a/n: hark! another installment in the Identity 'verse; a core story, rather than one in the peripheral/anthology works. this is the third of the three original stories i planned when i sketched out the arc for this whole Bail-inclusive concept. Backlash was added at a later date. returning to my usual custom - for the most part - this story does have an epilogue; done in two parts, with part one serving as the prologue. before we get into Casualty, a story told in retrospect, see the following notes for refreshers/to orient the timeline:

ANH (0 ABY), ESB (3 ABY), ROTJ (4 ABY); Identity began in 4 ABY (prologue, two months after the Battle of Yavin), spanned the year 5 ABY, and ended with a wedding in 6 ABY. The Naberries followed 6 months later, still in 6 ABY; Backlash finished out 6 ABY - and so where we are now, is roughly two months (notice I never define months in terms of a galactic calendar, as I choose to take my creative liberties) into 7 ABY. To reiterate - the events of Casualty are recounted in retrospective; the core conflict of it is mid 7 ABY. The onset of 7 ABY means Leia and Han's first wedding anniversary has past, and Han has been on a (very) brief deployment.

this story 'verse continues to be au.


One

7 ABY


There was nothing special about the night; it was an ordinary one that fell after an ordinary day, and yet somehow it felt wild and uninhibited – her heart stuttered instinctively, beating with a rhythm that felt like risk, dancing under Han's palm as he cupped her breast, kissing her slowly in a languid, post-coital spiral down.

She pressed her body closer to his; skin, slick with sweat, sliding against skin, and she rested her forehead on his, her breathing shallow and light – his heart was beating hard, too, and she wondered if it were for the same reason. She licked her lips, her lips brushing his cheek, her hips rocking forward just barely. Han groaned huskily, his hand moving down her back to her hip; he shifted and rolled to his side slowly, pulling her under him, settling his hips on hers – Leia arched her back, her wrists resting on his shoulders, and lifted one of her ankles to his back for a moment, holding him there.

He nudged her nose with his and kissed her again, his hands under her shoulders, holding his weight on her perfectly – enough to make her feel warm, and close to him, without pinning her. He was so good at that – so, so good at that – she let her leg fall back to the sheets, and he shifted his hips back, easing out of her, his lips running down from her jaw to her throat.

Leia closed her eyes, her breathing starting to even out; he settled on his side next to her, kissing her clavicle, soft skin on her shoulder, one of his legs between hers, his arm still underneath her. His hair brushed against her neck, and he adjusted his head on the pillow, first reaching up to brush hair back from his forehead, and then he slung his arm low over her hips.

His index finger traced a pattern on her thigh, his chest rising and falling against her, breathing hard, but quiet, and soothing.

It had never occurred to her that this would be so – intense, that the simple act of having her implant taken out would make sleeping with him that much more powerful and intimate – nothing between them, really nothing, tangible or intangible, and that was – it was a first, in its own way.

She supposed if she didn't want this, hadn't decided this, it would be a different feeling altogether – terrified panic, maybe, as the realization set in; Winter had been in hysterics one morning, just one, after a lapse in judgment with a rugged palace guard –

The whole experience was fiercely personal, and she felt a rush like vertigo – it felt so risky, so irresponsible, yet she wanted to laugh at herself for those lingering smart-girl thoughts because –

They were doing this on purpose.

She had deliberately had her implant taken out; Han deliberately didn't take any alternative precautions, because, because – a stray thought struck her, almost as a reflex – what if I get pregnant? – on the tails of that, though, an immediate, scarier question struck her – what if I don't?

Whatifwhatifwhatif - !

She was as nervous as she was exhilarated; there was a whole future undertaken in this, a host of intimidating responsibility, and at the same time, so much faith, and so much trust in Han, and the kind of person he was, and in the strength of their relationship as a whole. She supposed – she knew, actually, by the state of children's social services on many planets, that there were plenty of beings, human and non, who did not think twice about this sort of thing, but for her this was no casual undertaking – and it wasn't for Han either.

There was something uniquely eager, but hesitant in the way he touched her tonight, something hungry and primal in his kiss, but reserved as well, and Leia blinked, her vision hazy at the edges, sleepy even – she gazed up at the canopy over their bed, pursing her lips – was this new element this evening really a thing that could be solely attributed to the inconsequential fact that she – was not on birth control?

It wasn't inconsequential though; that was the whole point. It was a routine fact of life to some beings, that much was true – love, marriage, children – but Leia's life had been less linear, and certainly less average even if it had not been torn asunder by war – her path went something more like childhood, senate, war, destruction, love, loss, love, identity crisis – and Han's path was no less jagged.

Beyond getting married – and even that had been a fight – this was the first utterly normal thing Leia and Han were trying to do, and it had been so difficult for her to get to a place where she could take this step with ease.

She shifted onto her side, running her hand over Han's hip up to his ribs, pressing kisses to his chest. He moved his head to give her more space to maneuver, and curved his arm up around her back, holding her loosely. His chin rested on the top of her head.

She could tell from the way he was breathing that he wasn't half-asleep, wasn't even falling asleep; he was thinking, and she smiled to herself, cocking a brow at that – she knew him well enough to press her lips against his heart and know if he was thinking, sleeping, tired, angry –

He mumbled something into her hair, but it seemed unimportant, he might have just been murmuring her name thoughtfully. His voice was a soft rumble, and Leia let her hand fall off him, turning easily onto her back again. Han's hand moved from behind her shoulder to her hair, his other reaching down to draw sheets over their feet – she closed her eyes.

She opened them again when she heard Han's muffled laughter, the sound buried in the pillow, and then clearer when he shifted his head up, moving his hand to brush it back from his face. She tilted her head up and over, her brow quizzical, and noticed he was grinning – was that – disbelief? He looked almost shocked.

Leia parted her lips, interest piqued. She nudged him with her elbow, arching a brow when he looked down at her. He drew one leg up, knee pointing towards the ceiling, and propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at her. His expression seemed incredulous for a moment, and she moved back on the pillows, giving him a prim, expectant look.

"I was just thinkin'," he said in a low, dry tone, "that, uh," he rubbed his knuckles under his chin briefly, and then lowered that hand to the mattress between them.

"Hmm?" she asked wordlessly.

He let out a short, husky laugh.

"You're not gonna believe me," he said.

Leia's heart raced, intrigued, and she rolled onto her side to face him, propping herself up on her elbow as well. She bit her lip, studying his expression intently, and inclined her head commandingly.

"Ah, well, now you've got my attention," she breathed.

He nodded, arching both brows, thinking are-you-ready-for-this-Sweetheart – and laughed shortly again. He shook his head.

"Never done it before," he said, lifting up his hand almost flippantly and gesturing between them. He blinked seriously. "Never had sex without usin' anything."

Leia stared at him – for a long minute, before she blinked, easily understanding why he sounded skeptical even of his own confession. She tilted her head a little, her lips compressing in an amused, muted smile.

"You're right," she sang softly. "I don't believe that."

Han smirked, but something in his eyes told her it was entirely true, and she bit her lip, widening her eyes a little, thoughtful, as if to ask – are you – are you serious? Han shrugged, and nodded firmly.

His shoulders relaxed a little, and he adjusted his jaw on his palm.

"'Cause you think I was such a damn irresponsible guy?"

Leia laughed.

"You brought this up," she placated good-naturedly. "You said I wouldn't believe you," she reminded him, and then shrugged. "I don't know," she said slowly. "Never? You wise up as you get older, but at first I assumed…you were young, and, when you're young, you're stupid. Winter even...forgot, once," she faltered, narrowing her eyes. "Never slipped up? Not once?"

Han shrugged, his lips twitching, and shook his head confidently.

"I wasn't that young," he said dismissively. "Not young enough to wanna knock up some girl and leave 'er on 'er own – "

"Of course you wouldn't want to," Leia interrupted logically.

"Yeah, didn't know much, but I knew enough," Han said, his voice gruff suddenly. His brow darkened a moment. "My," he broke off. "My ma, y'know," he said, more seriously. "Some guy did that to her."

Leia nodded with understanding, pressing her lips together. She reached over and interlaced her fingers with his, her heart beating a little quicker for a moment – that his history, his romances – whether they were transactional, or personal, had been influenced by the scar his fatherless childhood left on him – that revealed some inner trauma, and Leia recognized the shadow that must have constantly lingered in the back of his mind.

He watched her looking at him, and cleared his throat after a moment, leaning closer.

"Just how young d'you think I was when it started bein' an issue, huh, Princess?" he asked in a low growl.

Leia's nose crinkled, her cheeks flushing.

"You – I," she stammered, "you – were never – specific," she protested under her breath, the blush still warming her cheeks.

Han smirked at her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Leia laughed huskily, burying her face in his chest for a moment, and then lurching back, resting her head flat on the pillow and looking up at him through her lashes. She considered him slyly.

"You were thirty, weren't you?" she teased.

Han gave her a mildly affronted look, then thought better of it, and snorted. His knuckles popped softly against his temple as he adjusted his head again.

"Wasn't that young," he said vaguely, again. "Whatever you're thinkin', probably older," he said flatly. "It was the streets, Leia – you grow up fast some ways, slow in others," he frowned thoughtfully. "Most women ain't gonna mess with a guy who's livin' on the streets, unless she's a street girl, and the street girls ain't gonna mess around because if they mess with one, all the others start thinkin' she's fair game, and that's dangerous."

Leia looked alarmed, and Han winced, reaching out to run his hand over her hair.

"Sweetheart, I never hurt any street girl," he soothed.

"I know that," Leia said immediately, taking his wrist. "Han, I know you'd never do something like that – I just understand their fear. Fair game."

"Yeah," Han said heavily. He was silent for a while, and then he shrugged again. "Yeah," he said again. "You got me. Never done this with anyone but you."

Leia tried to hide the affectionate smile on her face by ducking her head. She cleared her throat and looked back at him, deadpan.

"So, what you're saying is – you were thirty."

Han flung an arm around her loosely and spun her towards him, drawing his fingertips down to her ribs and tickling her. Leia gave an involuntary shriek of laughter, the sound bursting through the room like fireworks, and Han grinned, tucking his face into her neck, his breath warm against her skin.

"Han, Han," she gasped, managing the words between giggles, and the soft ravishing of his hands, "Ha-a-an," she squealed – and he lightened up, pausing to hear her, "do you – mean to tell me," she gasped out, trying to appear vexed, "that on our honeymoon – when I wanted to do something you hadn't done – "

Han gave her an amused smirk –

"Oh, don't start, Your Worship – "

"We could have just – scrapped the birth control – instead of – "

Han's hand roamed down to her ass, and pinched, and she squealed again and twisted away, turning her face into the pillows and laughing. He leaned over her, his lips finding her ear –

"You said you didn't mind that so much," he whispered seductively, "even said you liked it the second time," he drawled.

Catching her breath, laughing into the pillow, Leia shivered at the sound of his voice –

"It'd be a pretty pointless endeavor now," she fired back, giving him a pointed look, and Han nodded, shaking his head. He kissed her jaw, and leaned back to give her a knowing look.

"Don't think you'd have been too hot on the idea of takin' that implant out back then," he said perceptively, and Leia let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing.

Han stretched out on his side next to her again, letting her settle beside him, and she nodded her head, brushing her tangled hair back from her face. She tilted her head, and compressed her lips in agreement.

"Hm-mm," she agreed. "Not back then," she said softly.

She sighed again, content, and laid her head on her arm, facing him. He moved closer and pressed his lips to her forehead, the kiss lingering. His hand moved over her shoulder, and then down over her breasts, caressing lazily, with no immediate plans for anything else.

Leia's lashes fluttered as she calmed back down, the laughter and activity fading naturally – they had come to this point so slowly, and yet seemingly all at once; when the worst of last year's backlash had subsided, and things had calmed down, Leia had ventured cautiously into this world of asking – what her chances were; what damage the Death Star had done.

Han's touches ventured down her sternum to her ribs and abdomen, slipping lower with slow intent, and Leia's lips parted, her breathing hitching. He'd been gone, for a short while at the beginning of this year, serving out a deployment, putting down threats in the Western Reaches, and Leia had felt more of a creeping fear for him then than she ever had – she was always afraid to lose him, but then, somehow, it had struck her harder – we want a baby; don't let anything happen to him now - !

Nothing had; he was Han as he always was, brave, a little reckless, cunning and intelligent – he'd returned on time, and without any new scars, and Leia had made a few hesitant, inquiring appointments.

It was a kind, intelligent, veteran female specialist who told her that from what she could tell at this point in time, Leia had nothing to worry about; the doctor was a native of Hosnian Prime, impeccably educated, and highly recommended by Pooja Naberrie, who had discreetly referred her – She's my doctor, Pooja had said – you'll love her; the Imperials booted her from her research academy because she's a woman, and she did a bunch of underground work during the war, giving poor women safe, contraband healthcare -

Leia did like her, quite a bit, though she was reserved around her; conservative about her private health, and nervous to hear about it, anyway, Leia was not as warm as she could have been – but Doctor Arksiah Mellis was good, and she told Leia honestly, and point-blank – that she had run the requisite tests, and nothing seemed off – hormone levels are a little skewed, but you've had an implant for so long, that's likely why –

Even after the implant had come out, though, and Leia used a more temporary form of birth control, she was told there was no indication she'd have any trouble – sometimes, the Hosnian medic told her kindly, you just have to see what happens.

Leia took a deep, unsteady breath, and Han heard it – raised his head, his hand pausing between her legs.

They were, they were seeing what happened.

"Leia?" he asked mildly.

She turned her head to him, lips parted. She rolled onto her side more fully, and his hand slid between her legs as she moved, cupped against her. She slid her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling into his thick hair. Her stomach twisted nervously, but just as quickly, her heart skipped a few beats as if she were thrilled, and she took another, quieter breath, at a loss for words.

He moved his hand, and she made a soft, appreciative noise in the back of her throat; he took it from between her legs and grasped her hip, pulling her closer, his eyes sharp, and intent.

"S'different, isn't it?" he asked suddenly, voice deep and gruff, looking at her as if he understood exactly what she was thinking – exactly what she had been thinking, this whole time.

Leia licked her lips, and nodded.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Feels different," he drawled, leaning into kiss her.

"Yes," she mumbled into the kiss, pressing her palm into his neck earnestly – I don't want this to be clinical – she thought in a rush, and asked herself to relax, let herself bask in the newness and the thrill of it – "We'll see," she whispered, what happens, she finished wordlessly, and Han nodded fervently, gone silent himself –

He was pulling her closer still, his heart rate going up again, and she shifted her hips against him, an ache in her nerves throbbing when she found him hard again – she wanted to laugh, and she did, quietly – it had been a while since they indulged in one of those nights where neither of them got a bit of sleep.


In one of the grand conference rooms in the north wing of the Embassy, preparations for the opening of the Alderaanian Haven on Yavin were well underway. Of course, they had been underway for more than a year at this point, since the inception of the idea at the council meeting where Leia announced her engagement, but now they were intensely underway; increasingly, Leia's time was consumed with meetings concerning consecration of the sanctuary-to-be.

True to the word she had given Han as the backlash against her had died down last year, she had managed her career delicately, but without much ambition, devoting time to her active projects without taking on new endeavors, and balancing her ambassadorial duties with her responsibilities to the Diaspora as she saw fit. She held her own in a comfortable career plateau, carrying on as she always had and tacitly proving time and time again that she was nothing like the monster who had fathered her - never mind, she accepted quietly, to herself, that he had not been a monster when she was conceived. Mon Mothma was more than accepting of Leia spending approximately half of her time with the Alderaanian Council, rather than the quarter of it that had been customary previously; the Chief of State understood the value of this project. Ever skilled at balancing her work load, Leia still did not allow her duties to the New Republic to become peripheral, she only managed them more strategically - which in some cases, meant asking the Council to meet in the evening hours, after galactic standard close of business.

She felt small twinges of guilt asking for it - but many of the Council members were working long, late hours anyway planning logistics and getting frameworks constructed for this grand celebration, and neither complained, nor thought it uncouth of her to organize it this way. After hours automatically infused the meetings with a more lax atmosphere, which relieved some of the tension that came with meticulous planning for these sorts of things. As it were, the infrastructure of the Haven was days away from being declared sound and ready; the Council was starting to solidify ceremonies and festivals - subjects that were Rouge's specialty, and tended to give Leia a headache.

Her aunt clung to tradition more and more as the galaxy moved forward without Alderaan, and Leia worked hard to reconcile her own increasing detachment from the sometimes stifling nature of classic royal ceremony with respect for Organa tradition, and the comfort Rouge took in it. She sat at the head of the conference table now, Rouge at her right, occupying the spot generally reserved for the Viceroy - Bail had relinquished the seat because his sister was heading up inaugural planning. Leia privately thought Rouge should be seated at the head of the table for many of these ceremonial logistics meetings, but Rouge, ever vigilant of protocol, insisted Leia was the heir; Leia had to sit in what should have been Breha's place - Leia had to make Breha's decisions. And, as she always had - Leia felt a quiet sense of awe, and intimidation, in stepping into her mother's shoes.

Rouge neatly explained an itinerary of traditional rites and sacraments that would be held during the opening days of the Haven, and Leia struggled to hold back a yawn - she compressed her lips and controlled it, lest Rouge dig a heel into her ankle under the table to chastise her for rudeness - and as always, when she felt tired, or had a headache, or identified something even minutely off about herself, physically, Leia experienced an apprehensive flutter in her chest - does this mean I am ...?

That she and Han had done away with any sort of contraceptives had added some element of anticipation to her daily life that could only be defined as mildly distracting, and somewhat unnerving. It provoked her into thinking the simplest things meant more than they probably did - she caught herself anxiously wondering if she was so tired because she was pregnant, or - no, Leia; you're always tired - but is it a new tired, or usual tired - and why did she have a headache? - you always have a headache after you talk to Threkin Horm - yes, but -

The mental somersaults she went through were overall exhausting, with a dash of comical; her private physician had explicitly told her to relax and take it all in stride - nothing looks out of the ordinary, Leia, and even with women who don't have concerns, I advise they not worry until eighteen months without contraceptives have passed with no result -

It surely hadn't even been close to two months, much less eighteen, and yet Leia nursed her nerves - though part of that was lingering uncertainty that she knew she would always have, and a vague memory of how shattered she had felt just after her wedding, when she thought she was pregnant - but she had addressed those issues, and she and Han were - 'trying,' as they called it in the vernacular.

Leia's nose wrinkled just slightly at the thought; trying, she had always thought, implied there was some difficulty to the act, and Han had certainly found nothing stressful about a defined reason to have more sex. Her lips turned up at the corner, and as the subtle, amused smile graced her lips, she felt it - Rouge's sharp, elegant heel digging into her ankle under the table.

Her attention jolted, Leia lifted her chin and gave Rouge a mildly indignant glare, instinctively offended by the chastisement - struck with the irrational urge to scold her aunt - Rouge, you can't kick me, I might be pregnant. Pursing her lips, Leia bit back a nervous smile at the thought, and inclined her head to Rouge in a silent apology for letting her mind wander, bending forward slightly to see what she was being shown.

"Miss Beezer has gathered dossiers on individuals who are suitable to be the focus of a Christening ceremony," Rouge said, spreading out a handful of glossy files for Leia. "Of course, as with all the other rites, we'll have small versions throughout the week, but these are candidates for the one you'll - you and - ah, House Organa will preside over," she stumbled just slightly over the words, a small frown tugging at her mouth - there was still a minor issue to be worked out in terms of - who was acting in what capacity, during the grand sacraments.

Leia glanced over at her father as Rouge recovered from her moment of uncertainty, and sat back, looking at the files in front of her.

"What was the criteria for selection...?" she asked slowly, leaving the question mildly open ended - the opening of the Haven was set to include several very significant traditions; there would be a Christening, a funeral service - symbolic, for the lost planet as a whole, Winter's wedding, an equinox prayer - essentially, one grand ceremony would take place, officiated by the royal family, and then smaller versions would be celebrated throughout - Winter's wedding would not be the only traditional Alderaanian wedding, and so on. It would just be the centrally celebrated one - as would one of each of the other rites.

"Ah," Rouge began, interlacing her hands under her chin. "Both parts of the couple presenting the infant had to be Alderaanian, and the child had to - or has to - be under the traditional age of three months, and female."

Leia nodded - it had been customary for the Queen to preside over a Christening once every season, and the chosen child - never one of the nobility - was always female, in keeping with Alderaan's matriarchal element.

She spread her hand over one of the files.

"Kier and Mila Hwor," Dansa said, gesturing at the one Leia touched. "Theirs is due the month before the opening - ah, I worked with Kier on Sullust, preparing for the second Death Star assault. Mila had a miscarriage last year, so I thought it would be a pleasant honor for them," she listed. "Tesch and Brizia Kray - it will be their fifth child, but they have all boys," Dansra said - drawing an amused laugh from Winter - "and I chose them as a finalist - well, you know how we are with our girls," she joked, "and - I can't imagine what it's been like, trying to cope with their grief and their children's."

Leia nodded, turning to the last file folder.

"Yoren and Bail Prow - their surrogate is due two weeks prior to the opening, but they've elected not to be told the sex - I put them in for consideration in the case that their child is a daughter because Yoren Prow is the cartoonist who responded to that caricature of you drinking wine with Vader with the panels of you dumping wine on his head and short circuiting him," Dansra explained.

Leia smiled fondly, and the rest of those at the table - most notably, Winter, as usual, laughed.

"I did enjoy that cartoon," Leia murmured, "and this last?"

"Kaisa and Rue Macht," Evaan Verlaine spoke up, leaning forward. "They've been spearheading the linguist program we have within the Diaspora that ensures our language is preserved - their surrogate actually cuts close with the due date, but we can settle an exact time for the Christening when we choose an honoree," Evaan said.

Rouge turned to Leia, gesturing at the last.

"Their surrogate isn't Alderaanian," she warned. "She 's Nubian."

Without missing a beat, Leia arched a brow, glancing over at her father -

"I hardly hold that against her, Aunt Rouge; so was mine, in a manner of speaking," she quipped.

Bail smiled a little wryly, and Evaan cleared her throat, a subtle glint of annoyance in her eye. She ignored Rouge, and nodded at Leia.

"Another reason I advocated for her," she said shortly. "I thought that was fitting."

Rouge clearly did not agree - or so Leia assumed from the tight draw of her mouth - but she took no offense to it. She gathered up the files and placed her hands over top of them, nodding to the group - well aware the final decision of who would be christened at the grand ceremony was hers. She intended to delegate it to her father; this was one of those domestic things that her mother would have done well, but that Leia had never taken time to learn the nuances of - so involved was she in an intergalactic uprising.

"The Christening ought not to be the very first thing we do anyway," Tyr Taskeen offered wryly. "If it's one of the babies that are a month old, sure, but if we're monitoring due dates here," he trailed off with a grin.

"Never an exact science," Bail agreed.

"I was born two months early," Kell Tainer offered seriously. "My mother was a very particular person. It quite upended her social schedule."

"We appreciate that useless bit of personal trivia, Kell," Dansra snorted, leaning back in her chair casually - and Leia, noticing that Rouge looked typically scandalized at the war generation's lack of decorum around the aristocracy, shared a look with Winter, and tried not to laugh.

"It's late - and before this devolves into mayhem," Evaan said, shooting a wry smirk at both Dansra and Kell, "we need to establish what we're going to do regarding the decorum and protocol for these ceremonies, because if Captain Solo is involved, he needs training - "

"Extensive," muttered Bail, louder than he meant to - and he had the good grace to look mollified when Leia shot him a glare.

"- and if not," Evaan proceeded as if her boss hadn't interrupted her to take a good-natured dig at his son-in-law, "well - we still need the framework to proceed with ceremonial choreography - as far as I can tell, we're still arguing in our maddeningly polite way over when the symbolic funeral will take place, and before we delve back into all that - Tyr?"

She offered the floor to Taskeen, and he nodded, holding his hand out, palm up.

"The last update I received from our head contractor confirmed that all residential facilities are on track to be operational and decorated by the projected date, so we can firmly establish a date for the consecration to start," he said - Leia noticed both Rouge, and her father, gave proud sighs of relief - and she relished it for them; all their hard work, their attention to this, was coming together so spectacularly - "and I know General Rieekan officiated your wedding, Princess, and has agreed to preside over Lady Winter's, but he cannot be expected to handle all traditional matrimonial events in the future," Tyr said slowly.

Leia nodded, giving him an amused smile at the thought - it would certainly interfere with his military duties in the oddest of ways.

Tyr hesitated, and shared a look with Kell, and Winter, and then plowed on with a shrug.

"We know for a fact that their are no priests - or acolytes, even - of our religion who survived the Disaster, and I would not want to mock their spiritual tradition, even with good intentions, by having historians and laymen ordain any of the Alderaanian faithful in pseudo-ceremonies - so, as antithetical as it may seem to our pacifist nature, I would like to have Rieekan educate a cadre of Alderaanian veterans, or active duty soldiers, in the traditions of the old palace guard so they can officiate," he explained.

"Tycho wants to take part," Winter offered immediately. "He's faithful, and he holds an appropriate military rank."

Rouge touched her lips thoughtfully, her expression a little sad.

"Antithetical indeed," she murmured, a little forlorn - to imagine all Alderaanian weddings forthwith to be officiated by members of the military -

Leia nodded, taking a deep breath.

"That may have to be the way of things, going forward," she said, kind, but firm. "We have to progress to survive," she noted, and then turned her head to her aunt, "and that does not always mean we disrespect the past," she added sincerely. Lifting her chin, she looked to her father, and shrugged: "We can look at it as a way to symbolize that Alderaan fought for justice and peace, rather than blood thirst."

"I see nothing detrimental to the sacrament in having Alderaanian military preside over weddings now," Bail said, and then arched a brow dryly. "One might say it is appropriate, in some respects - marriage can be quite the battle," he quipped.

Laughter ensued - polite, genuine laughter, the kind that always ensued immediately when a sovereign made a joke - and Leia gave her father a withering look, the likes of which was only given by any daughter, of any culture, whose father had just made a particularly lame comment.

"That said," Evaan remarked, "it's easy to transition into a discussion of establishing protocol."

She nodded, and Rouge cleared her throat, taking up the helm of conversation again. Behind her, a door opened and one of the attendants came in, carting with her a tray of fresh kaffe, mild wine, and caffeinated juices - late meetings called for frequent re-invigoration of the senses, after all.

"I want to establish, once and for all - that we will, if I understand correctly, not be holding a coronation?" she asked, her tone a bit clipped.

Leia gave her a weary look.

"Rouge, we've discussed this; I am not taking the crown," she said shortly. "We established this - "

"It's difficult to wrap my head around, Leia," Rouge said simply. "That we will simply let House Organa die out as the last - "

Leia held up her hands calmly.

"It died with Mama, Aunt Rouge," she said, calm and soft. She took a deep breath. "You all know I consider myself an Organa, and I value - indescribably - the way I have been accepted by Alderaan, but at the core of royal orders is blood, and I will never be physically an Organa - and perhaps it wouldn't have mattered if the Disaster had not happened, and I'd married a cousin of the blood, but," she paused for effect, "I think it is appropriate that the end of Alderaan be honored with the end of the monarch - with Breha as its last queen, Father as the last Prince," she gave Rouge a pointed look. "We established this," she said again.

She turned her eyes to her father.

"I am not taking Mama's crown," she said firmly, and he nodded - he had already agreed to this, and reconciled with it. He felt - melancholy, to let tradition go, but in many ways, Leia was right; trying to continue as they had in terms of the monarchy would place a monumental burden on Han, and on any children Leia might have - and there was no real infrastructure to support it anymore - and the idea of a merely ceremonial monarchy was abhorrent to Alderaanians; it was all expense and superficial ceremony, and no effort, and that was not who they were as a people.

She paused awkwardly.

"I do not want any of you taking what I said as a - rejection of the family," she started.

"No one takes it that way," Winter said flatly, shrugging. She sat forward. "I understand what you're saying, Leia," she said earnestly - logically. "Alderaan has always had a more liberal aristocracy than most Elder Houses, but the fact remains that succession crises are always resolved by genetic lineage in the end, and even before you joined the Rebellion, you followed Pasha's footsteps more than the Queen's," she narrated, glancing around pointedly. She tilted her head. "If things were slightly different - if Alderaan were around, but Leia had still married Han and they had only male children - what?" she questioned patiently.

Bail cleared his throat.

"The crown would have gone to one of Breha's nieces," he said simply.

"Precisely," Winter said, "not to the young girl any of Leia and Han's hypothetical son might have married," she sat back again. "It's somewhat the same issue here, but there is no suitable blood relative for the crown to pass to - and do not forget, that in the situation I presented, the crown might have gone to one of Breha's nieces even if they had daughters."

Kell frowned, waving his hand.

"Hang on - why?" He asked. "Princess Leia was Queen Breha's ordained heir; her daughters would have inherited - "

"In Alderaanian law, yes," Bail said, "however, all royalty is governed by the legitimacy rulings of the Elder Houses Council. If the ruling councils had challenged the bloodline - and they would have, mark my words - Leia would have had to designate a princess of the blood as heir."

"Whereas there would have been no issue if Leia married an Antilles male, or a blue blooded member of Alderaan's aristocracy," Winter listed.

"The ruler has no power if the Elder Houses do not agree to recognize legitimacy," Rouge agreed, tapping her chin. "Yes, I see the argument - it still pains me," she added, with a resigned sigh.

"I don't think I ever knew it was that complex," Dansra said curiously. "Then again - in my life time, there wasn't a crisis that went to the Elder ruling councils," she murmured. "Is that why you spent so much more time in the intergalactic arena than domestic, Your Highness?" Dansra asked.

Leia was hesitant, but inclined her head in acquiescence.

"Yes," she said. "On the off chance I didn't marry suitably."

She had known a lot of these intricacies even as a child. She looked at Rouge and smiled a little.

"You would have made a remarkable queen, you know," Rouge said sagely. "For all the doubts you have."

Leia tilted her head, smiling a little more - leave it to Rouge to innately pick up on the fact that Leia quietly feared the regal title. Chief of State, she thought of with gentle ambition, but Queen of Alderaan? The idea was awe-inspiring; it terrified her.

"The Elder Councils having a say in it is sovereign interference," Tyr said curtly. He waved his hand. "Alderaan wouldn't have taken that well, regardless of the Princess's adoption."

Winter snapped her fingers wryly.

"You over-estimate the hospitality of Alderaan's aristocracy," she said with a snort. "They adjudicated it as a crisis when Breha's great-grandfather married that Coruscanti artist instead of an Alderaanian noblewoman, and then gave the crown to the Organas, and that bickering wasn't resolved until," she gestured at Bail, and then cocked an eyebrow. "We're liberal, sure, but we aren't perfect, we do have class rigidity rooted in ancient systems - if we were entirely egalitarian, the Viceroy would not have lost his damn mind about Han Solo."

There were a couple of shocked looks thrown at Winter for her flippancy, and Leia put her fingertips to her mouth and smirked, while her father gave a consternated mutter. Taking pity on him, Leia raised her hand, waving it gently for attention - she gave a nod to the attendant who had been waiting for conversation to die down, indicating the serving girl could quietly start offering refreshments.

"In any case," she said calmly, "we are calling my mother the last queen of Alderaan," she said delicately, "the Internment Ceremony will serve as a memorial for her, and for the planet as a whole."

"My wife would have wanted nothing less," Bail said gently - he knew that for Breha to be buried as a symbol of Alderaan in its entirety was to honor her beyond belief; every part of her had been devoted to her people and her world.

"And that I think - contrary to your argument, Aunt Rouge, and I apologize," Leia said gently, "the Interment should be the first rite we undertake to open the Haven."

"It's a maudlin way to open," Rouge said tensely.

"It's a worse way to close," Evaan offered. "There is no - joyous time for a funeral, but Lady Organa - I think most of us side with Princess Leia," she said earnestly. "We open with the memorial, we embrace the sadness and the heartache for a day or so, and then we move forward into the uplifting celebrations - into the healing the Haven is supposed to provide."

"Couldn't have put it better," Dansra offered. She pointed at Evaan. "My vote is with Verlaine."

Rouge inclined her head respectfully, and leaned back, allowing for an attendant to pour her some wine. The girl turned to Leia next, and Leia waved her hand, shaking her head; she automatically turned down the alcohol with another of those intrusive, curious thoughts - I can't drink, on the off-chance that I'm - that I am, and I don't know it yet -

"Leia's being healthy tonight; I'll take her portion," Winter teased, and Leia rolled her eyes mildly, shooting her friend a lofty glare.

"You ought to buckle down on planning your wedding, Madam Retrac," she said regally. "It takes time to prepare to let your hair down."

"Oh, Your Highness," Winter said, feigning shock, "we're in genteel company."

Leia smiled a little, and tapped the files in front of her.

"I think with that issue resolved, we can easily address protocol - yes?" she asked, glancing sideways at Rouge.

Rouge gave her a mildly withering look.

"Does Han truly expect he is getting out of all this without making one public appearance?" she asked dryly, and Leia laughed, casually relaxing her shoulders to look back at her father.

Bail arched a brow at Rouge.

"I would think that would generally please you," he remarked pointedly, and then sat forward a bit more. "No need to develop Viceroy Solo training classes if Leia will not be Queen."

Rouge looked mildly nauseated, and then frowned, shaking her head and composing herself.

"Well, the question to be answered is - in situations like this, is Leia going to act the Queen for these specific ceremonies? Because in such a case, Han would stand in as consort," Rouge said. "Or, will she operate as a regent, the way she did when Breha was ill or - when she stood as proxy for Breha if Breha couldn't make it to Courscant?"

Both Bail, and Winter, responded immediately, in unison: "Proxy."

Leia gave them amused looks, and Bail laughed shortly.

"These are solemn ceremonies of remembrance, Leia. Han doesn't even say your mother's name with the right accent," he teased amicably.

Winter shrugged.

"I don't want Han's free time taken up with Viceroy lessons," she said impishly. "I need him to plan Tycho's Gentleman's Evening - and, I care about Aunt Rouge's sanity," she added, for good measure.

"As do I," Leia said with finality. "We'll enact protocol for the ceremonies that designates me as a proxy queen - in other words, crown princess," she said succinctly.

Rouge nodded, but gave her a sharp look.

"He is not exempt from attending," she said critically.

Leia waved her hand airily.

"Han is well aware he's expected to attend the events," she said breezily. "And he will, if for no other reason than to somehow send you into a fit."

Rouge glared at her, and Leia gave her a charming smile, leaning to the side a little as the attendant bent down again, her head bowed low.

"Kaffe, Your Highness?" she offered.

At the offering, Leia struggled to stifle a sudden yawn, glancing around lazily for a chrono - how late into the evening was it? She shook her head a little; what else did they have on the docket? She frowned a little to herself, and then focused again on the serving girl, shaking her head more clearly.

"No, thank you," she murmured, waving her hand.

She looked up surreptitiously as the girl bowed away, suddenly wary that her refusal of both wine and kaffe would be somehow obvious - but no one seemed to notice; Evaan, in fact, was hesitantly considering a kaffe refill, frowning as she looked around -

"Are we continuing, or shall we call it an evening?" she asked, checking her personal chrono.

"We could end here," Rouge said, "though I'd like it if we ended having settled a wedding date for Winter," she added narrowly, glaring at her foster niece - Winter was being uncharacteristically nervous about setting a date.

"There is time," Winter said. "Preservation efforts in the Massassi temple are still underway - "

"Yes, there is time," Bail interrupted, "but these things approach faster than you think - I think Leia can vouch for that," he said.

"Certainly," Leia agreed, deadpan. "One minute I was telling Han I'd rather kiss Chewbacca than him, and then I merely blinked, and I was married to him. I still don't know what happened. I think he may be a witch."

"Amusing," Bail grumbled at her. He raised his hands. "I say we adjourn for the evening - I suspect at this point more kaffe will just leave us too jittery to focus, but unable to get good sleep later."

"Wise thinking," Evaan agreed, waving off a refill, and settling in to finishing the kaffe she already had.

Leia spread out her hands on the table in front of her and bowed her head to dismiss them, and chairs started scraping back - preparations were made to start leaving; Evaan leaned across the table to Dansra to ask her opinion on something in her files, and Bail stood, coming closer to join Leia and Rouge at the head of the table.

"You two - I thought I might ask privately," Rouge said, lowering her voice. "We intended for this to be mostly closed to the public, I believe - rather unlike the gala that was thrown for our return, am I right?"

Bail nodded - this whole event was to be a purely Alderaanian affair, as much so as possible. However -

"I have my secretaries beginning to compile a registry of all members of the Diaspora who are to be contacted and given funds for travel," she said. "I assume that despite it not being public, you want to include Luke, and the Naberries on the lists."

Leia nodded fervently.

"Of course," she said. "Pooja may extend a polite declination, but I intend to make it clear to them we invite them with warmth, not as a courtesy," she added, trying - and failing - to stifle a yawn.

"Yes, we want them there - Leia, are you alright?" Bail asked, giving in to a grin of amusement. "I don't think I've seen you try so hard to stay awake during a meeting since you were five years old."

Leia sighed, straightening a little and rubbing her temples.

"You know, remarkably, I think I may have uncovered the root of my recurrent insomnia," she said. "It seems my trouble sleeping may actually be related to my constant caffeine intake, rather than residual traumatic nightmares," she joked darkly. Lowering her hand, she arched a brow acerbically. "I did not anticipate the effect drastically reducing my intake would have," she muttered.

She cleared her throat and reached out to gather the files she'd been given, hardly thinking twice about the comment - thinking, actually, that though this had been a late evening, it was earlier than anticipated, and Han might be up for a hot shower -

"You should nap under your desk at work and call it meditating, which is what I'm convinced Luke does," Winter snorted. "Meditating. Pretentious napping," she crooned, amusing herself, and Leia turned to glance at her, giving her a small smirk - she gathered the files to her chest, a little distracted thinking of Han, and turned, nearly running headlong into her father - she hadn't realized he was still crowding her shoulder.

She arched her eyebrows at him, and he looked at her, mildly curious.

"Why a 'drastic' reduction?" he asked.

Leia stepped to the side a little, her eyes on his, parting her lips.

"Ah, well," she started - he didn't seem accusatory, or even suspicious, but Leia didn't think her father was a fool - neither was she necessarily averse to telling him, at some point, that she and Han had made certain decisions regarding the future - but it was early, and the decision was new, and she also felt strangely vulnerable about it, as if informing him explicitly was somehow - oversharing.

She must have blushed, because her father held up his hands and took a step back, inclining his head a bit as if to tacitly ask forgiveness for bothering her. He folded his arms tightly, looking back up at her intently. She compressed her lips, and lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug, saying nothing, and acutely interested in what he was thinking - and Bail did nothing but smile blithely, reach out to put a hand on her shoulder, and lean over to quietly whisper a blessing in their native tongue, one that succinctly translated to - good luck.


As the only member of House Organa who had personally sought an apartment for herself – truly personally; as in she had contacted the appropriate realtors and contract officials, and gone in person to view real estate – Leia, somewhat tongue-in-cheek, considered herself an expert on finding a suitable home on Coruscant – and paraded herself as such to Winter.

Winter took that for what it was worth – and Leia had been delighted when Winter asked her for opinion concerning where to look for her first home outside of the Embassy Residence. Her initial fervor over wanting to help Winter had conflicted with the demands of her work, and she had not been as much of a guide as she had wanted to – but Winter, she discovered, had found as much adventure and frustration in trying to find the ideal place as Leia had in the fragile early days after the war.

She felt privileged to be shown around the place Winter had now, taking in the empty, immaculate corners, and imagining how thrilled Winter must be, thinking about, moving in here, having her own, independent place, and sharing it with Tycho –

"He's still serving in the Mid Rim for the next month," Winter murmured, her hand brushing her lips as she turned a slow circle in the atrium-style parlor. "He's headed to Yavin to rendezvous with Stavnist after that, to begin implementing security on the Haven," she trailed off, coming to a stop, and tilted her head at Leia.

Leia tilted her head thoughtfully, waiting – she stood opposite Winter, leaning against the subtle curve of the wall – sunlight streamed through the cut glass ceiling of the modern penthouse.

"So, he hasn't seen it yet; not really," Winter went on, clasping her hands lightly in front of her. "I walked through it with him, but really – I said it felt right, and he trusts that," she explained. She smiled brightly. "I signed the lease two days ago."

Leia grinned, her hands folded at her lower back to cushion her lean against the wall – she looked around again, admiring Winter's little place. It was large, but by no means extravagant, not by Organa standards; it was more stylish and high fashion than Leia's home, but Winter's taste had always been sleek and couture.

The atrium parlor had that gorgeous glass ceiling, and spiral stairs led up to the second level, where several sleeping quarters were. The lofted nature of it reminded Leia a little of the Corellian cabin, though Winter's place had gloss and sophistication that was nothing like the chalet's quiet, hidden beauty.

"I think I'm going to spend a lot of time here – make it a private wedding planning headquarters," Winter said, with a wry laugh, "and I'll be getting it ready to live in – do you think it would be fun to keep Tycho clear of it, until after the wedding?" she asked, smirking. She gestured around. "Or would it be cruel?"

"What does Tycho think?" Leia asked.

"Tycho," Winter sighed. She smiled calmly. "He's as laissez-faire as I am particular," she decided with a laugh.

"It could be fun, then," Leia decided. "You ought to blind fold him, and lead him across the threshold," she teased lightly.

"Ah, yes; as my blushing bride," Winter agreed, her hands falling to her sides.

She held them out, and then spun around, her cheeks flushing.

"I'm rather glad I never moved out of the Embassy on my own," she reflected thoughtfully. "Living under Pasha's roof until I'm married is frighteningly archaic, and yet somehow," she snapped her fingers lightly. "That's thrilling."

Leia nodded, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. She furrowed her brow lightly.

"It's odd how that works," she murmured, thinking about how wildly important it had suddenly been to her that she have a traditional royal wedding – only after she had her father back.

"You think tradition is embedded in us?" Winter asked. "In our DNA?"

Leia gave a tiny shrug.

"I don't know what I think is in our DNA," she answered, with a quiet sigh. "I don't know if I want to know."

"Fair enough," Winter said wryly.

She took a deep breath, and then beckoned to Leia, and Leia pushed off from the wall, following her into out of the atrium, into a dining room, in a stainless steel kitchen where – Leia noticed – there was single bottle of deep burgundy wine sitting on the an island countertop.

Winter's palm skimmed across that smooth counter as she leaned up against the edge of it, and produced two petite glasses – as if by magic – from a little shelf carved into it. She smirked, the glasses clinking softly as she set them on the counter – and then produced a corkscrew as well.

Leia folded her arms lightly, coming to stand across from Winter.

"Ah," she sang softly. "Why am I not surprised?"

She cocked a brow, and then unfolded her arms and placed her palms on the counter, leaning forward on her weight and sighing. She tilted her head, clicking her tongue in faux patronization, and Winter twisted the cork out of the bottle, biting her lower lip.

"It needs a celebratory toast," she argued. "You know it does," she teased.

"Well, yes," Leia agreed, tossing her head. "I should think you'd want to save that for Tycho – "

"Tycho and I can christen in other ways," Winter said, popping the cork and catching it effortlessly, then setting on the table and rolling it towards Leia – Leia caught it, and trapped it loosely under her palm. "As I am sure," Winter winked, "you and Han did in your place."

Leia lifted one shoulder innocently.

"We'll have a champagne toast when I carry him over that threshold," Winter drawled, smirking again. "You," she said, pouring small measures of the dark wine into each glass, "are here now, and you," she nudged Leia's glass towards her, "understand the sort of – thing – I am going through right now, so," she set the bottle down, raised her glass – "a toast."

Leia bowed her head, compressing her lips in a little smile, and traced her finger around the base of her glass thoughtfully. She curled her fingers delicately around the stem, and lifted it cautiously, her eyes captivated by the dark red of the wine.

"To going from my Pasha's home, to my husband's home," Winter said solemnly, deadpan for only a moment before her eyes flashed wickedly. "Hardly," she snorted, and then arched a brow. "That may be what it looks like – but this is a toast to what I want, and what I deserve."

Leia nodded.

"Hear, hear," she said, watching as Winter lifted her glass with ease and tilted her head back for a careless drink.

Leia tilted hers back and forth a little, looking down at the wine, and then lifted it to her lips, tipping it enough to let it wash over her lips and the tip of her tongue for the barest taste before she placed it back down without a sound.

"You signed the lease, anyway," Leia said breezily, catching her tongue between her teeth. "Tycho is moving in to his wife's home."

Winter laughed, setting her glass down and leaning forward on her arms to mimic Leia's stance. She waved her hand, letting it come to rest over the top of her glass loosely.

"Han did the same, didn't he?" she asked, without waiting for an answer. "What progressive men we've found."

"True honors to Alderaan," Leia agreed sternly.

"Tycho was bred that way," Winter said. "Han," she winked at Leia, "that's a catch."

Leia nodded in agreement, pursing her lips.

"Han's a unique breed," she murmured. Her brows knitted thoughtfully. "He's just one of those people who genuinely thinks everyone is equal – species, gender, ethnicity – all that be damned. And it's not political," she shrugged, "it's not an –ism. He just…treats people how he thinks they deserve it. Which is honest, I think," she said. "More honest than what I do, sometimes."

She snorted, and Winter shrugged.

"You do good in the world," she said, curling her wine glass in towards her, and taking another lazy sip.

Leia watched Winter stare curiously at her glass for a moment, and cleared her throat softly, cocking her head to the side with interest.

"What are you going through right now?" she asked. "That I – especially – understand?"

To her knowledge, Winter had no doubts about Tycho, and there was no disapproval from Rouge or Bail regarding the match; she was comfortable in her place in the galaxy, well-adjusted to the world she was rescued into –

Winter sighed, her shoulders shivering a little as she frowned thoughtfully, and looked back at Leia with just as much interest.

"You told me once that for a long time after you got Han back from the Hutts, you had this constant feeling clawing at you that no happy circumstances would last," Winter said quietly, gesturing vaguely to her chest.

Leia nodded.

"Because they hadn't," she remembered dully. "I was happy on the way to Bespin for the first time in years, and," she trailed off.

"And then you thought Father might try to upend all that," Winter went on.

Leia nodded again.

"Well, now I keep getting this – irrational, I know – haunted feeling that – I'm going to lose what I have," she explained quietly. "I am almost too well-adjusted, after all we went through – on the ship," she stopped for a moment, and sighed. "My own mental stability makes me nervous," she said dryly. "I mean – I lost Alderaan, we all lost Alderaan –but what if I lose this," she gestured around, "what I have with Tycho."

Leia smiled sagely, the corners of her mouth turning down instead of up – but still a smile, reflective, and knowing.

"You won't," she soothed. She shrugged a little callously. "I can't promise you that you won't lose Tycho. I can't even promise myself I won't lose Han," she said, "but you won't lose what you have with him."

Winter nodded.

"True," she whispered. She tilted her glass at Leia, and then took a sip – "That's a good way to look at it," she said huskily, smacking her lips. "You don't like this dark of a red?" she asked, eyeing Leia's glass.

"It's fine," Leia remarked casually. "Smoky."

She cupped her hand around the class, running her finger around the rim until it gave a soft, pale whistle.

"How are Father and Rouge handling it?" she asked.

She knew her own marriage had been difficult for her father – and understandably so – but his bond with Winter was different than it had been; they'd shared the stranded experience, and Rouge, too, was so acclimated to living with Winter – it had to feel like more disintegration of what little they had of the life they had known.

"I think timing it with the opening of the Haven was a good idea; I think it helps," Winter said slowly. "They know that – especially Pasha – this is the world they gave us, and we're taking it, and living in it," she sighed. "I do feel a bit guilty leaving Pasha alone with his spinster sister," she joked.

"Mmm," Leia mumbled wryly. "Rouge told us she wasn't a spinster, remember?"

"Rouge probably thinks she lost her virginity to a thranta saddle," Winter fired back, and Leia threw her head back laughing, squeezing her eyes tightly shut at the thought.

"Winter," she gasped, struggling with bursts of giggles.

"Can't you imagine?" Winter snorted dramatically. "A young, windswept Rouge, tearing home to the palace in tears, fitfully pulling her hair down in front of a mirror as she laments the loss of her innocence – convinced, convinced, that she has accidentally broken her vow of chastity by taking a particularly vigorous jump – "

Leia shook her head, holding up one hand and turning her face away – stop! – she mouthed, biting back more laughter. Winter grinned, trailing off, and dropping the breathy accent she'd adopted to mock her finicky aunt. She sighed, raising her eyes to the ceiling, and then tilted her head.

"For all her idiosyncrasies, I love her," Winter said. "She's a remarkably strong woman; stronger than her peers imagine, to be sure."

She was silent for a moment, and then looked down into her wine, and back up at Leia with her eyes squinted with determination.

"I've asked her to stand in as my mother for the wedding," she confided quietly. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug to reinforce her statement, and nodded. "I know I give her the hardest time of all, but," she trailed off for a moment. "Mama Breha is gone, and Rouge…has cared for me just as much."

Leia smiled at her warmly.

"I think that's lovely, Winter," she said huskily, giving a nod for good measure. "I can't imagine how much that means to her."

"Very much, I hope," Winter said matter-of-factly. "I want it to mean every bit as much as she wants it to."

Leia took her hand off her wine glass to support her chin with it, tapping her lip and smiling blithely at Winter. Winter smiled, shrugged a little sheepishly, and then pursed her lips. She had lifted her wine to take another sip, and paused, focused on Leia's hand suddenly. She leaned forward a little.

"Is that…?" she asked, curious. "Is that a diamond?" she asked, reaching out for Leia's hand – she hadn't noticed it until now – it was such a subtle, unobtrusive piece of jewelry.

Leia glanced down, and then extended her arm, placing her fingers in Winter's so Winter could examine the new piece of jewelry. It was a thin, elegant pearl band with a sharp, finely glittering diamond set into it – nestled on her ring finger, a snug, perfect fit.

Winter looked up quizzically.

"Han," Leia explained simply. "It was an anniversary gift," she said – and to answer Winter's unspoken question, she said: "I've had it at the jeweler, getting sized."

"Ah, so he didn't know your ring size – he's not perfect."

"Not quite."

Leia wrinkled her nose affectionately and drew her hand back, looking at the ring for a moment – Han had made no big deal about giving it to her, just told her pearls were customary for a first anniversary on Corellia, and he had a saltwater pearl molded into a ring, because diamond wedding bands were Corellian, too, and he had decided he wanted one for her.

"It's really beautiful," Winter said sincerely, tilting her glass at it appreciatively. She gave Leia a stern look. "Did you get him something ni-i-ice, too?" she drawled.

Leia nodded primly.

"A ring," she said innocently, "with my mouth," she whispered suggestively, and then pointed down towards to her hips, "below his waist," she said, pursing her lips in a mock kiss.

"What an outstanding metaphor," Winter said, toasting her. "Brava, Your Highness."

Leia dipped forward in a little bow. She lifted her head back up smiling, and Winter had affixed her with a pointed glare, one eyebrow ticked up impatiently.

"Ah, now," she went on casually; pointing one manicured nail decisively at Leia's barely touched glass. "You want to enlighten me on this lack of drinking?" she asked mildly.

Leia tilted her head wordlessly, and Winter held her gaze.

"It likely would have gone unnoticed – by me – if it only happened at the Council meetings, or at State dinners," she listed, and sighed pointedly, "but in private company, just us girls?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"Leia…?"

Leia flattened her hand on the counter, situating the stem of her wine glass in the little v-shaped nook in between her fingers, and slid it towards Winter in defeat. She wavered for a moment, unsure what she was going to say, and then she straightened up a little, pressing her palms against the edge of the counter, shifting her weight.

"It is merely precautionary at this point," she said honestly.

She hesitated for another moment, and then sighed.

"I…ah, well, Han and I," she paused, "aren't using contraceptives."

That seemed like an appropriate way to put it – a way to declare up the step they were taking without making it sound like they were consumed with one thing at the moment, which they weren't, not at all. It was just – seeing what happened, though Leia still wasn't convinced anything was going to happen, necessarily—though it hadn't been that long, either.

Winter set aside her own glass, and rested all her weight forward, twisting her hands together. She clutched her fingers, then flattened them and tapped them on the counter with a cautious smile.

"That's new," she said slowly. "That's…kind of big, isn't it?"

Leia breathed out slowly, nodding. She leaned forward again and slipped a hand back through her hair, lowering her hand to press it against her neck. She nodded again.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I think Father noticed," she added – but she hadn't said anything to him; she and Han hadn't said anything to anyone – she just didn't feel the need to broadcast it. "We're just," Leia broke off, searching for words, "seeing what happens."

Winter gave a low whistle.

"And what does that…mean, in laymen's terms?" she asked lightly, drawing a laugh out of Leia.

"Nothing," she said in a rush, shrugging. "I – nothing, really," she confessed. "We go on and live our lives the same way and," she shrugged again, "and there's no birth control, that's all."

"So," Winter whistled. "You could have a baby."

"Might," Leia murmured.

Winter studied her for a moment.

"Is that what you want?" she asked neutrally – she knew Leia had her reservations.

Leia cupped her chin in her hand and looked at Winter thoughtfully for a while. She traced circles on the counter with her nail, and then gave a very small incline of her head.

"Yeah," she said again, much softer.

Winter grinned sincerely.

"You'll be such an incredible mother, Leia," she said in a rush. "You will – god, I've been so hoping you wouldn't let all the doubts get to you," she confessed earnestly.

Leia flushed.

"There was no way I was going to give you an earful of my opinions," Winter went on, "because that's not fair to you, and I know you needed your own headspace to figure this out – but I'm – so relieved."

Leia took a deep breath, smiling.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Winter nodded, a fascinated look on her face.

"What's that – like? Living, um, walking around every day," she waved her hand, fluttering her fingers, "knowing you might – I mean, you aren't drinking wine," she trailed off thoughtfully.

"Um," Leia sighed. "It's – eerie, it's a little – cerebral," she said honestly. "Everything is – more or less the same, there's just kind of a lingering – anticipation; will it happen, when," she listed.

Leia shrugged.

"I had the implant removed the month after he got back from the Reaches," she said.

"Hmm, couple months ago," mused Winter.

Leia tilted her head back and forth. Her lips turned up a little ruefully.

"I'm bleeding now," she noted.

Winter blinked at her, and then rolled her eyes.

"Then indulge, Leia, honestly," she said with a laugh, pushing Leia's wine glass back towards her.

Leia caught it, with a stern look.

"I am attempting to get into a habit – "

"One glass," Winter coaxed. "And enjoy it for a week, at the least, will you? I can't imagine you've got much risk of getting knocked up while you're bleeding."

"It can happen – "

"I meant I'm sure your sex life has come to a grinding, brief halt."

"It doesn't really bother him," Leia said under her breath.

Winter closed one eye and looked at Leia's – red – wine with a critical glare.

"I am surprised, and yet not surprised," she muttered dryly, glancing up at Leia through her lashes. "Is there anything he won't do?" Winter griped.

"Han does not like his hair pulled," she said, deadpan.

"Hmm," Winter reflected stoically.

She pretended to think for a moment longer, and then smiled, shaking her head at Leia. Leia shrugged half-heartedly, and returned the smile.

"It must be like – living on the edge, constantly," Winter mused. "You don't know when your life is going to change."

Leia nodded.

"As usual, you manage to whimsically define the most terrifying part of it all," she quipped dryly.

Winter laughed, but leaned forward, biting her lip. She tucked her knuckles under her chin, pursing her lips intently.

"You think you're ready?" she asked, purely out of curiosity.

Leia took a deep breath.

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready," she said – slow, but honest; languid, but steady. "But," she said, with a simple shrug, and a tentative smile. "I want to be," she said honestly. "That matters more."

Winter smiled brilliantly, taking her glass, and lifting it for a toast – and this time, Leia matched the gesture, and did partake of the wine with more than just a brush of it against her lips – Winter was right; she ought to enjoy it while she knew it was harmless – she had no idea which glass of wine might be her last for a long time, and while there was still nothing to worry about in terms of the time it took, she had to keep herself occupied with the tangible aspects of life as they existed for her now.


After spending the better part of the morning wreaking havoc on the egos of an elite cadre of the New Republic's military's freshest new fighter pilots, Han had shirked off the so-called mandatory office hours he was supposed to put in and skulked off to the Falcon's private hangar to occupy himself with activities more to his liking. In other words, absolutely anything other than mundane paperwork and management, the sort of things peacetime generals were inundated with - but that bored Han into oblivion.

The morning's work - that had been fun. Despite his rank, Rieekan - and even stuffier officials such as Dodonna - recognized Han's unique, often illegal skills; he was frequently enlisted to tamper with flight programs, artificially damage ships, and generally prank - though military leaders preferred to call it immediate action emergency training - the rank-and-file of the military. Given his experience not only with rigging painfully outdated systems to new technology - and forcing reliable work out of something such as the Falcon - coupled with his uncanny ability to mess with technical systems and set things haywire in the most frustrating of ways, he was crucial in masterminding scenarios that threw untested pilots out of sorts and gave them vital lessons learned in the end.

Hell - it was a damn good spectacle, spending hours conceiving of ways to - in layman's terms - fuck with the soldiers under his command to increase their problem solving skills and jolt them into the harsh reality of what could go wrong during real battles. Han stressed them with focused viruses downloaded into their systems that tested their troubleshooting knowledge, but also did things as simple as unplugging batteries so their consoles failed to charge, and watching in amusement as these young, genius minds were drawn into an increasing spiral of panic, forgetting to think simple, to think small - Ya can't just be a natural at the helm, kid, Han was known to gripe - what if your artoo unit gets fried? Ya gotta be a mechanic, too.

Rieekan said he was good with his command, and he was still damn good in a fight - but Han had been disenchanted with the Imperial Academy for the same reason he was increasingly disenchanted with his military involvement now: it was bureaucratic, when things were stable; it was politicking, and could be insincere - and Han's rank had been a product of emergency circumstances, not the calculated education and experience of many others - he was street smart, and unnaturally cunning, and the risks he took had won precious victories during the Rebellion - but peace was tedious, and the recruits were more difficult to instruct - they were handling more and more crops of military graduates who hadn't fought during the Rebellion, who had joined a military that knew relative peace, at this point, and they didn't understand, yet.

Better if they never understand, eh? - Rieekan looked at it that way, and Han figured he agreed, but he felt an unexpected indignant bitterness rise in him when some hotshot young pilot complained General Solo's teaching mechanisms were unfair tricks - and Han didn't have the eloquence to explain some things, other than tellin' 'em - look, you privileged bunch of pricks, sometime's the plan's as simple as deciding you ain't gonna die today - you go from there.

The mature, almost wise thoughts left Han with an odd sort of grimace, half-missing the days when he was the arrogant, shoot-from-the-hip smuggler, and half-seeing how he'd been through more experienced eyes, and wondering how the fuck he'd survived at all, much less come to have what he had now -

He was proud of what he'd done, of how he'd served, and he considered Carlist as good a friend as any, but he looked on a renewal of his commission with increasing apathy - it wasn't that he'd given up fighting, but his most recent deployment had been not much more than maintaining status quo, and projecting a power presence. He didn't thirst for the horror of war - but he wasn't that interested in the uniform during the Pax Republica.

He didn't have a damn clue what else he'd be doing, but then, he'd never had much of a neatly defined life plan in the past, and that had worked out - he'd ended up with Leia - and whether that was a fluke, or fate, he wouldn't change a second of it - she'd said, if she ended up running for Chief of State, she'd probably need him to resign his commission anyway, for conflict of interest reasons.

Han snorted, and reached up to wipe his wrist roughly across his forehead, sitting back from the tangle of electrical wires he'd wrenched out of the guts of the spare bunk in his cabin. He sat back against his bunk, and let his arms hang over his knees, frowning thoughtfully - for a split second, he considered money, and then he remembered money was irrelevant; they didn't need two incomes - hell, if Leia decided tomorrow she'd rather quit politics and sit at home and try on lipsticks for fashion magazines all day, her allotment from the Alderaanian exchequer would still promptly arrive twice a month.

He tapped the hydrospanners in his hand against his shin absently, frowning at himself - why he'd decided to have some sort of mild mid-life crisis on the floor of his cabin, well, that was an unanswerable question - though there was a decent chance it was just because he had some disciplinary files he was supposed to address in his office at headquarters, and that meant decisions on people's careers - and Han just flat out didn't like doing that shit.

He didn't have any intention of returning to less-than-legal hell-raising, but that didn't mean he wanted to police a bunch of recruit's lives - if they did their jobs on the clock, why should he give a damn if they got piss-drunk at some underground bar with a couple of discount pleasure maids? Sure, he was a little more forgiving towards laws now that he was such an upstanding citizen, but people's personal honor wasn't his business -

Though, he figured he had better reform his ideas about monitoring other people's lives if he was going to be a father.

He figured he better get some ideas in general about being a father, other than the overarching conclusion he'd come to a while ago that bluntly consisted of I want a baby with Leia.

Han lifted the hyydrospanners and ran his thumb along the chipped grip, looking past them at the bundle of wires he'd been untangling and diagnosing. Half of them were frayed - he didn't think he'd bothered with actually rewiring and fixing this particular system in years - he'd just bundled the tears in industrial tape, and then, when he had been motivated to fix it, when he and Leia had been stranded in wild space, she had started sleeping with him, and it no longer mattered if the spare, smaller bunk was warm or not, because they had plenty of warmth between them.

It didn't even really matter if the bunk worked right now, Han was just unusually intent on fixing every minor defect the Falcon had ever had lately.

He lifted his head as he heard Chewbacca ambling up the ramp, returning from lunch. The scent of a fresh, roasted sausage sandwich wafted down the hallway, clashing with the oily, mechanical smell that Chewie was sure to whine -

[What is that acrid smell, Cub?]

- about.

The Wookiee poked his head into the cabin, his eyes narrow, and tossed Han the sandwich he'd grabbed for him. Han dropped the hydrospanners casually to catch it, and peeled at the wrapper, gesturing over at the mess of a spare bunk.

"Couple of the frayed wires caught on fire and singed the cushioning," he explained gruffly. "So'm lettin' 'em calm down before I replace 'em."

Chewbacca tilted his head curiously.

[You are finally fixing that thing?] he asked.

Han shrugged, and nodded, getting up and sitting on the edge of his bunk rather than the floor. He leaned forward, elbows planted on his knees, and bit into lunch, giving Chewie an appreciate wave for picking it up. He bit off way more than he could chew, and instantly regretted it, as it stymied his attempt to inhale sandwich at once - Chewbacca rolled his eyes at him, and leaned against the arch of the cabin's entrance.

[Why?] He ventured flatly. [It is rarely used. You never bothered before.]

"'Cause I am," Han retorted through a mouthful, a stubborn expression on his face.

Chewbacca arched a brow, amused.

[Why?] he repeated, in an elongated, patronizing growl.

"'Cause what if I need it?" Han answered.

[I will bite,] Chewie said, adopting one of his favorite Basic colloquialisms. [What would you need it for?]

"I jus' might need it," Han said, giving Chewie an annoyed look over the fast diminishing sandwich he was trying to enjoy - in peace. "'Cause it should work like it's s'pose to," he argued.

[Like the airlock should have new, state of the art, double security overrides installed, and the cockpit seats should have new upholstery?]

"Gonna assume you're talking about the new leather," Han said loudly, pretending not to know damn well what upholstery meant. "And yeah, they should - you said you liked that."

[It is less itchy,] Chewbacca allowed. [Why did you put safety webbing over the openings in the smuggling compartments?]

"Makes 'em safer," Han grunted caustically.

[You are suddenly afraid of falling in?] Chewie goaded.

Speaking through the last mouthful of his lunch, Han glared at his old friend -

"Why're you giving me the Mustafar Inquisition, pal?" he demanded.

Chewbacca gave a casual shrug.

[No need to get defensive,] he crooned. [I was just curious as to why you appear to be nesting.]

Han shook his head, narrowing his eyes.

"Don't know what that means - ain't gonna take the bait," he muttered.

Chewbacca made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a mocking laugh, and Han swept up the wrapper from his food and launched it at him, scowling mildly. Chewie swatted it away, and stuck his neck out, peering at Han with exasperation.

[You have been acting abnormal since your return from the Reaches,] he accused.

"I have not," Han protested indignantly.

[You have, and so has Leia,] Chewbacca asserted simply. He stepped closer and eyed Han critically, cocking his head to the side. [Are you two breeding?]

Han sat up straighter, setting his shoulders, and giving Chewie a disturbed grimace.

"What? Why did you call it that?" he griped.

Chewbacca blinked, unfazed.

[Call it what?]

"You said - "

[Breeding? That's what it is called. Is that what you are doing?]

"Chewie," Han whined edgily. "It's not - we're human," he protested. "It's not called - that sounds weird."

Chewie gave a shrug.

[It is all the same,] he said simply. [Is that what you are doing?] he repeated.

"No," Han said emphatically. "Uh, well," he went on, changing his mind a little. "I mean, Leia's not pregnant or anything," he corrected.

He tilted his head, suddenly fascinated with the concept - because, for all he knew, she could be, right? She hadn't said anything. She might not know - he definitely wouldn't until she did. Distracted, he stared at Chewie a little unfocused, until the Wookiee waved his massive paw, his equivalent of snapping rudely in Han's face.

[She is off her hormones, though?] he asked, matter-of-fact. [I wondered. Her scent is different.]

Han gave him an annoyed look.

"Stop smelling my wife!"

[I don't do it intentionally - ]

"You know I hate it when you do that, talkin' about - pheromones and - stuff - "

[I forget you are a prude.]

"'M not a prude!" Han insisted darkly. He flung his hand out in disbelief. "It just ain't - uh, polite, commenting on people's hormone scent," he said grimacing again.

He fully understood the irony in him telling someone to be polite - and Chewbacca laughed, tilting his head and backing off with his teasing. He considered Han for a moment, and then strode into the room, standing opposite him and leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He looked very intent and curious.

[How does it work?]

Han looked at him, incredulous.

"Whaddaya mean, how does it work?" he quoted. "I know there's stuff you don't get about humans, pal, but come on."

Chewbacca tossed his head, impatient.

[That is not what I mean,] he said. [I mean - if she is not on the medicine, how is she not pregnant? Is there a problem?] Chewie asked solemnly.

Han frowned, squinting one eye, and then relaxed a little. Was Chewie trying to take a dig at his virility...?

"Oh," he muttered. "Yeah, I forgot," he said, rubbing his temple between his thumb and index finger - Wookiee women had one fertile season every couple of years, and conception was guaranteed - one and done, unless there was some genetic defect that rendered either male or female barren. "Uhh," Han stammered. "S'not an exact science, with us," he said shortly. "It's not, uh," he snapped. "Automatic."

Chewbacca blinked wisely.

[Fascinating,] he warbled. [Seems like a lot of work.]

At that, Han grinned, and smirked at him.

"Not work I mind puttin' in," he joked.

[Poor Leia,] Chewie fired right back, his lips curling in a smirk of his own.

Han glared at him, folding his arms loosely over his knees as he leaned forward. He jutted his hand out and gestured at the bunk, frowning.

"I just thought it was time to start fixin' stuff," he said slowly. "You know, in case," he muttered. He snorted, and looked back at Chewie. "I was thinkin' of puttin' a rail up there, like that'd make it safe?" he snorted again. "Realized I don't know shit about intergalactic space travel with a kid." He frowned. "'Cause with just a rail, it'd kind of...roll around, huh?"

Chewbacca tilted his head back and forth. He nodded, but shrugged with nonchalance.

[You would learn those things,] he said dismissively. He lifted his head thoughtfully. [You said Leia is not pregnant?] he asked. [There is no need to rush, or panic.]

"No," Han muttered, and then narrowed his eyes. "I'm not panickin'," he clarified tensely. "Just dunno what to do," he trailed off. "She had a lot of - ah - doubts about doin' this, and I want her to know I'm not messin' around, that I'm squared away, if she's still...nervous," he mumbled.

[Cub,] Chewbacca said seriously, [it does not matter how prepared you are, it will go to hell immediately when you have young.]

Han shrugged, nettled - that's what they said, wasn't it?

[I am not sure it is most efficient to show her that by nesting on the Falcon, anyway,] Chewie advised. [You don't live here.]

"Look, I don't want her to feel pressured either, got it? We're s'pose to not think about it and just act like nothin's different," he said flatly. He ran his hands over his face, sighing gruffly. "'Cept it is kind of different, right?"

Chewbacca looked thoughtful.

[I do not know,] he said honestly. [For Wookiees, there is not all the decision making you have,] he said simply. [You mate, you have young - that is it.]

Han snorted dryly.

"S'different," he muttered. "'Cause she's kind of worried about all the chemical torture from the Death Star, and I think she still worries about Vader," he shrugged harshly and trailed off, clearing his throat. "'M not in a rush, s'just that...she'd be upset if somethin' was wrong, and it'd be nice if we could just not have that problem," he said edgily.

In other words - impending parenthood, when it was a very real possibility, was a different horizon when he faced it now, than when he had faced it hypothetically, in past conversations, and he wasn't sure he wanted it to happen just like that, but at the same time - he shrugged to himself. He wanted Leia to have some relief from all that, because the rest of it, he figured they were pretty much on the same page about - just because he'd been more sure of wanting one than her didn't mean he wasn't nervous as hell. He didn't know a thing about being a father - just that not running off was a good place to start.

[Are you ready?] Chewbacca asked simply.

Han laughed.

"Fuck if I know," he said gruffly, sitting up straighter. "Hey, can't be that hard, right?" he drawled, flashing a smirk.

[It is hard.] Chewbacca said stoically.

Han gave him an annoyed look.

"Work with me," he muttered, and the Wookiee gave a laugh.

[It is a good indication that you can do it if you are already nest - ]

"Will you cut that out?" interrupted Han loudly. "Stop callin' it nesting," he groused. He grumbled: "Sounds like somethin' women do."

[It is,] Chewbacca informed him.

Han scowled, and Chewbacca snorted smugly, pleased with the reaction.

[How is Leia?] he asked sincerely.

Han shrugged.

"She's good," he said. "She's a little, uh," Han broke off, and then glanced around warily, as if afraid she might hear him though she was nowhere near the ship. He leaned forward and whispered. "Uhh, moody," he said testily.

Chewbacca cocked his head dryly, waiting, and Han nodded fervently.

"Yeah, uh, it turns out, I've never been with Leia when she's not on some kind of permanent birth control," he explained warily. "So when it gets to that time of the month," he stopped talking and waved his hands vaguely, implying chaos. Chewbacca blinked a couple of times, lightly amused. "Coupla days ago, I reached over her head to get a mug for her, and she elbowed me and asked me why I was so patronizing and stormed out of the kitchen."

Chewbacca snorted.

[It is kind of patronizing to put mugs on shelves she can't reach,] he goaded.

Han glared.

"There will always be something on a shelf Leia can't reach," he growled.

[You could pick her up so she could reach it herself,] Chewbacca suggested smugly.

"Yeah, because I have a death wish," Han laughed shortly. He snorted, and then shrugged, a slightly alarmed smile touching his lips, and then fading affectionately. "She's just a little touchy, that's all. S'not just the cycles, probably. Probably a little stress."

[Probably,] Chewbacca agreed.

"Don't tell her I called her moody," Han said hastily.

Chewbacca smirked, but his silence was tacit agreement - he had no interest in sowing petty discord between the two of them; he was happy for them, and even happier to see his companion so settled and content in life - Malla would be thrilled to hear it, though Chewbacca would report nothing until Han said it was acceptable to do so - humans could be so secretive about these sorts of things.

[Is it a secret that you and Leia want a baby?] Chewbacca ventured.

"Wouldn't say that," Han said cautiously. "Haven't been tellin' people that's what we're up to," he added dryly. He frowned pointedly, narrowing his eyes. "I think Bail knows. Don't know how," he growled, "but last time I saw him he looked at me like he's seen me naked."

Chewbacca guffawed, bending forward to brace his hand on his knee.

Han leaned down and swept up the hydrospanners, smacking them into the palm of his hand. He looked back at the mess of wires distractedly, his brow furrowed in a concentrated frown. He had meant what he said to Chewbacca - he was obsessing over modifications and touch-ups to the Falcon because he was wary of intimidating Leia with his apprehension, which he thought she'd see as excitement. It was, to an extent, but undefined excitement, because he had no concept of what it would really be like - he didn't know what he was supposed to be doing, so he was doing things, and it was impossible to act like nothing was different, because there was a different nuance to everything - they were attempting to sort of plan something that definitely could not be planned, in the traditional sense.

It was enticingly serendipitous now - it was only that he was wary it would turn into another thing that was hard for Leia - and that, he knew, was some of what was weighing on both of them, just quietly, in the back of their minds; waiting to see if they were going to have a problem - or not.


The day Leia found out was uneventful – the way she found out was uneventful. She had no glaring, traditional symptoms – certainly nothing as painfully cliché as what she had experienced when her old implant had malfunctioned – she woke up one morning feeling different; she felt hyperaware, as if her senses had somehow been amplified – she had felt good, for lack of a better word, invigorated, and – there was nothing monumental leading up to it, really; she felt a wave of nausea over Tavska's perfume – never bothered her before – her nose was bothering her, as if she had a cold, and she'd had an irritable flare of mild cramps after lunch – which she had absently chalked up to an impending cycle, until she realized with a short jolt that she had already bled this month.

She had already bled, yes, but it was far too early for her to detect –

For normal human women to detect, she supposed; on a whim, she had abandoned her focus on her work, and pressed her fingertips lightly against her ribs, trailing them down to her lower abdomen – instinctively, she took a few calming moments to tap into her Force sensitivity, a quiet, quick meditation, and the response was simple – something there.

Too early for a home kit, she thought, but not too early for innate power – and likely not too early for a Med Centre blood test, but this time, she did not go careening off to her private physician without talking to Han – the discovery derailed her attention for the day, and when she did leave early – she went home.

She did some idle housekeeping – administrative things; she called her physician to arrange an appointment for the blood work, she went and stood quietly in their spare bedroom for a while, looking at the walls, she looked through the files she had been given to review for the Haven's Christening ceremony – and she tentatively thought ahead – how many months to the opening – ?

Would she be able to travel –? If, for some reason, there was another delay in the opening timeline, could the ceremony perhaps even be for – her baby?

Hers and Han's –

Leia did not agonize over how to tell him; rather, she contemplated it quietly, a pleasant nervousness simmering in her chest – that was the beauty in having wanted this, there was no concern over how he might react, and she didn't feel petrified or detached.

She didn't feel any of those things, but she did feel what she thought was a natural, subtle wariness. She would start to think ahead a little too much, and get a tight, short-of-breath feeling tickling at her throat – are we out of our minds? Are we going to be ready in – what, forty weeks? Forty - !

Minus two, or three – she had no certainty of exactly when it had happened, though wondering caused her to laugh a little wryly.

It was so early on –

There was a chance she was wrong, hence reaching out to a medic to confirm in the next few days, but this was one incident in which Leia felt comfortable listening to her instincts – and she couldn't imagine not telling Han immediately, she just wasn't quite sure of how. She didn't want to keep it from him, even if it was innocent, and only for a few days, she was – fascinated, she supposed, and her adrenaline was rushing.

Briefly, she scanned through holo references on Corellian tradition, and only came across one that appeared to be well-known – women throwing parties, at which the entire guest list knew except for the father – and Leia rejected that idea immediately; she didn't want to ambush him in such a way, and she wasn't sure she was ready to share with anyone but him – certainly not this early.

She knew, and intended to follow, certain of her own culture's traditions, but those pertained more to telling her family, not him, and a quick search of ideas revealed to her a grandiose world of expensive, self-aggrandizing methods that nearly gave her a headache.

She took her ruminations to a long, hot bubble bath, luxuriating in the water and eventually coming to the obvious conclusion that she just wanted to tell him – without bells and whistles, pomp and circumstance – it was only important to her that she saw his face –

- and she needed it to be quiet, because this was – unexpectedly immediate; she had thought she would have problems, or that it at least would take a while, and regardless of what they had decided, he might feel a little winded at how quickly it had happened.

She'd personally understand that – and she did not want him handling it, if he had to, with any audience but herself.

She did endeavor to make herself look nice, though she was sure it would be a memorable moment regardless; after her bath – which went on much longer than intended; she nearly fell asleep in the soothing water – she put on a comfortable, lace detailed petal pink bralette, a pair of matching panties, and a buttery soft red robe, neatly arranging her hair as well – dried until it was soft as cotton, braided in a very purposeful mess over one shoulder.

She studied herself in the mirror, tilting her head – she didn't look different; she didn't particularly feel different – she had heard Han come home half an hour ago, but he hadn't come in, and he hadn't started cooking, which was a little odd.

She was intensely curious to see Han's reaction – in fact she stopped internally planning out a commentary, and reached out to shut off the 'fresher lights, stepping out into the cooler air and venturing out to look for him.

She found him – sort of facedown on the sofa, his legs oddly angled so that his dirty boots weren't on the cushions – considerate of him. Folding her arms loosely, Leia tilted her head, amused – his jacket was on the floor, and he appeared to be – asleep.

She laughed quietly, and Han jumped, turning his head, blinking – he rolled onto his side, saw her, and then looked a little sheepish; he sat up slowly, rubbing at his shoulder, and as he did, Leia noticed the soot on his left temple, and an inflamed scrape – he smelled vaguely smoky.

Furrowing her brow, she came forward, placing her hands on his shoulders and pulling him back towards the couch, until his shoulders rested against her chest. She sucked in her breath and waved her fingers over the wound, examining it closely – fresh, but not severe.

Han flinched away, even though she didn't touch, a movement that warned her it was tender. He made a face, and shrugged his shoulders.

"S'nothin,'" he grumbled. "War games," he grunted in explanation.

"More?" Leia murmured.

"Uhh-huhh," Han snorted. "Carlist keeps sayin' he doesn't miss all the fighting, but he coulda fooled me," he joked. "Did some burning engine drills," he elaborated. "Scraped my head against some charred ship parts tryin' to douse the electrical fire."

Leia clicked her tongue softly. It was a minor injury – and rather routine; Han usually had some scrapes or bruises on him after war games – even after just working on the Falcon, but Leia stared at the injury for a moment, and her eyes started to sting.

"Han," she said, startling herself when her voice cracked. "You have to be careful."

He shifted, leaning over to turn a little, and gave her a funny look.

"S'just a scrape, Leia," he said easily. He arched a brow, and gave her a wry look. "You havin' a day?" he asked suspiciously – that was the metaphor he'd come up with lately to describe it if she was being alarmingly hormonal, and Leia snorted a little, turning up her nose at the question.

"You haven't seen anything yet," she retorted, pointedly, running her fingers through his hair.

She pulled away from him, mumbling under her breath about bacta, and went back to the 'fresher to fetch the minor med kit for him. She took it to him, and he mumbled thanks, leaning forward a bit to pick through it. She watched him unfold a bacta-infused gauze pad and rub it against the injury, muttering a swear as he went about cleaning it – and she left him again and went into the kitchen, where she poured a glass of whiskey – the expensive stuff, and tightened the neat bow holding her robe closed.

She returned to stand behind the couch again, first resting her wrists on his shoulders, and then leaning down to press a kiss to the cleaned injury, and a kiss to his jaw, and neck – she nudged his arm with the glass, handing it to him, and ran her other hand over his chest affectionately.

Han tilted his head back, resting it on her shoulder with roguish, but interested, look.

"Really is just a scrape," he drawled. "What'd I do to get the spa treatment?"

Leia grinned against his temple, and drew back, waiting until he took the whiskey to straighten up, consider him for a moment, and make her way around the sofa. She sat down next to him, and picked up another bacta pad.

"Drink," she encouraged, finishing cleaning up the scrape – it looked much less threatening with all the grime wiped away, and Leia judged it to be so minor, her reaction to it was laughable, but she supposed she would experience a lot of irrational worry over him for the next few months.

Irrational if it was over scrapes like these – not irrational in the grand scheme, because though Leia had conquered her persistent, panicky fear of losing Han ages ago, a flicker of it was back, for the moment.

"Drink?" Han muttered. "Why?"

"When have you ever asked me to justify a drink?" Leia teased softly, leaning over to set all the bacta aside.

She brushed her fingers over the skin gently, and Han winced, raising the glass to his lips.

"Ain't every day you wait on me," he pointed out charmingly, and Leia smiled around her wrist.

"It's a toast," she said.

"To what?" Han retorted.

"You," Leia answered simply.

He smirked.

"What'd I do?" he asked. "Or's it just 'cause I'm the man of your dreams?" he flirted, and Leia rolled her eyes good-naturedly, leaning her elbow on the back of the sofa and looking at him.

She flicked her eyes at the glass, and his lips, insistently, and Han cocked an eyebrow at her, raising it in exaggeration as if he was humoring her. Leia waited until the whiskey touched his mouth.

"It's a toast," she murmured simply, "to you being a father."

Han pulled the glass away from his mouth quickly, turning towards her sharply. She watched him very deliberately swallow, reaching out to rest the glass firmly on his knee, and he tilted his hear towards her.

"What?" he asked. "I am?"

He leaned a little closer, studying her, his lips parted in anticipation.

"I am, Leia?" he repeated.

She gave a small nod, fidgeting with the tie of her robe.

"I'm pregnant."

Han lunged to the side and set the glass of whiskey on the table, preserving it from any possible spills. He sat forward on the edge of the sofa, staring at her, reaching up to rub his hand over his mouth.

Leia looked back at him calmly, her lips compressed, then parted, her heart stuttering against her ribs – he just stared at her, as if he couldn't quite get his head around it, and then he lowered his hand and started beckoning to her.

"C'mere," he said gruffly. "C'mere – you are?" he asked in her ear, when she moved forward to meet his hug with her own.

She nodded, her head tucked against his shoulder, and Han took a deep breath, burying his nose in her hair for a moment. He kissed her temple, and tightened his hug, and then loosened it with a start, drawing back a little.

"It won't hurt me," Leia assured him with a quiet laugh, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck.

Han grinned. He leaned forward and kissed her full on the lips, cradling her cheek in his palm gently, and then he broke away, laughed, and reached for the glass of whiskey. He downed the rest of it, then leaned back and relaxed, giving another hoarse, disbelieving laugh.

"Yeah," he said, almost to himself. "You sure? When did you find out?"

"Today," Leia answered calmly. "I left the office a little early and came home to let it…sink in."

"Thought you were home," Han said rapidly. "Was waitin' for you to get out of the 'fresher," he gestured at himself, indicating he needed one. He tilted his head up, searching her face eagerly. "You took a test?"

Leia shook her head slowly.

"No," she said. "I did schedule blood work with my doctor."

"How d'you know, then?"

"I just know," Leia murmured.

"How can you be sure?" Han asked, his expression quizzical.

"I just am," she answered cryptically.

Han considered her for a moment, and then nodded, seeming to accept that – she'd know better than he would, that was for damn sure. He took a deep breath, crossing his arms and reaching up to rub his jaw thoughtfully. He looked at her intently, and shifted closer.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

Leia curled her legs up under her on the sofa, leaning against the back of it with her elbow propped on the cushions. She brushed her fingers against her lips, and then rested her head on her palm, holding his gaze confidently.

She nodded.

"Yeah," she murmured softly. "Yeah, I am. I'm happy," she said honestly, with a small shrug.

"Not like last time?" Han asked hesitantly.

"There wasn't really a last time," Leia noted.

He gave her a look, and she smiled, resigned, her lashes fluttering.

"Not like last time," she agreed. She brushed some strands of hair from her face and took a deep breath, tilting her head back and forth and sighing. She drew her lower lip into her mouth tensely, contemplating her emotions, and then she lowered her arm and pressed her hand against her chest, pushing her fingertips into the hem of her robe.

"Han, I'm, I'm very happy," she said huskily. "I have, um," she faltered, tapping her collarbone. "I have – kind of a lingering – bad feeling," she confessed.

She did – it wasn't anything dreadful, nothing that made her want to reject this whole experience, just something vaguely ominous in the back of her mind, as if she were forgetting to remember something. She took another deep breath and looked at him searchingly.

"I think its just nerves," she whispered. "This happened…very fast."

Han nodded, tilting his head back lazily.

"S'what I thought," he muttered. "It kinda did – weren't we thinkin' it'd be like…half a year?"

"I don't know," Leia said, with a soft laugh. "I was so sure it wouldn't happen – it took so much to get my blood chemistry back to normal after the Death Star, who knows what else it did," she trailed off.

Han rolled his head back and forth a little, and unfolded his arms, lifting his arm up to rest it along the back of the sofa. He curved his wrist in and stroked the back of her shoulder. Leia cleared her throat, leaning into that touch a little, and reaching out to press her palm to his thigh.

"You?" she ventured.

He had told her at Varykino that when she'd thought she was pregnant early last year, he'd been pretty damn shaken up, he just hadn't admitted to it for her sake – and if he had listened to her as well as she'd hoped during one of their heart-to-hearts while there on Naboo, he'd know she'd rather he confess –

"Uhh," Han said, his eyes a little wide, clearing his throat. He looked over at her. "It's a little, uh, y'know, nervous is probably a good word – it's a little more…nervous…ing – "

"Nerve-wracking," Leia supplied in an amused whisper.

"Yup, that – when it's real, and not…in theory," Han drawled casually, his eyes traveling down to her abdomen. He looked back up at her sharply. "You really…just know?"

"Yes," Leia answered. She cocked her head to the side. "Is the real world you're looking for terrifying?" she teased softly.

Han blinked stubbornly.

"Maybe."

She leaned forward and took his face in her hands, her thumbs drawing circles in the divots behind his ears, her heart beating nervously in her chest again. She swallowed hard, nodding earnestly.

"Me too," she confided.

Han started laughing. He swung his arm off the couch, and around her waist, pulling her close. Leia grinned, and twisted in his grip, throwing her leg over his lap and straddling him. She placed her hands on his neck, then his shoulders, and bit her lip, tilting her head at him.

He arched his brows.

"What's it feel like?" he asked.

"Nothing, yet," she murmured. "I know it's there, that's all."

Han narrowed his eyes.

"That mean Luke can tell?" he demanded. "Would Luke know before me?"

She laughed, and shook her head.

"I don't think so. He's not that in tune with me."

She bit her lip, and her smile faded a little – Luke had been off planet for a while, as it were, and she wasn't on the best terms with him – fighting was not the right word, but – harboring tensions was one. She missed him, though – she missed him right now.

"Hmpf," Han grumbled.

He considered her abdomen for a moment, and then furrowed his brow again.

"So…when?"

She sighed quietly.

"I'll know more after I speak with physician," she said.

She considered him a moment, and then smiled a little wickedly, lowering her lashes demurely.

"You have to tell Father," she told him smoothly.

Han looked at her wordlessly for a moment, his expression mild. Then, all at once, he blinked at her, leaned back, and pointed a finger at his chest in disbelief, staring at her as if he had just been betrayed.

"Me?" he asked gruffly, narrowly avoiding a very un-masculine squawk. "What?" his tone pitched into a whine that seemed a bit - panicky.

Fighting the urge to start laughing again, Leia furrowed her brow a little, pursing her lips in mild amusement:

"I don't see why you're so appalled at the idea," she murmured, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

Han leaned away from her suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

"Why do I have to – me?" he repeated, stubbornly ignoring her.

Leia did laugh quietly, settling back on his knees a little. She pursed her lips, letting her hands slide down his chest.

"It's tradition," she murmured, her hands falling to the hem of her robe. She smoothed her fingers over it, adjusting it and readjusting it over her legs. She looked down, and then back up at him with more gravity, and though he still glared at her warily, he was clearly listening.

She compressed her lips.

"The new father tells the old father," she said simply.

Han frowned.

"How the hell am I supposed to have that conversation?" he asked incredulously. "'Hey, Bail, remember how I constantly have sex with your only daughter – '"

"For Sith's sake, Han, there's no need to start like that," Leia snorted.

"That's what it's gonna sound like," Han muttered.

"Not if you act like an adult man," Leia retorted primly.

"Only if he does," Han fired back, and she leaned forward to touch his face again, drawing her index finger over his lip.

"Han," she coaxed. "It's important to me."

She was missing out on telling her mother, and that tugged at her heart a little more than she had expected – and Han sensed that, she thought; he gave her a firm nod.

"Yeah, I get it," he said, resting his hands on her hips. "So I just…tell 'im?"

"You take him for dinner," Leia instructed. "Or – whiskey – "

"I gotta take him on a date?" Han interrupted, feigning shock. "I don't have anything to wear!" he joked.

Leia gave him a look, and he grinned at her charmingly.

"It won't be difficult," Leia said honestly. "He'll know what's going on."

Han furrowed his brow.

"How?"

"Well, forgetting for a moment that you have never taken it upon yourself to ask my father to have a drink with you in a formal way, he's Alderaanian," she reminded him. "He understands the tradition. He'll know."

Han nodded. He mumbled acquiescence, and then frowned to himself.

"You don't wanna tell 'im right away…?" he started.

Leia pursed her lips, apprehension tugging at her for a moment. She shook her head.

"No," she murmured. "No, it's early, and I," she paused. She reached up and touched the scrap on his temple, looking at it thoughtfully before switching her eyes back to his. "I'd like to keep this between us, for a little while."

Han nodded fervently, relieved – he was sure that, like him, she wanted some time to adjust to the concept with each other, before they shared. He looked at her a moment longer, and then pulled her close, pressing his head into her shoulder. She rested her chin on his head, and he breathed her in, feeling invigorated, and safe, at the same time.

He felt her take a deep breath, and pulled back to look at her, admiring the sight – she gave him another genuine, nervous smile, and he reached up to pull at the tie at the end of her braid, starting to loosen the strands – she cupped his jaw in her hand, and leaned forward to kiss him while he unbraided, pressing herself close to him – though she didn't think there was any way she could possibly be closer to him, after this.


- alexandra

story #360.