notes: thanks again to my brain twin, shinewithalltheuntold, for her unwavering support. Many thanks also for the wonderful reviews because it's such a treat to know what you like. I am so grateful to all of you.

Han mutters to himself by the table, turning screws, tightening fittings. He loves a project and bringing their baby home has kept him busy. It's sweet that he worries, though babies have been traveling on starships, herself included, for thousands of years. He's so far from the scruffy-looking pirate who cared only about himself, and money. Which is funny, because he's richer now as her husband than he ever would have been as a smuggler. He could pay off Jabba the Hutt's ransom several times over, buy a starfighter to replace the Falcon.

And the money is nothing. He doesn't even buy parts for the Falcon when he needs them. She finds them, or he trades, or they call in a favor. She's not usually as wrong about anyone as she has been about him, and that is precious. He was everything she hated, now he's everything she loves: the center of her universe and the father of their child. She smiles to herself, shaking the tangles out of her wet hair.

They swam in the clear water of the great lake, Han complaining about the cold because he wasn't raised in the mountains of Alderaan, with cold streams and falling snow. He came in with her, and swam under the sky while the sun set. Then he watched her, teasing her about the lake being the only thing that could take the heat from the furnace she's become.

And nothing happened. The commlink was silent, no data readers arrived so urgent they needed to move to the top of the pile. Han laughed at her, water drying on his tan shoulders, and he came down to the water to walk her out because her legs forgot how heavy she is. He kissed her instead of drying her off, and again while she held the towel and the amount of time they can spend kissing hasn't changed at all. Marriage, a baby, all the things that are meant to take away from the simple pleasure of their mouths against each other, can't compete.

The baby shifts, nudging at her ribs with one of their feet. Tilting her hips eases the ache in her back but standing barefoot on the stone isn't helping, even if it's pleasantly cool on her feet. Rubbing the invading foot with her hand, through the thin fabric of one of Han's old shirts, she listens to the shirt's former owner hum to himself in the other room.

"Your hair's much longer than your mother's was. Your birth mother, I mean," Anakin corrects. Obi-Wan must have told him to be polite and recognize that she had parents who loved her that weren't him. She can't imagine Anakin Skywalker being polite on his own.

She's too harsh, but he's Darth Vader. He was- is- but he's so young. There are no lines on her face, as there were on her father's, her mother's, and he's barely her age.

Maybe younger. He's insubstantial, a ghost of blue Force-energy, but his blue eyes look so much like Luke's that she can't watch them. Her brother's eyes have always been gentle, comforting, but Anakin she can't trust.

"She wore wigs," Leia says, because she's seen the holos of Padme Amidala, queen and senator of Naboo, and the ornamental parts of her costumes were beautiful, as was she.

"Not all the time," he replies, shifting so he sits on the edge of the table, watching her as if he's a child. "Sometimes her hair was wound up into them, very complicated, it would take two of three of her handmaidens to get her free. Dorme was especially good at it," he continues, remembering. "After she became a senator, they were less complicated, but there were always hairpins on the table next to the bed. Sometimes they were in the bed." His smile is so genuine, so gentle that she forgets all her hatred.

"Han says he finds them in the bed."

"I do. They're a menace." Han finishes, peering through the door. "Who are you talking to?" He looks around the room but Anakin's invisible to him. Puzzled, he turns to Leia. "Who's here?"

"My-" she stops, that seems wrong somehow. "Anakin," she corrects, because this is him, the youthful Jedi who had so much promise. He's not her father, but he is on some level, and he's not evil. Not yet, anyway.

Tracking her eyes, Han crosses to her, staring where she's looking, even though he can't possibly see Anakin. His arm rises in front of her chest, because he needs to be between her, the baby, and Darth Vader. The commlink crackles in his hand.

"Luke is on his way already,"Anakin says. Perhaps he spoke to him first.

She reassures Han. "He says Luke's coming." Leia takes that defensive arm and holds it, wrapping her arms around it, taking his hand. Han's fingers close tight around her own, and she can't take his worry, not totally, because Anakin Skywalker was her father, but he's Darth Vader and he killed; tortured.

"Good." He leans in, kissing her forehead. She's not sure if it's to reassure her or himself, but it's easier with him here.

Anakin watches them, his smile soft, full of regret.

"What was she like?" she asks, trying to keep the conversation on something they both want to talk about.

"Beautiful, intelligent, funny," he stops, fidgeting with a sleeve that's not there. "I imagine the historians forget to mention that she was funny."

"Much of the history of the Old Republic was destroyed in the wars," Leia tells him. He was there, he should know that, but maybe it's only yesterday for him that Padme Amidala was alive, that the Republic stood firm.

"And written by the victors," Anakin adds, slipping off the table and pacing over to the window. "We were going to have you on Naboo, in the lake country. Your mother's family had a house there, and she loved it. We didn't know you were twins. You and your brother. We didn't- that would have been a surprise." He looks at her belly and Han must be able to tell, must be following her eyes, because he's between them again, his body her shield if she needs it.

"Ours is one."

"You can feel that?"

"Yes." Why couldn't he feel them? Were his abilities more like Luke's? Were their infant minds too similar or too connected?

"Leia?"

Luke's mind touches hers just before his voice reaches her. Maz and Han whisper and she's there, right beside Leia's thigh, watching Anakin from behind her glasses.

"He's so young," Maz says, and that must be for Han, because everyone else can see Anakin. "And tall, like you. Don't know why Luke is so short."

"I'm all right," she promises Luke. "I'm fine."

"Okay," he says, touching her shoulder. "We're here."

And they are, all arrayed behind her, except Han, who is determined to be in the way. She loves that, because the soft scent of him, still almost damp from the lake, gives her something to focus on.

"I don't blame you," Anakin says, resting his sparkling hands on the windowsill. "For needing them here."

That rankles somehow, and her grip must have tightened because Han catches her eye.

She shakes her head and he's silent, but Anakin takes a step, then another, and he's closer. He could almost touch her.

Han's still between them. When did her heart start beating so hard?

"You should sit."

Leia didn't envision this conversation taking that much time, but it doesn't seem like he's leaving. Her feet hurt, sending pain up to her knees and fine, she should sit, but the room's tiny and there's just a bench along the wall and the bed, and she can't sit on the bed with him there.

Han leads her to the bench but sitting seems strange, and it's not until he's behind her, so she's perched between his legs, his hands on her thighs that it seems all right. His breathing is slower, and that helps calm her own. She's not nervous, Anakin's harmless, he's barely grown; this is how he was when he was good. When he was himself. He's that again, Luke swears it, but this is how he was when he killed.

She's killed in battle, but not children, not Padme.

"Have you had visions?"

Maz climbs up on the bench beside her and repeats to Han in a whisper, so he knows. Luke sits down on the other side, touching her hand.

"No."

Luke nods, and why does Anakin keep looking at him? Does he expect her to lie?

"He had visions, before our mother died," Luke explains. "He knew she'd die in childbirth."

"I wanted," Anakin stops again, shaking his head. "I wanted to make sure you were all right, with the baby."

"I'm fine."

Maz whispers to Han again and his fingers find Leia's.

"Luke said I shouldn't worry."

"No," Leia says and Anakin's smile fades. Her tone was too sharp, but he's not her father, not really, not the one who should worry about her. Bail would have stories about her mother worrying over a speech, or a treaty, and he'd find a way to make her laugh, and tease Han about the fourth time he's rebuilt the baby seat for the Falcon.

"I mean, I'm fine," she corrects. "The baby's a little late, but first babies are, I'm told."

"You and your brother were early." Anakin's eyes are too soft, and she's not sure if ghosts can cry, but the memory stings him. Maybe he's imagining another universe where he watched the birth of his children, instead of taking their mother. "I saw your mother, Padme, I saw her die, through the Force, every night."

"I haven't had visions, Luke has, but not about our baby, or Han and I."

Han's fingers touch her belly, almost to make sure that what she says is true.

"I don't think anything is going to happen to Leia," Luke adds, and his voice is so much calmer. The Emperor could have been influencing you."

So it wasn't Anakin's fault. Is that how Luke rationalizes Anakin's fall? Is that how he forgives? She doesn't believe in fate, nor that the Force has a plan that they're all following.

"He maneuvered people and events far into the future, or at least, he tried to, Luke continues. "He wanted you for his apprentice."

"And there may be those who want your child," Anakin adds, looking straight at Leia, and she sees Luke in his face, in his concern, but he is not family. He's not her brother. He is not someone she trusts.

"There's no one left," she protests. The Dark side always returns, she's heard that over and over, but there's no one. They've won.

"They might come to you as a friend," he insists. "The Emperor did. He was Senator Palpatine when I knew him. He was a mentor."

The baby shifts, and she can't help wondering if they sense her unease. That foot crashes into her ribs again, and she moves Han's palm over it.

Anakin tilts his head, studying her and Han before he speaks. "I know you resist Luke's training, but you must be aware that your own brother was almost lost to the Dark. Luke's anger was once so great that he nearly killed Darth Vader and took his place."

He never-

Leia turns her head and Luke meets her eyes.

"I meant to tell you."

"That you-"

"I threatened you," Anakin says, his voice cold as stone. "If Luke would not turn, perhaps you would, and I found anger in him I'd never felt before. If he'd been weaker, he would have joined the Emperor."

Her stomach twists, and her throat draws tight. Luke nods again, because this is true. He faced their father and wanted his death, his blood-

"Luke loved you enough to risk losing himself, and I see you with your husband, and your baby, and how much you love them. The Dark side twists love, magnifies fear, makes you realize that you'd do anything to avoid losing the people you love."

He moves, perhaps without even walking, and then his face is so close to hers that the Force-energy of him crackles against her skin.

"I don't want you to ever feel that desperation, that hunger for power, because it consumes you, and there's nothing after that. You tell yourself that you want power for the people you love, for Han, for your child, but power is its own kind of love." He reaches for her face, touching her cheek as if he's been a father to her most of her life, not just in moments.

Recoiling from the shock of the contact, the Force against her skin, or disgust, she presses into Han's chest with her back, and his arms grab her, holding her safe even though he doesn't know what she's afraid of.

Luke's hand flies up to ease Anakin away, and another pair of hands, insubstantial as Anakin's shoulders, pull him back.

"I'm sorry," a new voice says, older than Anakin's. "I should have been here earlier. Forgive me, I didn't want to intrude."

"You're always late," Maz says, shaking her head at the Obi-Wan. "And you haven't gotten any better."

"Having no real concept of time does make it more difficult," he retorts, smiling at her.

Luke smiles at him, suddenly calm.

Turning her head, she hides her face in Han's neck, just long enough to regain her composure. Obi-Wan she trusts, because he was her father's friend and he's always been kind. Han holds her shoulders, then cradles her head. What she feels for him is the opposite of what Anakin worries. Han's peace, comfort, and safety.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Leia asks Luke when she trusts herself to look at him. "You said the Emperor tortured you, and our father-"

Luke fidgets with his hands, and he smiles, his expression soft and sad. "The Emperor said he'd try to turn you, and I could I have killed him, and Vader, I would have done anything to keep you from being in that place. I beat Vader back, cut off his hand, and I realized that I'd lose you if I didn't stop, even if I won, I'd lose you."

She opens her mouth but she can't speak. They're all watching her; she's the center of the silence. The Emperor wanted her, and her abilities are nothing like Luke's. She doesn't have his skill, never will, but he thought she'd be in danger if he failed. He put himself through all of that for her.

"Kid-" Han says, patting his shoulder before he squeezes it and Luke winces, just a little. "You have family. We've got your back. We always will."

"Don't do that," she says, and it's a whisper because it hurts to look at her idiot brother. Her twin, her other half, and he's so much like her. So foolish. "Don't lie to me. You should have told me what happened."

"I was weak," Luke explains, turning half a smile toward Han. "My love for you made me lose myself, lose what I needed to do. I had to let go, of everyone, and then it passed. The Dark side can't tempt you if you surrender, and I thought I would die. The Emperor's lightning took me and I thought that was it, but it was all right, because you'd resist him. You're so strong."

"No," she snaps.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and Maz starts to smile.

"I'm not," Leia continues. "I'm not strong like that."

"You stood up to Vader before you knew what you were, what strength you had. You've always been stronger than me, a better leader." Luke puts his hand on her knee and they're all entwined, the three of them, staring at each other while the ghosts watch them.

"But I don't surrender." He should know that.

"Surrender was how I let go of the Dark side, perhaps it won't be that for you. The Force is in all of us but it's different too. Anakin let go of the darkness because of love, and I had to let go of love to find my way. You have so much love, Leia, and maybe that'll be how it works for you. I don't doubt you, I've never doubted you."

"Not even when you were under that horrible water in the garbage chute?" Han teases, and he pulls Luke closer and the three of them hug, arms and shoulders and faces all together, and she loves them both too much for words or measure.

"Maybe a little, the tentacles, you know," Luke jokes back, before he kisses her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"You should be."

"I didn't want you to feel bad."

"Because not telling me was certainly better," she says, trying to sound commanding, but her throat's too tight.

"I knew you'd save the galaxy," Luke whispers, kissing her other cheek. "I trusted that, and I let go."

She doesn't let go, not of the people she loves, or a fight that needs her. Leia doesn't know how that will translate, how she can face that inevitable darkness that Luke fears, because she doesn't give up. Surrender has never been an option, and certainly not now, with Han and the baby, and Luke-

She shuts her eyes, leaning into him while Han strokes the back of her head. "It's a big galaxy."

"You'd do it," Luke promises, and he looks at her with the same unwavering faith that Han has.

"I told you that you worried too much," Obi-Wan says and Anakin's sigh carries. "They have each other, and that's important."

"I'm their father," Anakin protests. "I'm meant to worry about them."

Their argument continues, and Luke watches them, his smile growing. Maz starts to repeat it for Han, but he shakes his head.

"It's okay, I hear them, arguing like Jawas over the price of a speeder."

Luke's eyebrows rise. "You hear them?"

"Like a bad radio, but yeah." Han strokes her neck, then shakes his head. "Is it always like that?"

"We can see them," Luke explains, and then grins. "But yeah, it's often like that."

Maz clears her throat and reaches for Luke's sleeve. "We should go, Chewie will have drunk all of my wine if we don't give him some company. You two as well," she orders, and Anakin and Obi-Wan both turn to her, surprised. "Let them get some sleep."

Obi-Wan smiles and bids them good night. Anakin stares for a long moment, his eyes searching her face. He glances at Han, then looks back at her. His blue eyes are a mirror of Luke's but that no longer bothers her.

"Sleep well," he says, swallowing the rest of what he wants to say. He starts to fade, the blue glow of the Force vanishing, but he stops. "You're good here, together, with your baby."

The air seems to exhale, losing the crackling of the presence of ghosts. Luke lingers to kiss her cheek and Han hugs him, one arm tight around his shoulders. She's in there too, and it's hard to let him go. "I'm glad you're here, kid."

"Thanks."

"We'll talk tomorrow, okay?" Luke promises, and he catches her eye, getting her permission to touch her belly. She grabs his hand and helps him find one of the feet that are all too easy to locate today.

"Okay."

"My niece or nephew here's pretty strong."

"I hadn't noticed."

He beams at her and nods. "Good night."

The door closes behind him and it's quiet, a gentle, soft sort of quiet where no one's waiting to speak. Han rubs her belly slowly, easing the stretching of their baby pushing outwards. He doesn't speak, giving her time to think. Sliding off the bench, she turns into him so that her face rests on his chest and he holds her tightly enough that her thoughts cease clamoring.

Han cradles her shoulders, content to wait. When she finally lifts her head, he beams at her, smug as a Lothal cat. "You did good."

"Luke-"

Nodding, he reaches for her cheek and holds her face, meeting her eyes. "I know."

"Why would he?"

"Because he loves you."

"That much?"

Chuckling, Han nods. His thumb brushes her jaw. "Yeah."

"He's an idiot."

His fingers trace patterns along her neck and she's so tired that falling asleep standing out is a real possibility. She's only done that once or twice before, never pregnant, and navigating the last few things they need before bed seems like an insurmountable task until they're in bed, Han spooned tightly against her back, his hand on her belly.

"You could really hear them talking?"

He nods, nuzzling closer to the back of her neck. "Only towards the end. Maybe there was just so much Force-craziness in here that I couldn't help it. Just got taken along for the ride."

"I'm sorry you got pulled into that," she says, needing him to hear it because he's not an anchor, or a mynock stuck to her hull, he's hers and that's something she's never going to let go. Maybe Luke understands that now. She still pictures him staring down the Emperor, refusing the most powerful being in the galaxy, because he loves her. She lost her parents, her planet, and then gained a brother, and the long arms of her husband.

He kisses the back of her neck, then lifts himself up so he can kiss her cheek. "I love you, and as a former smuggler, I understand a lot of stuff comes along with that. After politics, the Force stuff is almost pleasant."

Turning her head to look at him, she returns his smile. "You don't think that."

"I love you." He repeats. "That means I like most of it, and will begrudgingly put up with the rest, princess."

She strokes his chin, then they kiss, and his mouth's warm. He's warmer, and she settles in, hoping the baby also decides to sleep through the night.

The baby wakes her, at least, that's what she thinks at first, because her belly's tight, suddenly sore, like when their baby stretches too far, but this continues, pulling in, not moving. She catches her breath, staring at the stone wall in the darkness. Han's still wrapped around her, legs and arms curled over hers. His breathing's still slow, regular, and he doesn't hurt so he can sleep.

The pain fades slowly, retreating, but the baby's awake now too. Their feet twitch, as if in protest. It could be nothing. Perhaps she'll fall back asleep and this, like all the other strange tightenings of her muscles, is nothing. The remnants of pain creep into her back, like fire retreating to dull embers. Han sleeps and the baby quiets. She reaches for them, caresses their energy, finding both of them in the Force. Han's still, strong and steady and the baby flits, like an excited bird because sleep and waking must be so different when your mind is so new.

She's half asleep again when the pain comes back, tight, cramping and she can't sleep. It drags her back awake as if demanding to be noticed. Leia reaches for Han again, finding him with her mind because he at least, gets to sleep. He doesn't hurt. His thoughts lie still like water, and he's here. One of his hands rests on her chest and his heart beats against her back. She's safe, she repeat to herself, letting the pain nip at her.

It takes her a moment to remember the date, and another pain grinds through her while she tries to decide if she likes today as a birthday. It's still early, but it could be tomorrow. Tomorrow's date has a softer ring to it, but that means this will stalk her for the rest of this day. Can she hold onto that? It already hurts, a tugging, sandpaper kind of pain, and she can ignore it, breath through it, think of other things, but there's already an inevitability to the returning of that tightness.

It comes back. Creeping up until it washes over her and she drifts with it. Han's steady enough that she can focus on him, use him as an anchor. Luke's further away, and she can't find his sleeping presence. He'd remind her to concentrate on the Force, to let that flow through and let the pain flow with it. Let it rush and still, because the Force is eternal.

She loses track of the number of contractions, or any concept of time. The darkness fades to grey, then a soft yellow light creeps into her eyelids. The sun's coming up, Han will wake soon and she'll have to tell him. She imagines his smile and opens her eyes, but his face is there, above her. She didn't feel him move. Didn't know he woke.

He rubs his fingers across her cheek, then kisses her forehead. He's watched her. Her belly starts to tighten again, discomforting rising, and his eyes meet hers, stay with hers. He slows his breathing, guiding hers, being her anchor.

She doesn't speak, doesn't make it real with words, but he kisses her forehead as the contraction releases her. Han helps her roll over so they lie face to face. One of his legs drapes across hers.

One of them should count, grab a chrono, do something other than lie there, waiting out her contractions in heartbeats and breaths, but there's nothing else she needs.

And no hurry.