoulders. Insects and birds hum through the trees outside of the window, and music and laughter carry lazily from downstairs. There's life all around them, intrigue, excitement, and none of it has anything to do with them. She has him, and the quiet.

Luke's there as well; his presence caresses her mind before he retreats in meditation, leaving her alone with Han. He's good at sensing when she's about to kiss her husband in a way Luke might not want to share, even if he is her twin. Things were a little awkward before they figured that out.

There's a tiny stone closet with a toilet and a sink in the corner, which is nice, because she can barely go an hour without having to pee. Leia emerges with all of her clothing in her hands because it was just easier to step out of her trousers than fuss with getting them back on. Han smirks at her from where he stands by the bed and drops his own to the floor, letting her stare at him, naked before her. She drops her clothing onto the pile he's already started and reaches for him, dragging him close so she can kiss him.

He tastes spicy-sour, like good red wine, and while they're kissing he lifts her up. She didn't realize the bed was so high until she's on it, facing him, her legs around his waist. It's built into the wall, old timbers and older stone, and it creaks when he leans closer to kiss her. His tongue brushes her lips, then it's in her mouth, and slowly the myriad complaints of her body give way to more pleasant sensations of warmth. He parts her legs, hands running up her thighs and she tugs him closer, kissing him deeper.

One hand rises to her breast and he's gentle while he palms it, slipping his fingers beneath so he takes the weight of it. She traces his back, finding the scars over his muscles, pulling him closer, kissing up his neck makes him gasp and his breathing rises with hers. Han returns to her mouth, sucking her bottom lip before his attention is drawn back to her breasts. Sucking on her breast as he moves towards her nipple, he coaxes a moan from her throat.

He moves to the other breast with his mouth but his fingers glide up, starting to tease her. It doesn't take much to arouse her, and he loves how wet she is. He strokes her cheek, then smiles at her.

"Lie back."

"Oh?"

"Maybe it'll help you sleep," he teases. Tracing his fingertip over her clit, he kisses her again. "Lie back."

She tugs him closer, running her foot across his butt, then she complies, dropping to her elbows, then all the way back, staring up at the ancient ceiling as his mouth drops to her thigh. He's always cocky about what he's good at, but when he does this, he's earned every wink across across a table.

Han teases, taking his time to bring his mouth towards her clit. He tries to fake her out, kissing her thigh and using his fingers to make her moan, then the heat of his mouth arrives, vivid like blaster fire, and the sound she makes is all the encouragement he needs. His fingers stroke her sex, but they're only taunting her because he'll slip inside when he's done. Making her orgasm is his favorite kind of foreplay, and whenever they have time, he takes it. Takes her, breaks her ability to think.

His mouth and hand move in tandem, drawing her up, taking her breath as her heart races. Pleasure can be sacred, sharing that is what binds a relationship. She took her mother's lessons to heart, and came to her lovers eager, willing, and they were incredible, but Han is wicked. The firmer touch of his nose against her clit while he licks makes her moan again, because he's toying with her, basking in the noises she makes and how her hips shift on the bed. She tilts up towards him, begging him for more, because that makes him take her over.

He's as soft as sealant when she uses his name, if she begs, and she shouldn't.

She shouldn't.

His mouth settles on her clit, and orgasm starts to creep over her like smoke. His free hand strokes her belly, and since the baby's taking up so much space, orgasm takes over over, tightening down while her head spins. It's a falling, dreamy sensation, that makes her feet tingle, and her lips. Her incoherent cry makes him stop, and Han's wet mouth meets her cheek, then her lips, and she pants for breath while he leans over her.

"You're beautiful," he whispers.

"Get up here," she answers, pulling her legs onto the bed. Her head's still reeling, and perhaps that will build into the next. Sometimes it does, especially now, because being pregnant came with that strange and wonderful gift.

Leia guides him beneath her, straddling his hips. He has to sit up to kiss her, because the baby takes up so much space, but he slips within her as his eyes darken. She's still tight from orgasm, and wet enough that he slides deep. He's controlled, gentle, and she has to shift her hips to allow him deeper, then she rocks. Her hips are gone, but he holds her waist, hands strong against her sides. She listens to his breathing, his heartbeat thudding in his chest, and reaches for his essence, that spark of the Force that flows within him.

Luke blushed so red when she asked him about bringing the Force into sex, but she had to know. The Force wouldn't be left out of something as beautiful as making love, but Luke hadn't tried. He doesn't love anyone as she does Han, has no one to touch this way. Han didn't think it could work, that she could share what she has with him, like that. He's as Force-sensitive as a rock, as he likes to remind her.

He doesn't understand how the Force flows through stone, and water. Can't see the connections between everything, between them, and the stones of the wall. Leia reaches out, opening herself. Stroking his chin, she looks down, seeking his eyes, looking for permission.

"I want-" she starts to ask and he nods.

Han strokes her side with his hand and watches her, curiosity overwhelming the physical until she moves faster, using one connection to build another.

She draws Han into her, entwining the Force that flows through both of them. She's done this before, letting him experience what she does, allowing him to feel the Force through her.

"Do you- can you feel that?" she whispers. Her hand rests over his heart, on his sweat-slick skin. She tries to focus, shrinking her senses to the wet ache of their bodies together. the buzzing is her pleasure, rising again, but the thrumming inside of her teeth, that's him. She's sure this time. Leia can build that, make it spiral upward. The motion of her body's an afterthought. Orgasm is biological, and if she can use the Force to dull pain, she can use it to magnify pleasure, share it, because he should know what he does to her, how it feels to have him buried deep and the cascading sensation of his fingertips on her clit again.

That's it. He's there, with her, and his hand fumbles, his breath catches, mirroring her own. She squeezes, bearing down because she can share that, the delicious tightness of her body against his, the tension-

The light.

She hovers over him, watching orgasm pass through his face while his body stiffens beneath her. The physical sensations blend together: the heat comes in waves and sweat beads on her back in the humid air. Leia studies his face, watching the Force slip back within him, waiting for the tide to rise again. Rolling off of him and onto the sheet beside him, she kisses his cheek.

"You did that Force thing, didn't you?"

Leia beams at him, because they've been close. She's nearly- "You felt it."

"Yeah." He struggles for breath, still gasping. "Felt like flying naked in hyperspace or something." Han shift to his side, wanting to look at her. "Is that what it's like for you?"

"Only with you." Patting his face, she drops her hand to the bed, spent and satiated. "Luke said the Force can amplify sensations, feelings, sometimes even share them, and I felt you. Which is incredible."

He smirks and winks at her, settling his legs lazily over and between hers, so they're tangled. "I've always considered myself to be." His hand circles her belly, because he's so fascinated by how hard and smooth it is after they've had sex. It'll ache later, little shadow contractions that she imagines prepare the baby to breathe. They don't hurt.

She studies the scar on his chin, and the way his eyes seem darker in moonlight. She brushes his damp hair back from his forehead. "I love you."

His response is a kiss, and his forehead brushes hers and they lie there, wrapped in each other. "What's Luke going to say when you tell him that you managed to find me in the Force?"

"I can't ask him that. He heard quite enough of you and me, before we figured out how to shield our minds from each other better."

Han chuckles. "That was pretty funny."