many many thanks to shinewithalltheuntold, for being such a great fic journey companion, and ehc6j for talking childbirth with me.
Apologies for how long this took, life got silly for awhile.
He knows that look on Luke's face. It's 'Leia cut her hand on a lightsaber crystal there's blood all over the workbench can you-' and 'she took a few breaths of coolant, and I don't know what to do', especially 'we were plotting a trade route in the fleet briefing and Leia said she was going to be sick'. Even as a grown up, very famous, Jedi Knight, little things: his sister bleeding, half-passing out when they helped repair the Falcon, or throwing up in the refresher weren't things, he was ready to handle.
And hey, Han could take those things. He knew first aid and could usually guess when a cut needed a stitcher in addition to a bacta plaster. He'd inhaled enough coolant from the Falcon to know that after some fresh air, and a headache, it was fine, but looking after his pregnant wife while she was nauseated was new. Leia was easy to look after because she so rarely complained, except about the inconvenience of not being able to sit in meetings all day. He teased her relentlessly because wanting to be in meetings instead of getting out of them, was the wrong way around, and everyone but her knew that.
Maybe the bond between Lei and her brother made it too intense when she was in pain, because for weeks, the moment she was sick to her stomach, Luke went pale. Han could pass her tea and toast, even sit with her on the floor in the refresher and read reports out loud so she had something to listen to. When he got sarcastic enough, or read the notes in a silly voice, she'd hit him, or laugh, and that made being stiff and cold on the floor entirely fine. Perfectly acceptable, because she curled up against him when it wasn't bad, and they talked, and all the little things they still didn't know about each other made good stories. Han didn't have many stories of childhood, but he had a few stray memories of growing up, of the people he knew. His adventures as a smuggler, especially when he got himself into trouble, often made her smile, so he might have elaborated, borrowed a story or two. Leia usually caught him after a time, but even that distracted her.
He hadn't needed to distract her yet this morning. Her contractions continue, growing closer together, but the pain isn't important, and isn't enough to even bother her yet. This is necessary, the final stage after months of waiting for the kid. Her breathing only changes a little, hitches when they peak, and that's nothing she can't deal with. She even smiles a little as they strengthen, because this is something she can master, something she can do other than wait.
She's terrible at waiting, worse than him by a matter of degrees. When they reached the baby's arrival window, every day without labor drove her crazy. Not that she hates being pregnant, because she's been gracious and tough, but she's never been patient. Sharing her body, ceding control to a squirming, kicking parasite who made it very hard for her to concentrate while the New Republic formed around them.
That same impatience meant she would never have waited to have a child. Not that they had to wait very long after they deactivated their contraceptives, because that part of their relationship has always gone pretty spectacularly well, and these odds were good. It took less than a handful of months, and their first anniversary passed with the kid twisting within her. She curled up beside him that night, slipping into his arms, and slept while he held her belly and their kid tapped secret messages into his hands.
Now the kid shifts, as if they too know that this is the end of this phase, that they're not going to be safe inside of their mother much longer. The universe if wonderful and terrible, but they'll get to show the baby everything from the Boruu nebula to the shining worlds of the Core systems. Though baby doesn't seem like a thing of wonder just yet. Leia still has to get through this, and though she has the pain tolerance of a wampa, it's still an ordeal. Hopefully, he's hiding his concern better than Luke. He has to be, the kid's an open book.
Luke touches her shoulder, studying her face before he looks at Han. "I felt-" Luke begins.
"I'm all right," she promises, tugging him down to hug him. "I'm sorry that woke you."
"Sorry? I thought some dregs of the Empire might have found you. Bounty hunters." He runs his hand through his hair then stares at her belly. "Should have realized. I was ready to run down to your room."
"I tried to tell you I was all right."
Luke kisses her cheek. "I got that, eventually. You were with Han, you were safe." He holds her shoulders for a moment then shakes his head and turns to Han. "I don't think I've ever found your presence that calming."
"Just because you don't appreciate my charms…" Han wraps his arm around Leia's back, keeping her close. "We were going to take a walk, try and get gravity on our side."
"That's okay?"
Leia nods but her eyes harden. Luke must feel the next contraction starting too, because he winces. For a second, Han doesn't even know who to comfort. Luke might need it more because Leia's been between cold steel and smiling.
"Dr. Waceera did a quick scan for us, everything looks good," Han assures him when Leia's slow to speak. "Head's down."
"And that's good."
Leia nods, then pats Luke's cheek. "Unfortunately baby shares dad's sense of timing, but head down is the right position for take off."
Han chuckles because if she can tease him, damn right he's going to laugh. "I seem to remember some of those were your fault."
She shrugs, and takes a step. He grabs the bag of supplies because he is not walking more than a meter from the castle without backup. Luke falls in next to them, regaining his color as the contraction ends. Leia's grip on his arm loosens a little, but Luke's the one who's more relieved.
"It's worse when you're closer," Leia says, lifting her eyes up towards the soft sun of the morning. The trees hum around them, quiet, as if they're also waiting on the kid. "More intense."
"Great," Luke replies, turning to Han as if somehow he can help.
He can't. He has less force-sensitivity than the Falcon does.
"You said you needed practice shutting me out," Leia teases. She gestures to her belly, then looks up again, shutting her eyes as the sun falls on her face. "Now would be a good time."
"I'll work on it."
They walk on, Leia leading, Luke a step behind, and they're slow through the woods towards the water. Leia keeps touching the trees, but she's not searching for balance, maybe it's a Force thing, because Luke's just as fidgety. Han counts the contractions, keeping track of how long Leia's eyes are metal. She smiles when Luke shakes his head, wincing.
"Reminds me of sandburns." He says, settling down on the blanket, watching the water. Leia doesn't sit, so Han stands beside her. She reaches back, finding his arm, then his hand. She wraps her fingers around his and stares at the water.
"What are sandburns?" Leia asks, her head resting against his arm. Does the water remind her of home? He's seen holos of the palace where she grew up, but there had to be other places. Her fingers tighten in his.
"When you get caught out, and your skin's exposed, and the wind tears at it." Luke's voice catches as he replies. Han counts, because he can't share this the way Luke can. He would if he could, if only to know that Leia's all right, because once it starts to really hurt, it'll probably take her hours to tell him. She holds her pain close, even when it's only physical.
"You okay?" Luke asks, shutting his eyes. Maybe he's trying to keep her out. "Did that doctor say how long it would take?"
Leia smirks, then looks up at him, but Luke can't see it her face. Han pulls her closer, wrapping her in his arms, holding her seems like the least he can do.
"Hours," he answers for her. "An unknown number, probably less than what, forty?"
Leia makes a sound of disapproval, but Luke's eyes pop open.
"Forty?"
"It's hard to know," Han says. "Twelve, maybe more. Depends on how much of a hurry the little guy's in."
"Not much of one," Leia mutters, then tugs him towards the water. "Come on, moon jockey."
He kisses her forehead and follows, leaving Luke to his meditation in the sunshine. The path down to the water is level, and they make their way slowly. She refuses to stop during contractions, because they're not bad. Han hasn't been sandburnt, but this is okay if it hurts. It's always hard to get that through to her, because she holds her pain close, tight to her chest. She was trained to resist torture and honed her skills against Darth Vader. Pain is a weakness she won't allow herself, even now. She'll soften it by telling him it's not that bad, that she's fine.
Leia uses him for balance and slips out of her shoes. Tiny stones made a dark carpet underfoot, and they hiss as she walks to the water. Her feet almost shine white in contrast and he sits, pulling off his own boots to follow her in.
"I would have set my parents' ashes free on a lake like this," she says, staring out over the water. "If they'd died later, when they- or if there was a lake left." She blinks, clearing her eyes, then stares up at the sun. "It seems wrong to think about their deaths."
He takes a step towards her, gasping as the cold water embraces his feet. Leia smirks, then reaches for him, slipping into his arms.
"You miss them."
"Think they would have suggested that we adopt?"
She catches her breath, blowing the air across her lips as she exhales. He's used to counting his way out of a dive, waiting for the right moment to take a shot; this has all the intensity and none of the danger. This is life.
"Maybe."
They sway in the water while his feet go numb and they creep back up to the coarse sand. Leia keeps her head against his chest, and her fingers wind into his shirt.
"My mother used to tell me how hard it was for my father to put me down. When we arrived back, he told her that I wouldn't sleep unless someone held me. So they held me, all the time. My mother used to take me to meetings."
He laughs, because even as an infant, she went to meetings. "I hope you had the sense to sleep through them then." Running his hands over her back, he rests his fingers on her lower back, just over her pelvis. "You can take the baby to meetings." He presses into her back, and her little gasp suggests that helps.
"It's here, isn't it?"
She makes a noise, soft and grateful. He waits for her breath to slow. Her contractions have risen with the sun, growing in strength. She says so little, just leans into his chest. Maz said the baby might be up against her back, that it might hurt there, and it does, but will not break her.
Leia strokes his chin. "I wish my parents had met you."
"Me? The space pirate." He lifts her eyes to his, then bends down to kiss her. She whispers against his lips.
"My father loved pirates. Had all sorts of adventures with them." She shifts, looking back up the path. "Do you think Luke's gotten me out of his head yet?"
"I hope he has for his sake, poor kid's suffered enough, hasn't he?"
She kisses his nose, and her smile could rival the sun. Han follows her up the path, hands on her hips. They still walk through the contractions, but she doesn't speak through them now. He mutters, whispers to her, saying nothing important, telling stories that he finishes slowly, almost lazily, during the next contraction, and the next.
Luke's better closed off now, he no longer winces with her, and that's better. It takes the guilt from her, makes her smile, because his only pain is empathy now. He helps hold Leia's hands, and it's easier for him to guide Han's fists against Leia's back. They head back to the castle as the sun sets, Leia between them.
She pants now, set teeth firm in her jaw. When pain washes over her resolve, she leans against him, Luke's hands on her back. The stairs back up in the castle are much harder going up than they were coming down. Han holds tight to her, aware of the sweat clinging to her clothes and how her feet are less sure.
Maz and Dr. Waceera both sit waiting for them in their room, swinging their feet over the bench. Han's Sullustan has never been great, but Luke's hear to listen when Han can't, and Maz translates.
"Your baby's head is down, but turned." Maz gestures with her hand, making a fist that she turns so her thumb faces her. She gestures to the curve of her hand. "The back of baby's head's against her spine, her pelvis, The baby will make his way down, but it may be harder, be slow. You must wait. I know you're tired."
Leia wipes damp hair from her forehead and shakes her head. "I'm fine."
"We know," Maz promises her. "You can be fine and tired at the same time."
Waceera and Maz debate something, speaking quickly to each other. Luke touches Leia's shoulder, then turns to Han. "Maz said there's food. I'll get it."
"You have to eat," Leia reminds him, balling her fingers into a fist in his shirt. "When it's here. You-"
"I'll eat," Han promises, pulling her in closer. "When have you known me to turn down food?"
"Don't joke."
When she's facing him he can see the contraction begin in her eyes, taking the steady ache from her back and making it burn. He whispers to her, breathes with her, lets her be the center of his universe while she needs him. The sun sets without him, and the lights in the wall come on one by one, soft and buried in the stone. He doesn't notice Waceera leaving, or Luke returning with food, until the latter passes him meat wrapped in flatbread.
Leia pats his chest, pleased that he's eating. He's not sure why it means so much to her. She's refused food since breakfast, and he can get her to drink tea, some of the fruit juice. As happy as she is that he's eating, Han recognizes the nausea in her eyes. He guides her to Luke, helping her hands find his shoulders. He'll eat behind her back, rest his elbow against her spine. Gulping down his food, Han forgets he even ate it as the last mouthful passes his lips.
Leia comes back to his arms, safe against his chest. He can protect her from so little of the galaxy, giving her what his has seems small after what she's done; all she's sacrificed. He breathes with her, for her, because she's sinking out of awareness, out of caring. The rhythm slips, and even with his hands, or Luke's on her back, there's no break, no pause. In the darkness, she sinks, barely speaking. Her pain vibrates, almost enough to be in the air around them, like electricity.
He holds her, swaying back and forth over the straw and reeds on the floor. She's been at this before dawn, before he woke, and she hasn't mentioned being tired. Leia hasn't said it hurts, hasn't looked at him to ask how long she has to endure. How much longer must she fight. She's always up for a fight.
His world shrinks to her breathing, her sweat on his skin, the weight on her as they rock back and forth. The soft pop, startles them both, and then water trickling, splashing on his their bare feet. She gasps, then moans, her voice sharp in her throat.
"Leia?"
She won't look at him, eyes screwed shut. Fluid soaks into her skirt, disappearing into the thick reeds on the floor. Her knees buckle before she steels herself. The hand on his back moves to his arm, tightens her grip.
"Your water broke."
He gets half a nod against his chest, a whimper of acknowledgement through gritted teeth. Han touches her hair, then her cheek. He needs to check, make sure she's not bleeding, that the water's clear. She grips his arm harder, fingers like spots of shrapnel.
"It's worse."
That she doesn't acknowledge. Maz must be right about the baby's head, how it's tight against her bones, shifting her spine on its way down, burning every centimeter.
"Can you hold onto the wall?" He still needs to look, get her out of her overdress. "I'll be right here." Luke would be a help right about now, but he's not here. Maz is also absent from the hallway.
Chewie's all the way downstairs, probably destroying the competition in holochess because he can't handle Leia sufferin, big, soft-hearted fuzzball.
He shifts her hands from him to the cool stone, moves around her when she has her balance. He presses his fist against her back, feeling along her spine, right above her pelvis, if he pushes hard enough he can almost feel the bones shift. She gasps, sharp, surprised, maybe relieved, because the tension eases, just a little.
"There?"
She nods, beads of sweat trickling down her neck beside the long braid. Han rests one fist there, Pressing down until he has to be breaking her, but she nods again.
"That helps." Her voice is rough, and it must have been hours since she's spoken to him.
"Okay, I can do that. Stay with me." He undoes the laces of her dress with one hand, stripping her down to her underdress. It's transparent with sweat, but she radiates heat. Her dress falls in a heap at her feet. She'll need to step out of it. He puts his fist beside the other and checks her legs. There's no blood on her skin, no other colors. Nothing to worry about, other than the hours of labor left. That'll be fine.
"This way," he suggests, keeping his hands against her. "Two steps."
"Han-"
"Two steps," he repeats, guiding her hips. She obliges, but turns, shifting in his arms. His hands come off her back, and he expects to lose her again to whatever quiet place she needs.
Instead, Leia looks at him, her eyes soft but distant, as if she's far from here. "I'm fine."
"Of course you are," he replies, confused. "Are you in Luke's head? Don't hurt the kid now. He's not-"
"Not Luke," Leia says, staring at him- through him. "It doesn't hurt." Her breath still rises, tightening as her muscles clamp down, but she holds his gaze. "I don't know."
"Han-" Luke's back, demanding his attention in the doorway.
"Wait." Something's wrong.
Leia still leans on the wall, half balanced on him. Somehow she smiles, and that sensation, like electricity, dust, maybe insects, crawling over his skin, returns.
Luke insists. "Han, she's projecting."
He reaches for her face, cups her cheek. "Projecting what? She's not a shield array."
"They're all under her power," Maz adds, slipping past Luke into the room. "Everyone downstairs."
"Leia?"
They're fine," she answers, standing up a little straighter. "They'll be fine."
"Projecting what?" Han asks Luke without turning his head. Leia needs his attention. Her hands rest on his chest, not digging into his shirt, not balled in pain, but palms flat, calm.
"Her pain," Luke finishes. "And it's strong; Leia's very powerful. The minds down there, they're smugglers, pirates, they-"
"Have no defense," Maz finishes for him. She crosses the room to them and looks up at Leia. Then she pats her knee, her small fingers bright orange against Leia's sweat-soaked skin. "Let them go."
"I will," Leia says, and the distance seems to grow. She doesn't even need to lean against the wall now, even with her heart pounding in her chest, and her lungs panting with exertion, she's separate from that. Even though he's covered in her sweat, and his own, it's suddenly cold. "It'll only be a few hours. Faster now, I think."
"You can't take over their minds," Luke says, following Maz in. He stares at his sister, his expression tender. "It's not right to take advantage, even if it helps you."
"They will be fine," Leia insists, her voice stronger now, more level and even more cold. "You wanted me to learn control."
"You're hurting them," Luke reminds her, standing beside Han. With him this close, it's easy to make out the tears in his eyes; much this drags at his heart. "You can't hurt the innocent."
Leia lifts her hand from Han, and holds it in front of Luke. Energy crackles, racing through the sweat on Han's chest. "They're not innocent. These are spice runners, killers, thieves. They take from the innocent."
"We don't punish."
Han looks from one sibling to the other, and his heart aches because he could side with Leia. He could let her dump her pain into the minds of a bunch of bottom-feeders, and sure, they'll be entranced, maybe sob into their drinks. What does it matter? Hasn't she suffered enough for several lifetimes? The galaxy owes her one.
"Leia," Maz begins, "you look after those weaker than you. You know that is your duty."
Wavering, Leia crashes her hand back into Han's chest. Pain must rush back into her like a tidal wave, or some kind of shock. She have collapses, knees buckling, as they did before, and he grabs her, holding her upright between him and the wall.
Luke's there, but Han takes her weight. He always has.
"No-" her voice breaks, hissing through her throat. "I don't- why do I?"
"You are strong," Maz reminds her. "You are safe."
Another voice, softer, older, joins Maz and Han doesn't even look to see where it's coming from, because Leia's in his arms, gasping against his chest. All that matters is her, what she needs.
"You are loved," the voice adds. "This pain, like all agonies of life, will pass. It will wash over you and leave you. You will endure, and you will raise your child."
She shakes her head, fingers like iron around Han's arm. "I can make them bear it," she starts in a whisper, but her voice gains cold strength. "I can make everything-"
Outside, even the lazy nightbirds stop cooing. It's so quiet that the reeds whisper beneath her feet.
"That is the dark side," the voice, Obi-Wan, because dammit, if the old man's not there, standing beside Luke. He glimmers, blue-white, like a flickering holo, but it's him. Crazy old wizard. "And it's tempting, it pormises you that you will be safer, better, stronger, that those you love won't have to share you pain, or have any of their own. Why stop with your pain, Leia? Why not take Han's exhaustion, Luke's worry, take all the negative emotions of those you love and pass them on?"
"I could-"
For a terrifying moment, she does, and his exhaustion lifts away. He could have just gotten out of bed, instead of been awake before dawn, bone-tired. Han shivers. It's not cold, and Leia's against him like a furnace, but he shivers as if he's back on Hoth. He'd rather be tired.
"You know that would be wrong. You know this is wrong, and you're afraid, of course you're afraid. Your mother-"
"Died." Leia's tone's flat now. Like the stone she's standing on. "Maybe she didn't have to. If father had been stronger, he could have saved her. He could have taken her death, given it to someone more worthy. The Force can do that, I can feel it."
"No," Luke whispers, reaching for her face. "Let that go."
"Why?"
"Because you are not of the Dark Side, Leia, you're not. You're better than that."
She looks at him, her dark eyes locked with his, full of accusation, of suffering. "My planet is dead, my parents, everyone I knew. I buried soldiers in the war faster than I could write letters to their families. I've been tortured, my husband's been tortured. Our father nearly killed him-"
"But I'm still here," Han promises her. "I'm still here."
"If I'd known I could do this, bend people, make them comply, all of that didn't have to happen. I could have looked at Governor Tarkin and killed him, choked him, made his foul heart stop beating before he destroyed my world."
"I thought if I was just strong enough, if I knew enough of the secrets if the Force, I could cheat death. Save your mother," Anakin says, and Han's not even sure when he got here, but he's not Darth Vader. He's just a kid, younger than Luke. "And I killed her."
Obi-Wan touches Anakin's shoulder, and Han's never seen anyone be that forgiving. "No matter what you gain, the Dark Side leads to suffering."
"So does the light," Leia snaps, taking a step away from Han, from the Force ghosts. "Everything I have ever done, all that I've believed in, been willing to die for, that only brought pain."
Han wants to protest that they've been pretty damn good together, but it's not the time. She doesn't need him to be anything. She's got Luke to be a moral compass.
"To be alive is to suffer, and feel pain," Luke says. "You can shift it with the Force, bury it, make someone else feel it, but that's all futile. It's still pain. It's inevitable. You just have to let it come."
The cold vanishes, like a warm wind's races through the room. He has his arms around her before he's even aware of moving, because without the strength she's been taking from the Force, Leia can barely stand. She doesn't push him away. Doesn't insist she's fine. This time, she shivers, trembling against him. They sink down, her almost in his lap. She shakes, her hands like lost creatures against his chest.
A bird tentatively sings outside, breaking the silence. Leia curls against him, so small, and so spent of energy.
"Tell her to let it wash over, to surrender," Luke says, kneeling down next to them. "It's the only way."
Han nods to him, sparing a glance at the flowing blue faces and Maz, all huddled together, speaking in whispers.
"I'll tell her," he promises Luke. It's important, less important than stroking her hair, or getting her comfortable on her knees, with her head against his chest and her whole upper body in his lap.
"It's okay," he whispers. "We're here. We're not going anywhere. We're not going to leave you. I won't."
Some logical part of his brain reminds him that the trembling is normal. That this is transition, and everything he read was for this, so he can get her through. The reeds are the floor are soft and thick, so she's okay where she is. He strokes her hair, repeating words with the same meaning. He's here, they're all here for her, for the baby. She can do this, she's the strongest, most capable person he knows, and he loves her. She doesn't speak. Leia sits up a little, but only to empty her stomach.
He's covered in sweat, in the tea she drank an hour ago, and when she slips oto her elbows and knees, face towards the floor, he strips off his shirt, leaving it with her dress, forgotten.
"Press on her back, base of her spine" he tells Luke. "That helps." He drops to the floor, leaning down beside her, his face near hers.
"Surrender's not as fun as the Dark Side, is it?" He runs his finger along her cheek. The hitch in her breathing relaxes a little when Luke adds pressure to her back.
"That's it," he tells Luke, and then he forgets about him, because Leia's her own world. He doesn't want to think about how she'll punish herself, how terrible she'll feel when she knows what she did; how close she came to losing herself.
"If you need to take over someone's mind, you have mine. It's been yours a long time."
Leia doesn't speak, but he feels her, she caresses his thoughts, brushes against him as if she's stroking his head in the dark.
"I never wanted a kid before. Did I tell you? The galaxy's a big, scary place full of bounty hunters and Hutts, and I thought, you know, I just won't. I've seen what happens to kids. I've been that kid." He touches her face, then her neck, and lets his words follow the motion of his hands, lazy and unhurried. "But you burst into my life, and it all changed. I had hope for the galaxy. I saw it becoming better, knew it could be. There were things I'd look at, and think a kid might like that. I'd like to show a kid what a tsikalg fruit tastes like. And that potential kid always looked like you. Had to, because you were the center of my hope.
"You and your big ideas about overthrowing the Empire."
"Keep talking," Obi-Wan says, seeming to be more solid than he was a moment ago. He crouches beside Han. "Give her something to focus on."
"My rambling?"
"You," Obi-Wan answers, smiling that wizard grin. "She loves you. She can surrender to that, and the Force, because they're connected."
Han remembers his own insistence otherwise, so very long ago. He's wrapped up in that Force mumbo-jumbo now, talking to a ghost.
"What do I do?"
"Be here." Obi-Wan suggests, and his smile grows. "Which you've done incredibly well. I'm very proud of you both, how far you've come. This birth is difficult, but at the same time, so much more joyous of an occasion as Luke and Leia's own."
"You were there, weren't you?" Luke asks. Their conversation continues above, while Luke obediently keeps pressure on her sacrum, dulling some of the pain.
Leia's eyes half-open, and she turns her head towards him. She reaches for him with the Force again, dragging her essence across his mind. It's confusing, messy, and he doesn't know what she's saying, what's happening, but the touch has two parts: one exhausted, worn, but steel. That's Leia, but the other is tiny, not even-
The baby. She pulled herself inward, took all of this on herself, and found the baby. That fragile little mind's there with her, and afraid. Of course the kid's afraid, his nice comfy home's closing in on him like a garbage compactor, and Leia's mind, which must have been so steady, is lost in pain and chaos.
"Luke, can you feel the baby?"
Leia's hand reaches for him, connecting with him. Was this what she wanted?
"You should check on the baby."
Luke doesn't even demand to know why Han, the least Force sensitive person in the room, knows the baby needs reassurance.
He shuts his eyes, and maybe they're all in there, Leia, Luke and the baby, maybe they can talk to each other, help make sense of the fear and agony on this side of things.
"Baby's fine. Confused, I think," Luke says, then shakes his head. "He knows Leia's afraid."
Sliding closer on the floor, he kisses her forehead, then her temple. He has no idea how to project his feelings, or how to reach her through the haze of physical torment, He concentrates, takes all the love he has for her and wraps it into a gravity well of emotion. It's all there, every beautiful thought, all that he's wanted to be, because of her.
"Take it," he whispers. "I don't know what you need, what I can do for you and the little guy, but take it, take what I have. Find your own way to surrender. You're not like Luke. You do it your way, princess."
It's not immediate. There's not rushing cold like the coming of the Dark Side, no rain of fire as the Death Star exploded. Leia's presence seeps into his mind, filling him with her, and the weight of her guilt, her duty, all that she has to do. He's tried to make that lighter, tried to help her find ways to make all that less of a burden. He believes in her, unerringly, without doubt, like he believes in staying the hell away from black holes. He offers her that in reply: his naked certainly that she is the bright center of his universe.
Her and their baby.
Luke must have gotten through to the kid. Obi-Wan pats his shoulder and his hand as a buzzing, strange kind of warmth.
"I think the baby's calmer. Leia can do more," Luke says. "When she's ready."
Han finally sits up, because he's stiff, and Leia comes to him, her head on his thigh. She lies on her side, one hand on her belly, the other wrapped around his leg. He's not even sure her contractions even end anymore, or if the pain of the baby making it's way down her back has blocked all of that out. She hasn't thrown up again, and the shaking slows, then stops. Her breathing improves, calms, and her fingers respond to his, moving with his touch.
Has it been decades? Did time even move? Maz and Obi-Wan discuss pushing, talk of what to wrap the baby in, and Luke pales a little when they mention all of the towels.
Han leans down and kisses Leia's forehead. "Getting close."
She shifts a little, turning her head to look up at him. "You're still here."
"Said I would be."
"You've never been good at leaving," she mutters back. "I-"
He helps her sit up, holding her shoulders against the wall. "There you go."
"Why did- why- did it stop?"
Maz circles around, patting Leia's bare knee. "So you can get your strength back to push. They'll still come, but they'll be slower."
"Han."
"I'm here."
She reaches for his face with both of her hands and catches him, her fingers clumsy. "You are."
"Of course." He runs his hands over her legs, smiling. "You ready for this?"
"No."
He laughs, and kisses her cheek. The salt of tears and sweat remains on his lips. "Me either."
"What do we-?" she starts to ask, and loses the question. Something rises, surges, within her, and she grits her teeth. "Han."
He gives her his hands, helps keep her sitting up. "Maz?"
"Get her up, on the stool, legs apart." The commands half for Luke, half for him, and the flurry of movement ends with Leia in front of him, her legs open on the low wooden stool. Luke's behind her, and she's almost in his lap, but it's good because he can't see the smears of blood on her thighs.
"Han-" now his name's a plea for something. "What do I?" Her exhausted gaze meets his, and instinct she didn't known she had burns within her. This is his princess; headstrong and dauntless.
"You push, sweet girl," Maz says, arranging a nest of towels beneath Han's open palms. "When you want to push, bear down, take Luke's hands. Think about guiding your baby out, with us."
Leia almost asks what wanting to push feels like, Han sees the questions, but it fades, evaporates away.
And he counts again, this time out loud, because she needs something focus on, a rhythm. They find that together, eyes locked on each other. Luke keeps her balanced, and it's his fingers that she clings to as Han watches the swell of her belly shift, flatten out, and sink lower.
Their baby has dark hair. That absurd thought sings through his mind like music. There's more slippery, slimey sort of stuff on his hands, and Leia pants into his ear, her head on his shoulder. He saw the baby's head, if only in a slit behind straining flesh. Her body parts, her efforts moving their baby down a little at a time.
This, she's comfortable with, prepared for. This takes will, and she always has that in abundance.
"Slowly, slowly, Leia-" He doesn't think, just places his hand against their baby's head, and her swollen, stretched labia, because if she goes too fast she'll tear.
He's been called worse than what she mutters, but he hasn't heard anything that creative in nearly a decade.
"Blow," Maz says, pursing her lips in demonstration. "Blow like this. Have patience, let your body stretch."
Leia screws up her eyes and grabs Luke's hand hard enough that he makes a sound of surprise.
"Blow," Han repeats, because Maz is right. The baby's head dropped pretty quick, and Maz is usually right. "Wait. You can wait."
She growls at him, but she doesn't push. He'll take that.
"What- what happened to your shirt?" Leia asks, searching desperately for something to focus on that isn't how desperately she wants to push.
"You threw up on it, and me." Han answers, grinning. "Couple hours back."
"That was yesterday," Maz reminds him. She makes a neat line of implements on the table, scissors, and synth sutures. "Your little pirate here waited for today. It's a better day."
"I did." Leia blinks at the memory. "I did."
"I like that shirt."
She laughs, and for a beautiful moment, they laugh with each other, his hand still against the head of their baby, waiting. It's all he can do to distract her, but she can wait. Leia endures everything the universe can throw at her.
Even this.
Several pushes later, with Leia's head against his cheek. He realizes that the head of their baby has a face. Bright red eyelids, screwed shut, covered in blood and gook, a tiny nose, and lips. Even a chin. That little face looks up at him, the round ball of their baby's skull finally resting in his hand instead of shoving so ruthlessly against her back. Han's not sure if he sees Leia in that face, or himself, or just the terrifying possibilities of all that little face could do in the future.
"I see," he whispers to Leia. "I see our baby's face. You're so close."
She catches her breath, staring at Han, because the baby's hidden from her still. "You-"
"The baby's head is in my hand, right here."
Leia whispers she loves him. Their baby's shoulders join that face, one at a time. He's caught up again, sharing her breath, her effort, the sheer force of will that's brought their child this far.
He doesn't wriggle. Han could not be more grateful of that. Leia's panting, sobbing, against him, and his hands are full of wet and rubbery- Round head, long legs, long arms, flailing little fists.
Their baby's umbilical cord pulses against his belly, against his legs. Baby is their son. They stare together, Leia reaching for the tiny being who then decides to squirm, to breathe, and wail his arrival into the world. Han's tears fall on their child's slick skin. There are towels, so many of them, and he should dry the kid off, keep him warm, but Leia has him tight against her chest, wrapped in her arms.
Their son.