a/n: fair warning: it happens in this chapter.


Three

7 ABY


In hindsight, it seemed to Leia that just as she had instinctively known that something was wrong, an even deeper part of her had understood that there was nothing she could do, and that perhaps contributed to her prolonged attachment to the belief, the almost painful insistence, that she must merely have a mild virus. In essence, her sensitivity to the Force, and by extension, herself, labored to simultaneously warn her, and protect her. In that respect, she never particularly harbored any guilt, only mounting confusion, dread, and later, unspeakable sadness that she'd hardly have been able to manage if it hadn't been for Han - for everyone around her.

She went home from work on the very day she had given Tavska the task of tentatively planning for maternity leave, and for the rest of the evening felt increasingly more listless and irritable. She asked Han to come home early, then snapped at him when he showed extensive concern and tried to ask her what was wrong - then felt guilty for verbally attacking him - she refused to to let him take her to the med centre on the grounds that she had already called the offices and been advised she was fine; for her own protection, she was horrified at the thought of seeking out a physician because, because - distress; the word echoed through her head, she seemed not to hear it, but to feel it in her muscles, in her blood; distress.

She almost interpreted it as a tiny, foggy voice reaching out for aid, but that seemed unreal - she tried to eat, and kept very little down, and she went to bed early, Han hovering, but not too closely, wary of being snapped at again. The cruel thing - cruel, she called it cruel because it felt like a waking nightmare - was how easily she fell asleep, even if it felt feverish; she had some awareness of tossing and turning, and some awareness of Han finally crawling in bed next to her and feeling her head - Leia, are you alright? - I don't think so, she had answered honestly, barely awake - leave me alone. She wasn't angry with him, when she asked; she just wanted to try and sleep, sleep it off, sleep off the - distress -

In her hazy nightmares, she had an intravenous drip in her arm, and Han sat next to her, touching her hair, resting his hand on her shoulder - or Han stood in the hall with her father, his face white as a sheet, and almost abruptly, shaken, Leia realized, Leia realized - fuck; the vision from the Jedi temple - this is it? Why - why does this have to be it?

In the middle of the night, she startled awake, shaking, dragged out of semi-sleep by some grim, dark realization; her head ached and spun while her vision adjusted to the darkness, and she bent forward, her hand flying to her ribs, brushing gingerly at her side. She was hurting, really hurting; the dull, peripheral pain that had flickered a few times in her office was magnified, acute. She opened her mouth to help herself breathe, speechless, and shivered, a wave of nausea slamming over her, head-to-toe dizziness - she reached out for one of the bedposts and swung herself out of bed lest she vomit on the sheets, and rushed unsteadily into the 'fresher.

The light flickered on as soon as it sensed her movement; there wasn't much in her stomach, and retching hurt her throat, seemed to hurt her back, even, as she leaned shakily over the sink. Looking up to check her reflection, she recoiled, noting dark circles under her eyes, and hot, red patches of fever marring an otherwise waxy, pale complexion. The pain in her abdomen subsided a little, and she slumped forward, cradling her forehead for a moment - no, no, no - oh, god -

She clenched her teeth and tried to take a deep breath, somehow both alert, and vaguely delirious - she was physically in pain, but it wasn't just localized, focused discomfort, she felt it in her bones, in her heart, ethereal, compromising her emotionally; her soul felt weak, whimpering and shrinking from something dark and, and - dying, the word was cold and final - inside her.

Leia straightened up and grasped for a cup, mouthing a swear when she dropped it with a loud clatter. She winced harshly, and then stepped back, reaching for a robe to pull around herself - she was cold, even though she wore a soft t-shirt and shorts, and as she slipped on the robe, pulling tight, she leaned back against the 'fresher door and bent forward, her hand moving down between her legs.

"Leia?" Han asked groggily - she heard him shifting in the bedroom, pillows rustling as he grabbed for her.

She didn't say anything, preoccupied with assessing the state of things between her thighs - the state of things - she had been so focused on the nausea that it was just now dawning on her, the wetness there - she caught her breath sharply, and swallowed hard, her chest tightening painfully, knuckles still, and shoving tight against the inside of her thigh - she couldn't bring herself to look, and for a moment, she couldn't bring herself to answer Han, even as he worriedly called out again - she had the completely unfounded, striking fear for a moment that he would be angry.

She tilted her head back, black spots peppering her vision - if she didn't breathe, she'd pass out - or maybe she'd pass out anyway, her abdomen was searing with pain, and it was reverberating through her being, poisoning her -

"Leia."

Han's voice was closer now, right next to her, hushed rather than loud, and fraught with tense concern. His tone was anxious, strained, and though Leia didn't look at him right away, only lowered her head to listen, she sensed the urgency in expression. He reached out and touched her shoulder, holding it very loosely.

"Hey," he said faintly. "Hey, there's blood," he broke off, licking his lips apprehensively. "There's blood on the sheets."

Leia nodded, closing her eyes tightly. She felt frozen, afraid of scaring him, unable to decide what to do herself. She tucked her shoulders in, making herself smaller, and slid her hand out from between her legs looking only through her lashes, then sharply turning her head away, looking at Han, only peripherally able to see the viscous red spilling over her fingers.

Han looked at her in alarm, stepping forward and seizing her hand. He carelessly let it brush against his chest, and narrowed his eyes, his lips moving soundlessly for a moment.

"Fuck," he swore.

His hand ran over her arm and down to her abdomen, fingers brushing over her ribs in a short, poorly controlled exploration, cluelessly searching for the source - Leia swatted his hand away gently, clutching his wrist in her hand. She tried to take a deep breath, and slid down a little, her knees buckling; instead of mustering something calm or reassuring to say to him, or finding some directive to give, she only choked out -

"It hurts, Han. It hurts."

It seemed like an eternity, that he stood there as if petrified, as if made of stone, unable to process what was happening, unable to react to the obvious emergency at hand - in reality, it was mere seconds; he caught her arm to keep her from collapsing, and turned sharply, snatching a towel off of one of their racks. Uncertain only for a moment, he swallowed the terror that clawed at him, helped her towards the sani, tossing the towel down on it. She sat down heavily, and almost immediately doubled over, arms encircling her abdomen. Han ran his hand over her hair, swallowing hard - it wasn't a lot of blood, in there on the sheets, but it was - it was enough -

Her skin was burning to the touch, sweaty and slick, and there were thin, harsh white lines around her lips indicating she was biting back expressions of pain, or, or -

A soft keening sound escaped her lips and Han swallowed hard, his mouth dry. What did he - what was he supposed to - ?

"What do I do?" he asked out loud, trying to sound as steady as possible. He pushed his knuckles gently against her cheek, feeling her fever again, and swore quietly.

"You can't," Leia mumbled tensely - unhelpfully, and his brow furrowed roughly.

"I can't what?"

"Do anything," she gasped, cringing. She closed her eyes, and shook her head violently. She pressed her knees together hard. "You can't do...anything."

She shivered - she felt - as if she was being clawed it, like talons were ripping at her from the inside, scared, isolated - she reached out instinctively with her power, and then wrenched away from the storm inside her - irreparable distress, was what her feelings told her, and a part of her screamed - aren't you powerful enough to stop this - !

Han stood, hastily running his hand over his forehead, his lips brushing her jaw and nose as he stood, offering her soft, quick, desperate kisses.

"Don't move," he said. "'M gonna call a med transport."

Leia said nothing. She moved forward a little, and Han dropped back down into a crouch, gently stopping her.

"I don't need a transport," she managed.

"Tough luck, Sweetheart," he said softly. "Be still, Leia," he said awkwardly, as if that might - help, as if if things might just - stay put, and stay okay, if she didn't move. "I'll get you some help."

She dipped her head roughly, shaking it back and forth.

"It won't matter," she whispered hoarsely. "I can't - it's not," she broke off, biting her lip hard.

Han touched her face, tipping it up to his. He took a deep breath.

"It's gonna be okay, Leia," he soothed. "It'll be okay."

She shook her head, breaking her chin out of his grip, doubling over again. Han stood, torn between making the call, and staying with her until she stabilized a little - but her health was - it seemed like her health was on the line. He swallowed hard, and stepped back abruptly, turning sharply on his heel and heading back into the bedroom - lazily, lights flickered on, and Han stormed into - first her office, then the living room, looking for his comm - Leia followed a few moments later, shuffling to the sofa with her robe hanging off one shoulder, a towel in her hands.

He fumbled with the things in his hands, distracted by her, unable to find his comm - "Damn it!" he swore violently, and Leia flinched, and he abandoned the search for a moment, not angry at her. She sat down gingerly on the sofa, tucking part of the towel under her, and shook her head, her hands clasped, pressed between her legs as she arched forward a little, lips trembling. She was white as a sheet, blood draining from her face even as he looked at her, and Han sat on the kaffe table, leaning forward to grab her hand. She stiffened and started to flinch away, the only indication that he'd inadvertently grabbed her bloody hand, and he ignored how squeamish it was. He held her hand tighter, covering it with both of his.

"Leia," he started.

She squeezed his hand, but then jerked her hand away, her lashes fluttering.

"I," she started, her voice raw. "I can't," she broke off, her voice breaking, words dissolving into a harsh sob: "I can't do anything, Han, I can't help it."

He swallowed hard, unsure what she meant - he understood, on a primal level, that bleeding was not right, not right now; he understood she was suffering, he knew he needed to get her help - he verged on carrying her down to the speeder and taking her in himself, but he didn't trust himself to fly in this state - he needed - he needed his comm -

Leia gave a soft groan, curling in on herself and leaning back, drawn one leg up towards her on the sofa. He started forward as if to take her arm and steady her, and he caught sight of the towel she'd brought, his jaw tightening - he wasn't - accustomed to that much blood, outside of the battle field. Han's heart leap into his throat, about the same time the door chimes screamed through the apartment, startling him, eliciting some sharp, frightened rage - who the hell could possibly -

"It's Luke," Leia offered weakly - and Luke was about the only person Han would have opened the door for at this hour, in the face of this - Leia lowered her lashes, nodding - let him in, Han -

Frantic, Han went to the door, nearly reaching it open, and on the threshold, Luke was visibly shaking and as pale as Leia, his eyes sharp and on high alert.

"Han," he snapped, without pleasantries. "I don't want to intrude but what's - something's - what's wrong with - Leia," he demanded, his shoulders collapsing. Han stepped aside to let him in, accidentally slamming the door, unable to waste time grumbling about their connection. "She's - she can't shield," Luke said rapidly. "It feels like she's dying," he admitted hoarsely.

Han seized his elbow and drew him towards the kitchen, steadying himself as best as possible - bracing against any suggestion that Leia, god forbid, might be dying - that's not what this was, that's not - he was gripped with such unbelievable fear for a moment that his vision swam, and Luke grabbed both of Han's shoulders, alarmed at his sudden loss of colour.

"Han," he said loudly.

"Yeah," Han said roughly, shaking himself back to the present. "Yeah, 'M okay, kid," he said hastily.

"What's wrong?" Luke asked earnestly.

Han shrugged harshly.

"Leia's," he fumbled. "Leia's not okay - can you call a med transport for me?" he asked rapidly. "You got a comm on you? Can't find mine - just - call," he said distractedly, waving his hand at Luke and leaving him in the hall - he knew the kid could be trusted; Luke would see to that first, without asking questions, and Han could focus his attention on Leia.

He returned to the living room. Leia had her face pressed into the arm of the couch, breathing shallowly, her hand curled up and flexing shakily next to her. He sat back down on the kaffe table and leaned forward, his jaw clenched tightly. He took the edges of the towel that was twisted around her, and gently moved one of her knees, tucking it between her legs. He set his shoulders, and ran his hand over her hip, hoping his touch was soothing, and then reaching up for her hand. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound steady, and in control.

"Luke's gonna call a med transport," he said gruffly, his tone harsher than he meant, only because of the effort it took to keep his voice from shaking. "Leia, look at me. Look at me, Sweetheart."

She shifted her head, and looked, her body still contorted as if she thought the smaller she made herself, the less it would hurt - Han swallowed hard, struggling with that dry feeling in his mouth again. She parted her lips, sitting up a little, and withdrew her hand from his, shifting to face him. She hunched forward, her brow furrowed with concentration, her lips faintly blue - Han thought she was hyperventilating; she clearly wasn't breathing right. He grasped at her hand again, and she pulled away - Han kept grasping at her hand, and she kept shaking him off - she flexed her fingers as if reaching for him, though, her wrist taught, and shivering. At a loss for what she wanted, he slid his hand into hers again, fingers twisting against hers, only to have her wrench it away, shaking her head wordlessly.

"Leia," he soothed quietly. "I'm right here - what are you doing?" he asked tensely - he tried not to take it too personally, but it struck him hard, to have her keep ripping her hand away - he knew she must need him, must want him with her, else she wouldn't have followed him when he briefly left her in the 'fresher - and yet - he tried to take her hand in both of his, making it safer, warmer, and her nails clawed against his palm; she shook her head roughly.

"Stop," she told him.

He bit the inside of his mouth, looking at her helplessly.

"What do you want?" he asked, glancing at her grasping hand - there seemed to be such purpose to the motion, such insistent movement. "What are you doing?"

"'M - 'M," sh stammered huskily, struggling to speak. "I'm trying - to hold - on."

Han looked at her tiredly, his eyes reddening. He leaned forward and gingerly placed his palm on her forehead, the way he'd often seen Luke do, in a sign of calming comfort - her skin was still so feverish, her breath hitching harshly. He trailed his hands along her temple - hold on to what, Sweetheart? - and moved closer touching his forehead to hers.

"Can you just hold on to me?" he asked.

Leia closed her eyes, and finally let him take her hand - seizing it, her grip tight, and aching. She grit her teeth and grimaced uncomfortably - I don't need to hold on to you, Han, she thought miserably - there were things breaking in her, sinews coming apart - you aren't slipping through my fingers.

"My head hurts," she moaned out loud.

"Hang in there," Han soothed halfheartedly, unsure what he was comforting her about, haunted by the way she looked, by how much pain she was obviously in - Leia lurched forward, bracing her hands on his knees, and Han caught the back of her head in his hands, holding her forehead lightly against his chest.

He needed help, he needed - kriff, if the kid hadn't shown up, thank the Force for Luke -

His brother-in-law came into the room, his face pale, and swallowed hard, his eyes on his sister.

"They'll be here," he began, "soon as they can - "

Leia shook her head, mumbling a resistance. She didn't want to be hauled out in a transport; her living quarters were publicly known, at this point, there would be press, rumors, and she was already so fragile - the last thing she wanted, last thing she could take, was Media attention -

"Leia, you need a medic," Luke said, calm but firm. "You're going in the transport."

Han looked between them, and Leia didn't look up, not for a moment; when she did, she was clearly thinking of something else - by the second, she was losing the will to argue, because all of her attention was vigorously focused on the ache in her, the clawing sensation, the desperate instinct to survive coupled with a choking sense of futility - soft, silken tendrils of her power swirled through her, and when she blinked, in the blackness of her lashes she could see shimmery threads fraying - there's nothing I can do -

"Luke," she snapped hoarsely. "Luke, can't you do something?" she demanded, her voice cracking.

She sat up a little and bowed her head, and Luke stood numbly, his hands at his sides - his heart pulled in his chest, swollen with shared pain he could feel superficially, but not as deeply as what she was feeling; he understood what was happening, and he grieved for her; but that power was beyond his knowledge, and beyond nature in itself - interference with the life cycle willed by the Force -

"I can't, Leia," he said softly, his own voice trembling. "I don't have that kind of power. Neither of us does."

She sucked in her breath and gave a soft cry, muffled in the back of her hand. She shook her head, and Luke leaned forward to rest his hand on her shoulder, his lips moving soundlessly - she accepted the touch for a moment, and then shrank away from him. Luke set his jaw, and then glanced at Han.

"You're," he started heavily, nodding at Han's, "uh, bleeding."

Han blinked uncertainly, and reached up to touch the place Luke was looking at - he must have touched his face after touching the sheets, or Leia, or she must have - he shrugged, brushing it off.

"S'not mine," he muttered. "It's her."

He looked away from Luke before he could realize that Leia wasn't visibly bleeding, and the injury was more internal, more private - he bent forward to stroke Leia's hair back, and she tilted her head, seeking the comfort of the touch. She leaned forward again, grasping for Han, and he gave her his hand, moving from the kaffe table, to the sofa next to her - he slid his arm around her, and lifted his chin, swallowing hard as he caught Luke's eye again.

"Call Bail," he said grimly. "I want him there for 'er," he said.

Leia pushed the heel of her hand against Han's chest.

"Don't," she protested, stumbling over herself, the words slurring - "Don't put him through this."

"Call him, Luke," Han reiterated, giving the kid a short, determined look - and again, Luke departed to make a quiet call, tacitly agreeing with Han that it was in her best interests - and Bail would want to know; he would want to be there.

Leia bent over until her nose was nearly touching her knees, hardly able to cope with her aching head, the returning barrage of nausea, the piercing pain in her abdomen that felt like torture, severe, acute bursts of agony that reminded her, over and over again, something was being ripped away from her - she felt shock, despair, every ounce of what was probably normal physical discomfort amplified by her unique connection to the ethereal world, succumbing to a visceral, tangible, soul-deep torment that could only be interpreted as the loss of life - life that had been so tenuous, so helpless, so wanted.

"I'm sorry, Han," she said, nearly incoherently, nearly inaudible, and Han tilted his head at her wordlessly, uncomprehending - sorry for what? - but he felt it was best not to say anything right now, just be here - he knew this was bad, bad - but they had access to the galaxy's premiere medical care, and she'd be fine. She'd be okay, surely - she and the baby.

She straightened up and turned towards him as the pain struck her intensely again - seizing, brutal contractions, her body actively, personally betraying her - Luke bowed his head, a stricken grimace fixed stiffly on his face, privy not to her physical pain, but to the wrenching emotional suffering in the Force - if there was anything he could do, he would - god, it was suffocating, and it was worse for her - not Leia dying, not Leia; her baby. Luke felt friction in her aura, like the audible halt of a heartbeat, and Leia wrenched away from Han with a harsh, raw sob, gasping for breath - Han went after her in a gentle rush, bending forward to try and catch her eye, trying and hold her steady -

He tucked her head into his shoulder, wrapping an arm around her protectively, and her shoulders shook violently with silent, gasping sobs. Leia knew he was there; she wanted him there, but she couldn't breathe; she abruptly realized that for the past weeks on end, she had nursed a soft, lullaby of a hum, in her mind, in her heart, and that fluttery, steady hum was gone, silenced; a candle doused - she opened her mouth to scream, but was unable to make a sound; the pain subsided, then peaked, peaked, hard, and she was too withdrawn to respond to Han, too overwhelmed, so overwhelmed - that when her vision went black, it was welcome respite.


It was not the first time Han found himself in charge of a situation he had not anticipated, but it was the first time he had felt so thoroughly out of his element that he was somewhat slow to react to stimulus. The only concern he had was Leia's well being, and there was a significant amount of things going on that he point-blank did not understand.

The medical transport had ferried them to Coruscant's elite private medical facility with complete efficiency, alleviating Han's panic somewhat in that they revived Leia almost immediately upon hooking her up to fluids, and oxygen – that faint blue around her lips dissipated quickly, and the tightness in Han's chest subsided somewhat – but the living medics were all tight lips and tense brows, muttered comments that didn't sound good, and the attending droids were so clinical, business like in the way they nudged Han out of the way to treat her.

Luke had followed in Han's speeder, having offered to pick Bail up on the way over for an expedited arrival – Han hadn't gotten the chance to speak to Bail, and he vaguely wish he'd made the call himself –

Everything in the treatment suite seemed loud and intensely overwhelming; Han hovered, allowed in with the warning that he ought to stay out of the way, and so he fidgeted and moved to make sure he could see Leia's face at all times, give her visual on him – that should reassure her – her face was so pale, so pale. He pinned his arm against his chest and then pierced his forearm with his elbow, shoving his knuckles against his chin, watching – the primary concern seemed to be stabilizing whatever reaction her body was having to – to this, whatever this was.

Her obstetrician was across the planet on a humanitarian mission, and Leia was left in the hands of the on-duty medics – he had faith in their abilities, but he knew she'd want Doctor Mellis; she had vetted so many options before she settled on Mellis –

"Is she allergic to any medications?" one of the attendings asked Han, and he shook his head wordlessly.

"No, but you," he started, and then noticed one of the human medics near Leia's elbow, verging on re-administering a new IV - the last one had been placed while she was unconscious – "Hey, stop!" Han snapped, pushing forward. "You have to – you can't just stick her with a needle," he said, raising his voice.

The head touched his arm, and Han shook it off, giving him a menacing look.

"Look, just let me stand there, let me block her view of it," he snapped.

One of the nurses just beckoned to him, and he stepped in front of her, leaning over Leia's face so his shoulders and torso completely obscured the nurse's actions – Leia twisted her head back and forth, closing her eyes. Han smoothed his hand over her hair.

"S'just an IV," he said. "More fluids, Doc says you're dehydrated," he muttered, catching her hand and squeezing it.

"Temperature is decreasing – high was at one-oh-five, stabilized in the transport," one of the droids related, and Han tried to block it out – the medical information sent chills up his spine.

Han touched her lips with his thumb, leaning heavily on the railing of the bed.

"Leia?" he called gently, trying to get her to open her eyes. "Leia, look at me."

She did, her lashes trembling, and kept shaking her head.

"You're gonna be okay," he promised.

She sucked in her breath sharply, and Han figured the IV must have been set. He kept looking at her calmly, stroking her hair back again.

"No, no," she whispered, blinking at him, her lips shaking, "no, it's not okay," she said earnestly, trying to make him understand – it isn't okay, Han, it died, and I can't – I couldn't – help it –

She looked, for a moment, as if she would burst into tears again, and then she jerked her head back, her brow furrowing tensely.

"Leia," Han murmured, his hands drifted to her shoulders.

Her lips moved, and her chest heaved rapidly, and without thinking, he shook her a little roughly, his eyes widening.

"Leia," he shouted, and turned his head abruptly. "HEY!"

"Sir," one of the nurses said, shoving her hand against his chest. "Get back."

Han found his hands ripped off Leia while the medics swarmed in front of him, and while he stood there for a moment, choked for air suddenly, a younger female grabbed his shoulder, firm but soothing, and pushed him towards the corner - she was shorter than him, but commanding, and when she spoke, Han was taken aback for a moment because – Corellian, she was speaking Corellian.

The nurse said his title again – General Solo – using the Corellian word, and inflection, and Han's eyes snapped to her attentively. Like most citizens in the galaxy he was automatically more amenable to listening to people from his own homeworld.

"You need to let them work," she explained, still speaking carefully in their native tongue. "Princess Leia is going to be alright."

Han jutted his hand out at the scene, looking past her again – listening – he heard words like cardiac and system shock and blood pressure – and started forward again, his throat locking up – what the fuck was happening, what was happening? She had been fine yesterday and, and – it feels like she's dying – Han would strangle Luke for saying those words –

"She doesn't look alright!" he burst out, careless of his volume.

"I know, I know," the nurse placated. "Let me give you some information, General – "

"Don't call me that, call me Han," he snapped, distracted.

"Han," she said. She took a deep breath, and seemed to think if she kept doing so, Han would calm down, too. "Your wife is having a miscarriage," she said bluntly. She waited for a moment, and then continued: "She's suffering from a high fever, and some possible symptoms of sepsis – "

"Sepsis?" Han interrupted sharply. "That's battlefield shit, she's not in a war – "

"Those are just her symptoms," the nurse said. "She's also in shock. In an effort to be honest with you, I'll admit we're not sure what is causing such an extreme reaction to this; miscarriages are not commonly severe," she took another deep breath, but Han broke in.

"Well, well," he started, floundering. "She's – she's Force sensitive, does that matter? Is it different?" he demanded.

The nurse hesitated.

"I suppose if she is hypersensitive to emotions, her current condition could be a severe somatic reaction to grief," she allowed, looking over her shoulder hesitantly. "The two-onebee is regulating her heart rhythm – she's calming down."

"Her heart?" Han choked, reaching up to claw at his neck – hardly realizing he was doing it. "What happened to her – you said this was a – " he suddenly trailed off, his eyes widening, as if it had just sunk in – she'd said it was a – miscarriage.

"She had a minor cardiac episode," the nurse said quietly. "Somewhat similar to what people feel when they have a bad scare – we're stabilizing her, Han; she's going to be – "

"Is she dying?" Han interrupted, blurting out the question in a hoarse rush – he looked wild, distracted, and he wanted to shove the nurse aside, no matter how helpful she was trying to be, and get back to Leia's side – if something happened to her, and he wasn't right there – fuck, if something happened to her and he was there –

"She isn't dying," the nurse said calmly. "Women survive this all the time."

Han looked at her blankly for a moment, and then started to say – but her mother – and then stopped, because Breha's problems were unrelated to Leia; Leia wasn't her blood relative – and then his fear grew greater for a moment, as he thought – but her mother! – Padmé Naberrie had died giving birth to Leia - !

Han put his hand over his mouth, looking over the nurse's shoulder, and she held up her hand to him patiently, retreating to talk to the head doctor. He looked up, studied Han for a moment, and then waved him over. Han went quickly, standing first at the medic's side, and then shoving past to get to Leia's shoulder – her breathing was soft again, but seemed normal, and she had a little colour back.

"Patient is stabilizing," the two-onebee said pleasantly. "Bleeding controlled."

Han reached down to touch Leia's forehead, running his fingers along her hairline. She turned her head towards the feeling, her lips pursed, almost hiding her face in the pillow. At Han's shoulder, the doctor cleared his throat.

"General Solo," he began, and Han forced down an urge to hit him – his words were quiet, and he stepped back, indicating Han should as well.

Reluctant to leave Leia, Han hesitated – but did, watching sharply as the nurse who'd spoken with him took his place near Leia's side, leaning down and speaking to her kindly – Han trusted that nurse. He turned his attention to the medic stiffly, keeping an eye on the rest of them out of the corner of his eye.

"I'd like to let her get some rest, before we proceed with anything else," he offered slowly. "She's stable right now, nothing critical," he explained. "Her body needs a chance to settle and recover. I want to give her a dosage of intravenous bacta to reinforce her system before we do anything invasive. Do I have your permission to give her a sedative?"

Han blinked at him roughly.

"If she wants it," he said, a little lamely, and the medic cleared his throat.

"She's having trouble focusing," he said. "It's common, with high fevers and shock."

Han stared at him – and then cleared his throat roughly. He was – right; he was Leia's medical proxy; he was her husband, that was his job – he looked over at her – she did need to sleep, and she was so – she'd be so heartbroken – he wanted her to rest, and if that was best –

He nodded, swallowing hard.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, that's okay, but I'm gonna stay with her."

"Fine," the medic agreed. "We'll move her into a recovery room. I also perform an ultrasound to confirm that she has miscarried," he said. "I can do that prior to, or after the sedative – whatever you think is best for her."

Han's mouth was dry again and that – that he didn't feel comfortable–

He shook his head.

"I got to ask her," he mumbled, starting forward.

"General – "

"Move," Han barked, pushing past him.

He stepped up to Leia's side, bending down. He rested his arms on the pillow next to her, and studied her white face for a moment, waiting until she opened her eyes and looked at him tiredly – her eyes were bloodshot, swimming with tears, and wary, and he swallowed hard, bracing himself.

"Sweetheart," he said steadily, forcing his confidence into his voice. "Doc wants to do a sono," he said tightly. "You want 'em to knock you out first?"

He heard one of the nurses make a noise of disbelief at the way he asked – and no doubt, she threw him a disapproving look, too, but Han knew Leia, he knew she needed things blunt sometimes, and more importantly, she knew him, and she knew his lack of eloquence was never to be confused with a lack of compassion.

She parted her lips, reaching up to grasp at his hands.

"I can't feel it," she murmured, a little dazed. She compressed her lips tightly, squeezing his fingers. "'M sorry," she mumbled.

"Why do you keep sayin' that?" Han asked edgily, reigning in his frustration. "Leia, this isn't your fault."

She compressed her lips, and he looked up tiredly, nodding his head.

"Do it," he muttered. "Go ahead."

He tightened his grip on Leia's hand while a nurse and a two-onebee attended to the sono machine; he kept Leia's attention on him. She breathed in and out steadily, almost soothing herself. He offered Leia a smile, well aware it was hollow, and his heart slammed uncomfortably in his chest – miscarriage - the world felt foreign, and incomprehensible – that sort of thing…didn't happen with modern medicine – did it? Not anymore.

"Your Highness, could you turn towards me," requested a nurse.

Leia winced; Han pushed her hair back – she hated being called by her title in private situations like this, she hated how ostracized it made her feel – nevertheless, she shifted almost instinctively, running her hand down to her abdomen – Han noticed she was still in the t-shirt she'd been wearing, same clothes same – his eyes wandered – blood on the hem of her shirt, blood on her thighs – he swallowed hard, and looked up to her abdomen, narrowing his eyes.

Leia turned her head into his hand, away from the screen, and he was reminded – his ears buzzed, as if he were even physically transported back – of the first time he'd gone with her to see this, to see the image on the screen, humming and there and living.

She reached out and gripped the metal bar of the bed, brushing her fingers through to clutch at his shirt. Han looked away from the sono – he didn't know what he was looking at anyway – and down to see her struggling with tears, biting her lip over and over to try and keep it steady.

She closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks, and Han was preoccupied enough with her distress to let the medical team do their work, only able to heart, faintly, one of them mumble – no heartbeat detectable.

Leia didn't open her eyes, and Han only vaguely gave a nod when the two-onebee informed him it was administering the sedative into her IV pouch – he just stood, leaned down near Leia's head, running his fingers through her hair and over her temple, his throat tight, jaw muscles burning – the activity was calming down, and he felt so – so useless, like he'd failed her somehow.

He looked up, shrugging his shoulders roughly, trying to ease the pressure in his chest.

"You can't stop it?" he demanded hoarsely. "You can't do somethin'?"

The Corellian nurse, who was gently sponging off Leia's abdomen, and running a warm cloth over her skin to wipe away some of the blood, looked up hesitantly, glancing first sideways at the medic, and then back at Han – she shook her head sympathetically.

"It just happens sometimes," she said quietly.

Han looked away form her, back down at Leia. She seemed half-asleep now, tears still fresh on her cheeks; he ran his thumb under her eyes to wipe them away, rubbing them into his fingertips. He studied her protectively, trying to quell a rage that swelled in him – rage at no one in particular – and coping with the dawning understanding that she was going to need him so badly, and he – he needed help; he knew he need it, and he had every intention of asking for it.


There was some confusion, when Luke initially arrived with Bail Organa at his side, concerning where Leia had ended up - they were first directed to the emergency treatment suites, and then, some time later, a flustered, overworked orderly came to tell them she had been moved to a recovery suite, and led them to a separate wing.

"Recovery's good, right?" Luke asked. "Better than emergency treatment?"

"Recovery, or intensive care?" Bail asked the orderly.

She replied that Leia was not in the intensive care unit, and apologetically told them she had no relevant medical information; she was little more than an assistant, and messenger with the Med Center. She led them to an antechamber to the suite, allowing them unfettered privileges because they were both documented family members, and left them alone - and there both Luke and Bail waited.

Luke stood, and for a while, Bail stood with him - but as time passed he chose to sit, and leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees. The antechamber walls were shining and sleek, painted a crisp, shimmering white; the air carried the faint scent of bacta, clean, but eerily so - Bail had never liked the smell of bacta, not that anyone was particularly partial to it - but he thought his strong aversion was likely due to how often Breha had been in hospitals, how often she'd been in a tank full of the stuff, nauseous and coughing up the residue of it for days after -

Luke paced a little, his face white - but Bail noticed his colour had come back a little; he was no longer as bloodless as he had looked when he arrived to ferry Bail to the Med Center. Bail chose to take that as a good sign; he understood, somewhat, that Luke was emotionally connected to Leia, and that he'd suffered from a physiological reaction to her heartache. If Luke was feeling better - even a little better - the Viceroy had to believe that boded well for his daughter. He leaned back heavily, using the wall behind him as support, closing his eyes not for rest, but to block out the harsh lighting that always seemed to be present in hospitals - he looked disheveled, and worried, and he was filled with an old sadness that he'd coped with long ago.

It was too familiar, all too familiar; Breha, he thought, Breha, darling - Luke hadn't said anything specifically, but Bail's own personal experience didn't allow him much time for wasteful speculation. If Han was having Leia seen by medics because she was bleeding, experiencing severe abdominal pain - well, the Viceroy of Alderaan was no fool; he'd seen it - he'd lived it - too many times before.

His head, and his heart, were heavy, and he as restless with the desire to hear something, anything - from a medic, from Han - or to see Leia, and offer her some little comfort if he could -

"Should've asked," Luke muttered tensely. "Should've asked to speak to a medic, 'stead of just standing here - sorry, Bail," he apologized.

Bail shook his head.

"Best not to harass them," he said quietly - but Luke's words were prophetic, almost; as their exchange finished, an obstetrics specialist droids quietly exited the recovery room, the hum of its machinery startlingly loud in the silence.

Bail stood hastily, and the droid paused, its head piece rotating on an elegantly designed neck. It inclined itself towards them a little, in a small bow.

"I will alert General Solo to the presence of visitors," it said pleasantly, its metallic voice infused with the soothing tenor often programmed into obstetrics droids - it laid a mechanical finger on a control board fixed into its chest, activating a signal within the recovery room.

"Is Leia - " started Luke, but the droid merely raised its hand calmly.

"You may ask General Solo your questions," it said politely. "My programming allows for release of information only to the mother and father."

Luke bit his tongue, compressing his lips and swallowing hard. He stepped aside to let the droid pass, glaring after it distractedly as it departed - left alone with Leia's father, he half-halfheartedly started to pace again, frowning, shaking his head.

"We're family, though," he said tensely.

"Yes," Bail said heavily. "That programming is a safeguard against interpersonal conflict," he explained quietly. "The obstetrics droids often caused severe philosophical divides in families by revealing information of a controversial nature - a couple wanted to explain a loss as a miscarriage, when it was actually an abortion," he shook his head, sighing. "This sort of thing is...very personal."

Luke said nothing, stopping to look at the door - Han did not immediately come out, and though Luke worried, and wanted answers, he tried to remain patient - Han was affected by this, too, and not, as in other situations, simply because he was worked up over an injury to Leia: he was personally, deeply connected to the loss here.

"Is she alright, Luke?" Bail ventured. "I know you don't know specifics, but," he trailed off - anything, any sense Luke had of her state would be - hopefully - be comforting, give his anxious worry some relief.

Luke shook his head.

"I haven't," he started, and grimaced. "I haven't - reached out, ah, to her," he confessed. "I don't want to interfere with - and what I did feel was," he broke off again, ashamed to admit that he didn't want to experience what she'd been feeling again, not even on a smaller, tangential scale. He flushed, and avoided looking at Bail, but he sensed the Viceroy didn't fault him; he merely nodded, and took a deep breath.

"There's a chance they might have been able to intervene," he began. "There was one time, with my wife," he trailed off, noticing the look on Luke's face - miserable; resigned - and the example he'd been about to give concerning Breha was futile, anyway; the doctors in Aldera had delayed a miscarriage that had ultimately been a stillbirth, and in a choice between the two unspeakable things, Bail would never, never want to see Leia go through the latter; it had been his and Breha's last straw.

"Bail," began Luke tightly, "I felt - "

He was interrupted by the opening of the door, and Han emerged from the room without a word, turning to pull it shut with intense concentration on ensuring it made no sound at all. He lingered at the door for a moment, his back to them, and then slowly turned around, his arms hanging loosely at his side, until he lifted them stiffly, and folded them, one hand going up to rub roughly at his jaw - five o'clock shadow already started to darken his face. He started to say something, and then fell silent again, looking down at his feet with a furrowed brow - Bail noted how exhausted he looked, how withdrawn; he had never seen dark circles under Han's eyes before, but they were there now, pronounced and ominous.

He pressed the edge of his hand against his lips, gritting his teeth, and then lowered his arm slightly, lifting his head and clearing his throat.

"There was, um, nothin' they could do," he said finally. He shook his head and then lifted his shoulders tightly. "Nothin'," he repeated - and he couldn't believe it, each time he thought about it he was bewildered, and angry; how was it possible that here, at the epicenter of galactic progress and advancement, there was nothing -!.

Bail sat forward, his back straight.

"She had a miscarriage?" he asked quietly - such a wretchedly familiar word, and it never got easier for him; only harder.

Han blinked roughly a few times, and grunted.

"Mmmhm," he mumbled. "Yeah."

Bail compressed his lips.

"Does she know?" he asked heavily - it seemed like there was an obvious answer to that, but sometimes, Breha had so aggressively insulated herself with hope, she had needed to be let down easy when she woke up.

Han's eyes moved uncertainly, processing the question.

"Yeah," he muttered. "She knows."

He frowned sharply, suddenly unsure - it had seemed like she was aware, seemed like she understood; but Leia had been out of it, not really answering direct questions, at least not as far as he understood. She'd been half sedated when they did the sono, and she kept telling him it was hopeless, useless - she knew, surely she - he was gripped with an acute dread at the idea of having to tell her, when she woke up, but next to him, Luke shook his head, first rubbing his hands over his face and then reaching out to squeeze Han's forearm tightly.

"She knows," he assured him flatly.

Han nodded - Luke could be trusted on that count - and even if he couldn't be, deep down, Han knew that Leia understood. Leia understood - more deeply than he himself ever could, he suspected.

The three men stood quietly for a moment, Han shifting and turning his head back to look at the tightly closed door.

"'M sorry it took me a minute to...come out here," he said a little roughly. "Wanted to make sure she was really asleep, 'cause y'know...don't really wanna leave her alone," he muttered.

Bail nodded, and Luke stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"Is there anything you need?" he asked earnestly. "I can - run an errand, tell someone," he began to list things as helpfully as possible, and Han looked at him a little blankly - he was slow to respond to things, slow to process; Luke could tell he was intimidated by the sheer volume of things he was having to decide on right now, the little things seemed like stressors - Han tried to ask himself: what would Leia be doing right now, if she were managing the crisis...?

With every intention of helping, Bail spoke up -

"Han, if you think it's best, Tavska should be notified as early as possible," he offered astutely. "Evaan as well, to direct any pressured attention away from Leia's absence."

Han's brow darkened, but he said nothing for a moment, thinking that over - Bail was right, and Leia would think like that, too; the parts of him that usually thought it was shallow to think of politics and damage control during times of personal heartache suddenly realized that managing the public was key in giving her a safe place to grieve, a private refuge - and why hadn't he ever realized that before, that half of Leia's political games weren't manipulative for career's sake, but for personal health?

"Uh, yeah," Han said gruffly, clearing his throat - he jolted himself, and wished he was capable of something more concrete than 'yeah.' "Tavska can...tell Mon and Carlist," he trailed off, and swore - "Fuck, she...she just told them, today. Earlier. Yesterday." He looked around wildly for a chrono, and Bail quietly directed him to a wall - yesterday, then; it was late, long after midnight.

Han blinked, and then cleared his throat again, more determined. He turned to Luke, and Luke was already rallying -

"I'll do that, Han," he assured him. "I'll let Chewie know, too. I'll make sure he's - "

"Can you have 'im make some - he makes this tea, Leia likes it, it helps her...for when we get home," he said, speaking in disconnected fragments. "Don't know when we're - just ask him to make some?"

Luke nodded, and stepped back - and Han, suddenly struck with a grim realization, reached out and grabbed his arm, meeting his eyes firmly - steeling himself, for what had to be the hundredth time tonight.

"The sheets," he muttered. "You got to take care of the sheets for me," he said, grimacing - he didn't want Leia ever seeing them again; he didn't want to see them again -

"Sure, Han," Luke promised tightly. "You want them - um, washed?" he fumbled.

"No," Han said curtly. "Get rid of 'em. Burn them," he ordered.

Luke swallowed hard, and nodded. Lacking anymore direction from Han, he squeezed Han's shoulder again once, turned a nod towards Bail, and took his leave - and Han didn't say another word until his footsteps had faded into nothingness down the hall, and he was left completely alone with Leia's father, the two of them quiet in the heavy atmosphere - until Bail stood, and put his hand on Han's shoulder lightly, nudging him towards the bench.

"Sit down," he coaxed, careful but concerned.

He let his hand slide off Han the moment he sat, not wanting to crowd him or over stimulate him. Han wasn't a particularly touchy-feely person, and Bail respected that. He folded his hands in his lap, his head tilted to watch Han, and then looked over his shoulder at the door, taking a deep breath.

"Leia's asleep?" he asked, seizing on to Han's brief, earlier comment.

Han nodded, staring at his palms.

"She's - yeah, asleep," he agreed. He took a few deep breaths. "Right," he muttered, "figure you want some - want to know," he went on, half to himself. He lifted his head, and caught Bail's eye tiredly. "They gave her a sedative," he offered. "She was...she had a real high fever, and she was in a lot of pain," he trailed off again. "Medic...thought she was septic," he said hoarsely, "but it wasn't that," rapidly, he went on: "they said it was like she had some...allergic reaction to the shock," he shook his head, falling just short of understanding it - "she had trouble breathin', Bail," he said hoarsely, "her heart, her heart," he stopped again, sighed heavily - "her heart wasn't beatin' right, for a second."

Han shifted, and then rubbed his hands harshly over his face, making a frustrated noise, a groan of exasperation - at himself, at the galaxy - and a hoarse sigh of disbelief.

"It was bad," he snapped, his head jerking up. "You know how bad it - had to be," he flung his hand out, "if Luke shows up at my door, if Luke's feelin' it so bad he can't think straight," Han spread his palm out, and stared down at it, stared down at the lines on his skin, at the flat surface. "I kept tryin' to hold her hand, and she wouldn't let me, 'cause she said she was trying' to hold on," Han broke off - hold on to the baby, to it's life? That's the terrible thought he kept having, and he couldn't begin to comprehend the incredible pain Leia was feeling.

He grit his teeth, and shook his head, clenching his fist.

"What the fuck," he swore softly. "How the fuck does this happen?" he demanded - a demand Bail himself had often leveled at Alderaan's best specialists - How is this possible? How can you tell me you don't know what's causing it - help her! Fix this, god dammit! It was the cruelest thing, that medicine could advance so spectacularly, and yet the same things that had plagued humanity since the beginning of time were still undefeated - that women were still punished arbitrarily by chance, and by fate.

Bail was silent through Han's controlled outburst, feeling it was better to let him talk, let him vent.

"She was sick all afternoon," Han grunted. "I should have - I should have made her come in - "

Bail did interject there; blame was a useless game to play, in terms of health.

"Han, you couldn't have made her," he said. "In my...experience, there's rarely...once it starts, it just takes its course. It's one of nature's cruelties."

Han swore under his breath, his teeth scraping together uncomfortably.

"She was so afraid of somethin' like this," he growled hoarsely. He sat back abruptly. "I thought I was gonna lose 'er, for a minute." He snapped his fingers harshly. "Like that. Just lose her and that's - this is s'pose to be - routine, for women," his words faded into a mutter, and he swallowed hard - he had never felt so isolated, and it was as if all of the carefully monitored fear he'd felt while the medics were stabilizing her burst to the surface - Leia, they said your heart wasn't workin' right - and if somethin's wrong with your heart, mine's done, mine's dead -

As much as it frightened Bail to hear Han relate Leia's health scare - he stayed calm, and he endeavored to offer comfort.

"Luke thinks her sensitivity was compounding the emotional distress," he said slowly.

"I know," Han mumbled. "It's suppose to protect her. It is, isn't it? She was so out of it," he compressed his lips, shaking his head angrily.

"You said she was stable now?" Bail asked.

Han took a moment to remember that, finally nodding.

"Yeah, she's stable," he said. "She's gonna be okay," he said, clearly reminding himself. "S'just," he said, and stopped without going any further - it was just that, the war was over, had been over for a long time, and his life was set, it was damn near perfect, with Leia, and it was unthinkable that something might happen now, now; he thought he was past lurking fears that Leia would be taken from him.

Han hunched forward, cradling his face in his palms, his elbows jammed into his knees.

"Han," Bail said quietly. "You know if anything," he paused, "if anything ever happened to Leia, you would still be a part of our family."

It was macabre, but he thought it was so vitally important to say; he didn't want to exacerbate fears Han was struggling with at the moment, but knowing one had unconditional support, a system to rely on, was a significant part of being able to stay strong in the face of uncertainty and grief. Han, his head still in his hands, tightened his fingers in his hair for a moment, his knuckles whitening. He lifted his head, his expression blank, and clenched his jaw. He raised one hand, holding it up towards Bail like a shield.

"I can't talk about that," he said curtly.

Bail nodded. He was still for a moment, and then lifted his arm, and put it around Han's shoulders firmly. Han didn't respond particularly effusively, but he didn't shake him off, either. His muscles were drawn and tight, rigid with stress, and they relaxed a little, when Bail pressed his palm against Han's shoulder to steady him a little more. Han made a stricken, desperate noise in the back of his throat.

"S'just gonna break her heart, s'not fair," he said hoarsely. "I don't want her to go through this."

"You're going through it, too," Bail offered kindly.

"Not the same. Not the same," Han muttered - he couldn't seem to get a hold on his feelings; what was so concrete of a physical experience for her was abstract to him, theoretical - they were going to have a baby, now they weren't going to have a baby, but in tangible terms, for Han, there hadn't been a baby in any way other than an exhilarated anticipation of what was to come, but Leia - he remembered her pressing his palm to her abdomen; can you feel it? I can.

"No," Bail agreed knowingly. He squeezed Han's shoulder, clearing his throat. "Get up and pace around," he advised. "Take a few deep breaths."

Han wanted to snap at him; he was struck with the sudden urge to shove his arm away - but that flare of misplaced anger was quelled easily. He sat back, then nodded roughly and got up, taking Bail's advice - he knew instinctively that his decision to make sure Bail was there for Leia wasn't entirely selfless; that wasn't all there was to it - he himself recognized that he needed his father-in-law's guidance.

Help, he thought, I need help - it's going to be so hard for her, and I need to be able to be there for her the right way.

Bail knew what this was like, he knew. He had insight.

Han scuffed his foot on the floor, and turned slowly, pacing back to reclaim his seat on the bench. Again, he leaned forward, sliding his hands into his hair and twisting them. He pressed his face into his forearms for a moment and took a deep breath.

"What do I do?" he muttered.

How can I help her, how can I be there - tell me what I'm supposed to say to make it better.

Next to him, Bail sighed, thoughtful. He reached up to rub his jaw, reflecting carefully - disheartening as this whole situation was, he was relieved Han saw the merit in asking for advice - Force, Bail wished he'd had someone to lean on when Breha kept having disappointments, because he'd only had alcohol and uncertainty, and he'd said so many well-intended, but hurtful things, and he'd had to figure it out on his own. He felt, so strongly, that the best way he could comfort his daughter was to make sure Han was well-equipped to comfort her.

"You have to use the word 'we' a lot," he said finally, beginning slowly. "She won't feel as alone."

He hoped Han understood what he meant. It was such a lonely, isolating experience, and Han was at least right in recognizing how different it was for Leia; Bail had so often exacerbated that with his words, stumbling through emotional support with platitudes that made it hurt all the more for Breha. And all the times he had tried to placate her with promises of next time -

"Don't tell her you can just try again," he offered. "It seems like a hopeful statement but it just...feels like it's writing it off, feels like, umm," he waved his hand a little, "erasing it."

Han snorted a little.

"Yeah, when I was...when I kept askin' if she was gonna be okay, the medic told me to calm down, said it's only a miscarriage," he said. "Only."

Bail nodded sympathetically.

"Unfortunately, medics see injury often enough that they forget their tact," he said slowly - he didn't want to be too critical of the medic; he was sure Han had been aggressive with them in the treatment room, and when tensions were running high - people made mistakes. He knew how high-strung medics could be when they were tasked with the well-being of elite public figures - no doubt, the medical staff had Leia's health on their minds, and were harboring a fear of what might be done to them if they didn't care for her well.

"There's no way to...make her," Han kind of fluttered his hands roughly at his chest, trying to find words, "not hurt," he finished haggardly - and it wasn't really a question; he knew there was no way to numb the pain.

"No," Bail said softly, answering anyway. "I'm afraid not."

Han's hands hung over his knees dejectedly. His brow furrowed.

"She kept...apologizing to me," he said hoarsely.

"Breha used to do that," Bail said tiredly. "Like she owed me something. Like she thought I was mad at her."

He shook his head - he didn't know where that instinct came from, but it had always bothered him deeply; he felt no resentment towards Breha for anything that had happened when they tried to have children. He supposed there were still some cultures, on some backwards planets, that did hold the female responsible for anything gone wrong - but there was just no rhyme or reason to this, at least not the way he saw it; he and Breha had done everything conventionally 'right' - so had Han and Leia - and yet.

"I know you don't want her to hurt, Han," Bail said. "I don't either. But you have to just...let her feel."

"Yeah," Han said, "but you know how Leia is - " he broke off, his voice strained; maybe Bail didn't know as well as Han did, because for all his efforts, Bail just wasn't as well-versed in antebellum Leia, but Han was numbed with fear that she'd retreat into herself, pull away from him - if this was anything like how reticent she'd gotten, and how strained their relationship had been over the mere discussion of having a baby -

He sat back, crossing his arms tightly.

"Doc wants her to wake up from the sedative on her own," he said tiredly. "He wants to talk to her once she's had some time to process. There's some...thing, they might have to do? Some procedure."

"Ah," Bail muttered. "It's to ensure she doesn't become septic," he noted.

Han didn't say anything.

"Her physician isn't here," he spoke up finally. "I don't like the duty medic," he said under his breath - the man wouldn't stop calling Leia by her title, even though Han asked him not to; he was efficient, and businesslike, but Han didn't know him, and when their private lives sold like wildfire to the press, he was paranoid of anyone not vetted attending to Leia - he only trusted privacy laws so far, and he didn't like the callousness with which the medic had dismissed Han's concern - he hadn't been through this before, he didn't know.

Bail tilted his head thoughtfully.

"You know what you ought to do?" he asked softly. "You ought to take her away. Take her somewhere secluded where she's away from prying eyes and she doesn't have to work, or police her emotions. And do that," he suggested, "right away, before she can start repressing it, or try to move on too fast - and before the two of you get bogged down in having tests done, and losing your minds wanting answers," he shook his head. "Just go away with her and let her not be okay for a little while."

Han compressed his lips, his jaw tightening, and gave a short little nod, thinking about that. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bail tilt his head, studying his profile closely.

"What about you, Han?" Bail ventured. "Are you alright?"

"'M fine, 'm fine," Han muttered shortly, speaking as if he'd been startled, or caught doing something he shouldn't. He shivered a little, and shook his head, grimacing, and softening his tone. "I, uh...don't think I feel anything," he said numbly. "I don't feel right," he said, saying more than he meant to. "'M not...upset enough about it, 'm just thinkin' about Leia," he swallowed hard, trailing off.

Bail nodded in understanding - he didn't think it was out of the ordinary, and he didn't think it was wrong. His own experience with Breha's first miscarriage had been a bewildering, a confusing mix of deep sadness, to see his wife so hurt, and the strange feeling that this just meant a change in schedule - his relationship with the lost baby hadn't been bonded yet, and he suspected Han was feeling the same way - wrenched by Leia's obvious pain, confused at his lack of similar devastation.

"The way I...began to see it," Bail said slowly, "is that there's a disconnect between us - men - and what she's going through," he explained quietly, "because, for most of us I think, we don't really feel like a father until," he lifted his arms, sort of vaguely miming holding an infant. His hands fell back to his lap. "But if we're hurting because she's hurting, and we're...striving to understand that, and be supportive," he reached up to pat Han's back, "then we're doing alright, son."

Han was quiet, processing Bail's words - it dampened some of the frantic shame he kept feeling, thinking his priorities weren't straight enough - something he'd first felt when they asked him about a sono for the heartbeat, and his first fleeting, harsh thought had been - fuck the damn sonogram, is my wife going to be okay? - but Leia was the tangible thing for him - Sith, there were so many knotted layers to the anguish he felt right now.

"It's not wrong to feel that way, Han," Bail said flatly. "As long as you never let it make her feel like she's not getting over it fast enough."

Han nodded, his jaw set - he'd never dream of that; he'd never expect Leia to just get over something. In terms of coping processes, he was probably more patient than most, given that Leia had been managing deep, traumatic psychological scars for as long as he had known her.

"But," he said gruffly, his voice unsteady. "I wanted it," he asserted earnestly. "Yeah, we can try again, but she might not want to - and it doesn't matter. I wanted this one," he insisted - all kinds of things were twisting in his head, making him nauseous - he felt guilty, like he'd some how forced Leia into this, and he felt callous, because he worried this could scar her so badly she'd never want to have a baby, and it had been so hard to get here, and even though he didn't feel as connected, he still felt - deprived, he was still -

He took a deep breath and tilted his head, far back, pressing it back against the wall almost painfully. His arms, crossed tightly, dug into his ribs, and he blinked rapidly, swallowing hard. Bail, tacitly noticing Han's bloodshot eyes and the subtle twitch of a muscle in his jaw, stood, and cleared his throat.

"Would you like to be alone for a minute?" he asked intuitively.

Han nodded curtly, and Bail stood, turning away as he stepped away from the bench. He was careful in avoiding looking at Han, not for lack of care, but because of a deep understanding of masculine socialization; Han's emotions were raw, and he needed to be besieged by them, entirely overwhelmed by them - and that was unlikely to happen with an audience. Tactfully, Bail excused himself with the generic intent of going to get kaffe for them both - he thought he might reach out to Luke, touch base with Winter - Winter was the best choice to tell Rouge, those two had a close understanding of one another, despite their superficial bickering - he gave Han his privacy.

When the Viceroy's footsteps had faded, Han slackened his jaw a little, his muscles aching with the effort it had taken to remain stoic throughout their conversation - he appreciated Bail's immediate perception that Han needed to be alone as much as he appreciated that he'd been able to give some insight, that he'd so readily been here at all. Han bent forward, swallowing down the lump in his throat, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes as he started to think, to compose himself, preparing to face the next hurdle - he wanted to compartmentalize his feelings until they got out of this suffocating Med Center, and he could do that, he was confident in it - and he didn't want Leia to have to take the lead on anything, when the doctor came in to speak with them later.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes again, until his vision swam, and then cleared his throat harshly, sitting up, a little. He leaned down on one knee, grinding his teeth - and when Bail had returned with two cups of black kaffee, he said nothing about Han's still bloodshot, blurry eyes; and when Han went back into Leia's room to sit with her until she woke up, there was no trace of red in his eyes at all, and he was fortified.


Leia rested, undisturbed, under the influence of her sedative for a decent amount of time, and seated next to her in an uncomfortable chair, Han drifted in and out of fitful naps. The kaffe he'd had did nothing to stave off his exhaustion, but he was unable to really sleep when he wanted to be keeping vigil over her. Out of respect for Leia, he had asked Bail - and Luke, when he returned with a concerned Chewbacca in tow - to wait outside until Leia was able to tell him if she wanted to see them or not. Both had agreed - and Han stayed with her alone, collapsing the rail on one side of her bed so it was easier for him to lean forward on it. He'd kept a sharp watch on the monitors, when his body wasn't forcefully closing his eyes for him, and kept a hand close to hers so she'd easily be able to hold it when she woke up.

When she did, it was very quiet, and calm; he was in the middle of rubbing his face to try and force some colour and alertness back into it when she brushed her knuckles against his and interlaced their fingers, taking a deep breath. She felt groggy and listless, heavy and hollow at the same time, and the only thing that made her feel better was Han lowering his hand from his eyes and looking at her.

He smiled a little tensely, and rested the back of his hand against her forehead.

"Hi, Sweetheart," he said, squeezing her hand.

She clutched it in return, saying nothing. Han cleared his throat and sat back a little, rolling his neck, stretching his shoulders - and reached over to press a button on one of the monitors, letting the systems know she was awake so a doctor could be paged. He smoothed his hand over her forehead and her hair, still trying to offer a small, supportive smile. He hesitated to ask her if she felt okay; he knew she probably didn't - he just wondered if she was still in any physical pain - while he equivocated over what else to say, she swallowed hard, shifting her head.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Han hesitated again, his chest tightening apprehensively.

"You remember anything?" he asked quietly.

Leia nodded slowly, biting her lower lip.

"I remember," she answered. "I know what happened, Han." Her brow furrowed. "I mean, I mean," she said unsteadily, trying to shake off the rest of the sedative. "What's next, do I need," she trailed off, her brow furrowing, and Han ran a thumb over her temple, listening patiently. "I'm still," she somewhat vaguely gestured at her abdomen, "hurting."

"How bad?" Han asked. "Severe? Like earlier?"

Leia shook her head, her lips moving soundlessly. She closed her eyes, her shoulders falling.

"It feels like...contractions, I think."

Han nodded slowly.

"I know," she amended softly, her lips turning down, recoiling at the thought. "It's just dull aching."

It felt like a more extreme version of cramps, but the pain was not as acute as it was earlier - Leia sensed the lack of urgency in it; her body just struggling to clean up a mess, a mess -

"The medic's gonna come in here and talk to us," Han told her. "He, ah...he told me you're gonna be okay. There's just some more things they need to do."

Leia didn't say anything for a moment.

"Is Dr. Mellis here?" she murmured.

Han shook his head, giving her hand a squeeze.

"I notified her," he said. "She's - tryin' to get back."

She went quiet again, and Han swallowed hard, looking her over and being careful not to show too much alarm. She seemed okay, she seemed properly oriented to her surroundings, slowly coming to. She looked over his shoulder, then up and around at the private room, loosening her grip on his hand a little - loosening, but not letting go. She shifted to sit up, and Han straightened, his expression wary.

"Don't do that," he started. "Lay - "

She shook her head tensely, and drew her knees up a little, wrapping her arms around her legs at the thigh. She bowed her head a little, and sighed, her lips pursing with discomfort. She pressed her knees together, focusing on her abdomen - she felt less tension sitting like this, but she felt a peripheral anxiety, too; she felt poisoned, by the lifelessness left inside her, and took a few more deep breaths, trying not to think to hard about it - I couldn't do anything -

"Is Luke here?" she asked, trying to distract herself.

"Mmhm," Han muttered. "Your father's out there," he said, gently tilting his head. "You mind if he comes in? He wants to see you."

Leia hesitated for a long time, and then shook her head.

"No," she mumbled, tripping over her refusal: "I don't want him...he's had enough of this," she said faintly. "I don't want him seeing me, and reliving," she broke off, shaking her head - my mother, she mouthed, wanting Breha so desperately it hurt - Mama, how did you survive this? How, how, how - Han said nothing, didn't fight her or try to convince her otherwise; he just cleared his throat quietly.

"I, uh...I told...I made sure Tavska knows," he said haltingly, bracing himself with a wince - he anticipated her being angry with him, having an outburst of anguish over the idea of having to tell people - but she was subdued, her lashes fluttering with despair, and then her eyes lifting to meet his, sincere, and full of tired sorrow.

"Thank you," was all she said, and Han clenched his teeth, his heart skipping a few beats - he'd done right so far, then; and that made him feel better than anything had yet, better than anything Bail had said - and his spirits were lifted a little by Leia's calm. He wasn't fool enough to think she was unaffected, but he was glad she'd regained her bearings.

"Leia," he said softly. "You don't have to see him, but think about it," he requested. "He's real worried. He...y'know, he gets it."

She shook her head a little, and one of her hands drifted from her thigh to her ribs, pressing into the indents there. She cleared her throat thickly, another grimace furrowing her brow.

"I don't really want him seeing me right now," she murmured tensely, a grimace striking her face again. She tucked her hand between her legs and winced, compressing her lips. "When is this...going - to be over," she gasped quietly, her shoulders drawing inwards. "I want it - out of me, Han."

He set his jaw, nodding, and reached out to run his hand up and down her spine, starting to get up. He stood closer, torn between leaving her to physically hunt down a medic - he wasn't entirely sure what she needed, and as much as he didn't want to admit it, thinking about it too hard disturbed him. Leia leaned back against his hand a little and moaned softly, and he bent down to kiss her forehead and turn on his heel to get a medic himself - preempted, though, by the timely arrival of the duty physician who had treated her earlier, an obstetrics two-onebee, and a nurse - Han was relieved to see the Corellian one - on his heels.

The nurse stepped up to Leia's other side to check her vitals, smiling kindly. She bent closer to ask Leia a question, as the medic pulled the Holo-chart from the front of Leia's bed, and Han tried to pay attention to everything going on - Leia's inaudible, murmuring answer to the nurse, and the medic clearing his throat softly, and giving Leia a searching, sympathetic look before quietly speaking.

"Your Highness, this is difficult," he said honestly. "I won't pretend to understand how you're feeling, but I hope you will trust me to help treat you so we can start you safely healing at home. Which is I'm sure," he glanced at the nurse for a moment, "is where you would prefer to be."

Leia nodded a little, mustering some formal comportment from deep down inside her - Your Highness; why did he have to call her that when she was barely dressed, pale and feverish; when he'd had his hands on her stomach, and knew she was bleeding so - in such an intimate way? - it wasn't respectful, when she was getting medical care, it was voyeuristic in her eyes, lurid, and she felt mildly violated. She turned her head to avoid looking at him, and the nurse touched her face gently, studying her eyes.

"Do you feel dizzy?" she asked.

Leia shook her head, and her tight silence worried Han. He folded his arms tensely, watching the nurse, and turned to the medic gruffly, one of his hands bunching into his shirt, wrinkling it with a firm, stressed grip. Leia's cheeks were losing colour again, and she looked paler - distracted, Han moved closer to her, then speaking to the doctor without looking at him.

"What does she need?" he asked. He grit his teeth at himself, following his question up smoothly - "What do we need?" he asked effortlessly - don't let her feel like she's alone.

"It's fairly simple," he answered calmly. "She's far enough along that I worry about a possibility of infection."

"Leia," the nurse said quietly. "Will you lie back, please?"

"It's uncomfortable," Leia murmured. "It's worse on my back."

The nurse nodded.

"Let me get you a heating pillow," she soothed, without missing a beat. "I need you to lie back. I need your feet in the stirrups."

Han was distracted, again, from the doctor's words, by the side conversation the nurse had with Leia - he watched Leia's profile intently, trying to gauge her reaction, his brow knitting tightly - as far as he knew, Leia had never had issues with her appointments that were - female specific, and the two times he'd gone with her she hadn't been alarmed at all - but this doctor was male, and Leia didn't know him -

Han looked back at the medic with a grunt.

"You have to - what?" he asked, flushing at his lack of attention - get it together, Solo, she needs you to take care of this, fuck - "You need to do what?"

The medic neutrally explained again - using words that sounded cold and clinical - products of conception and - dilation - curettage - that sounded downright violent, and Han's temple throbbed as he focused, staring at the man with tunnel vision. He felt weary, out of his element, and isolated - did Leia know what any of this meant? He thought he understood, but it seemed so - maudlin - and did she want to be hearing it? - Han raised his hand a little, stepping aside so the doctor stepped with him.

"Look, uh," Han started, wanting to offer some insight without sharing information that wasn't his to share - he knew Leia had been clear with Dr. Mellis about the sexual trauma in her past, and he didn't think it was wise to withhold information from medical professionals - but it was still her history, not his. "She doesn't...she doesn't even do well with shots," he said vaguely.

"I understand," the medic said. "There's no need for more IVs or even an epidural anesthetic; I can localize the anesthesia, and most of this will be no different than a routine gynecological exam."

Han looked at him skeptically, his mouth dry.

"Seems a little more involved," he snapped tensely.

"The difference being that she isn't numbed during a routine exam," the medic pointed out carefully, "she will be during this. You are free to stay right by her side."

"Yeah, but how are you going to numb her?" Han persisted.

"Using a needle speculum."

Han grimaced. He stared at the doctor for a long time, and then turned and strode back to Leia. Instead of sitting down again, he stood at her side, watching as the nurse, hovering between Leia's legs handed a cloth to the obstetrics droid - blood is still bright red, he heard her murmur, it isn't septic. Han blinked harshly, and leaned down.

"Are you okay with a speculum?" he asked quietly.

Leia's response was dry, resigned - "I'm a pro with speculums."

"Okay," he muttered, brushing her hair back. "So, he's - they want to make sure it's all - clean," he said slowly, "so you don't get sick."

She nodded.

"I can hear him, Han," she confessed softly. She closed her eyes, and sighed hoarsely. "I know - I know what he's talking about." She swallowed hard. "I had one on Yavin. A D&C."

Han pursed his lips, uncomprehending - but this was, this was something they wanted to do to treat a miscarriage, and she hadn't had anything like that on Yavin; he knew she'd never been pregnant before - she reached up and touched his jaw lightly, shaking her head.

"It was to test for cell damage," she reassured him, wincing. "It's - ahm, it's okay, Han," she agreed, nodding tiredly. "I just - get it over with." Her eyes softened, pleading with him, and he nodded, turning and giving the medic a curt nod.

"Your Highness," the medic said, drawing up a chair and moving to stand at her ankles. "We'll administer antiseptic and local anesthesia, and the whole process will only take about fifteen minutes, at the longest..." he kept talking, but Han could tell Leia wasn't listening; she wasn't even looking at the small congregation of people below her waist.

Han gave them one last glance, noticed Leia's toes were white, shoved tightly against the stirrups, and focused on her with wary apprehension.

"Leia," he started.

She swallowed hard.

"I really," she started tensely. "I really want it to be over," she whispered.

"I know," he muttered. He took her hand, and leaned forward, resting his elbow near her shoulder, resolved to distract her. "It'll stop hurting," he said slowly. "Look at me," he suggested.

She did, her lashes twitching, expression still resigned - Han looked more anxious by the second, as Leia found some of the steel embedded deep in her skin and pulled it to the surface, exercising her will to power through this part, so she could go home, so Han could take her home, and she could curl up in bed and sleep, and cry, and try to make sense of all this - of why this had to happen, why -

"You'll feel something cold," the obstetrics droid announced blithely.

Leia's head snapped to the side. Han saw her eyes flicker with alarm. Her face flushed, then drained of colour, and He sat up, taken aback.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She didn't really respond, but he saw her looking at the droid, her expression fixed, stricken - somehow, he realized that she hadn't understood that the droid would be performing most of the procedure, and what she was looking at was - a droid, hovering close to her; a male doctor, a needle - Han reached for her hand.

"Leia, look at me," he said again. "It's alright." She did look at him. "It's not Yavin," he soothed. "You're safe," he brushed his hand over her hair, but she swallowed hard, tensing up violently - Your Highness, I know it's uncomfortable - try to relax - the Medic's request was crisp, and Leia, for a brief, black moment, though only of the probe droid, with its egregious pain serum - Your Highness - of violation, and things she didn't want - I didn't want him to touch me, she thought, and then just as quickly - I don't want to be here, I want the baby, I don't want to lose it - it was too late, but her mind held her hostage, and she turned her head, grabbing Han's wrist, her nails piercing his skin.

"Stop," she said. "Han, make him stop. Stop."

Han flipped his hand up so she could hold onto it better and wrenched back, looking directly at the nurse -

"Stop," he ordered harshly. "Stop it, right now."

The Medic looked insistent, but the nurse nodded, touching his shoulder and then reaching forward, swift and determined, to deprogram the droid. It hovered away from Leia, and Han noticed her knees visibly relax - she drew one of her feet back, dropping it from the stirrup, her breathing elevated into sharp bursts - the Medic stood to look, and the nurse waved her hand at him, moving to Leia's side.

"Not anaphylaxis," she told the doctor. "Panic."

Han turned back to her, and Leia was struggling to sit up, her face white as a sheet - she held onto his arm, taking her other foot out of the stirrup, and holding her knees together. Han looked around grimly.

"Water?" he asked.

The nurse went to fetch some, and Han spent a moment absorbed in calming Leia down, until the water returned, and she occupied herself drinking it, and breathing - in-out, in-out, in-out - until her head was clearer, and she felt less threatened - she leaned back, and when Han was sure she was relatively okay again, he kissed her temple, and warily extricated himself, stepping far off to the side with the medic when he beckoned.

"You can't do that," Han decided flatly. "She doesn't want it. There's a pill or somethin', right?" he asked callously. "I know there's a pill." He knew - he 'd known women who had taken it.

"There is, but this is more effective, as well as quicker," he explained. "General - she's had a rough experience. Considering her earlier reaction, I do not want to leave the completion of the miscarriage to chance and risk infection - "

"She's not septic. You said she's not," Han said, gesturing at the nurse. "If she's still bleeding, it's runnin' its course, right? If she's hurting? It's - "

"I would prefer not to put her through waiting it out," the medic said. "I'm sure you understand."

"There's a lot I don't want to put her through!" Han shouted.

He folded his arms, clapping a hand over his mouth roughly, and closing his eyes to calm down. Both he, and the medic, took a few deep breaths, and finally the medic spoke up again.

"I don't generally like to put my patients under general anesthetic for this procedure," he started, lowering his voice carefully. He said something very quietly, and Han lowered his head to hear what he was saying, cutting a sharp glance at the droid to make sure it wasn't advancing back towards Leia against his wishes. "As long as she is still stable, there isn't a rush. I can provide another sedative, anesthetize, and perform the procedure when she's out - "

"No," Han barked, immediately shocked, an incredulous look spreading over his face. He almost reeled backwards - "What?" he demanded. "No."

"General Solo - "

"No," Han interrupted more emphatically, raising his voice - and he didn't give a damn if Leia overheard, because she had every right to know what the bastard wanted to do. He shook his head angrily - "You want to put her on drugs, and then do somethin' to her she just said was botherin' her? That she just asked me to make you stop doing?" His hands ached and itched, wanting to throttle the man. "You're out of your fucking mind."

"I am trying to take the best course of - action - I know how to treat a patient, Sir," the physician said in a clipped tone, squaring up - he gave Han a narrow, pinched look, and that look triggered memories of every time he'd gotten that same, demeaning look when he was a kid, a look that disdained him and implied he wasn't worth a damn, and didn't belong - and he may not have been in his element, trying to handle the situation here, but he knew Leia damn well.

"I don't think you do," he said flatly, refusing to back down - He crossed his arms and looked back at Leia; she tilted her head back, her shoulders falling heavily against the pillows, and closed her eyes miserably, obviously tired, fragile, emotionally shattered - and it was rare that Leia didn't have the energy to fight for herself.

He tore his eyes away from her, giving the medic a nasty look.

"I want a female doctor," he said coolly.

"Excuse me?" the man hissed.

Han folded his arms aggressively.

"You heard me," he snapped - he knew, knew this would not have happened with Dr. Mellis - and, probably, with any woman, who would have probably talked to Leia, wanted to know specifics about her - at least understood, even if she hadn't been through it, how delicate a situation this was, and how sensitive she should be.

"I am the on-duty Medic, and I - "

"You can't tell me there's not a single goddamn female physician in this hospital," Han interrupted. "I don't care if she's general internal med, get her," he pointed at Leia, "a female, while I get her personal physician here."

The medic just stared at him, and since Han figured he needed a little nudge, he grabbed him buy the elbow and pointed towards the door.

"Viceroy Bail Organa is sitting right outside that door; you want to go tell him how you're treating his daughter?"

The man looked pale, ruffled, startled - and he shook Han off, stepping aside, trying to compose himself - he cleared his throat, hastily tucking his coat back on his shoulder - -and then shoved Leia's Holo-chart into his pocket, nodding - nodding hastily. Han followed on his heels, menacing him, and when they opened the door, he crooked his finger at Bail sharply.

"Call Dr. Mellis' office and see if they can get her apprentice," he ordered roughly, hardly even thinking twice about ordering the Viceroy around. "Chewie," he snapped, pointing at the medic. "Personally escort this bastard to get Leia a female medic."

Chewbacca gave a menacing growl, and Bail, though he looked bewildered, and worried - also looked strangely impressed, and immediately stood to do so - Han barely gave any of them a second glance, shutting the door and retreating back into the room quickly, footsteps pounding as he went back to see if Leia was okay - she was murmuring an answer to the nurse, who had dutifully, and quietly, kept the hovering droid back away from her.

"Sorry," Han spat carelessly at the nurse, reaching out to press his hand to Leia's forehead.

"No need, Han," the nurse said simply, handing him a cool cloth to rest on against Leia's temple - she said nothing for a moment, and then cleared her throat. "He's a sexist," she said curtly, and then elaborated, "that Medic."

She said nothing else, merely adjusted one of Leia's monitors, and retreated to usher the droid away, with the quiet word that she'd return shortly, and Han leaned down closer to Leia who, despite having been rather calm, and stoic, throughout this part, was looking dehydrated, thin, and tired. He ran his thumb gingerly along her chapped lower lip, and reached around to cup her head in his palm. Leia winched, tilted her head back into his touch like she needed it for strength.

"I want to go home," she confided huskily. "I don't want to be here."

"I know," Han answered quietly. "I know, Sweetheart."

"This is a mess," she mumbled, closing her eyes. She licked her lips. "You're so," she started. Her voice trembled. "I love you."

Han stroked her hair, just behind her ear - thin strands, wet with sweat. He shook his head and leaned in to kiss her temple, sighing quietly. She opened her eyes and looked at him apprehensively, and he stroked her hair again.

"You're alright, Leia."

She nodded, confident that she probably was, with him there baring his teeth and standing her ground for her.

"Don't leave me alone," she demanded.

He shook his head.

"I won't," he swore - not on his life.

She lapsed into silence, awake, but keeping her eyes closed, and he stayed close, watching protectively, his heart beating a painful rhythm - he felt her earlier request deep in his bones - let's just get this over with; let me take her home - let us just - go home -


It had all happened – so fast, and yet his recall of everything was slow motion, from the moment he woke up to find blood on their sheets, to when it was – arbitrarily – declared – over; when Leia was barely feeling any residual pain, and dawn was breaking, and he was alone with her in the stiflingly sanitary recovery room, sitting in silence.

She was awake – but she hadn't said a word for a little while now – half an hour; since her father had left. She had finally agreed to see him just after Dr. Mellis's midwife had departed – she saw him briefly, accepted a hug and a kiss on the forehead, and then even Bail was gone.

Han figured he was still outside in the hall, patiently keeping watch, but he didn't pay him much mind right now – he didn't know if Leia's silence was a good indicator, or a bad one; he just sat with her, still reeling, still feeling like he hadn't quite caught his breath – he felt in control of the situation, he felt like he'd handled it as best as he could, but he was just – winded.

It had been such chaos for an hour or two – then chaos again while he made damn sure the next medic who walked into the room was a woman, a woman who would listen – Dr. Mellis was still traveling, but her midwife apprentice had made it, and given Han a better overview of options – yes; there was a pill, but there was some risk of it not completely taking care of things, and Leia was certainly within her rights to simply wait, and let it take its course, but the apprentice emphasized Leia's health, kindly and gently explaining everything.

Leia agreed to it again – and Han, more reluctantly so, only after Leia told him quietly that the problem wasn't the procedure, it was the unfamiliar man and the droid; the midwife apprentice promised to do it herself, and Leia – giving herself an easier out – asked for an epidural anesthetic.

He'd held his place by her side again – You don't have to do this, Sweetheart, he told her earnestly – I'll sit with you if you just want to let it take it's course, I don't care, it won't bother me – she didn't want that, though; he saw the pain on her face at the idea of it, the pale, withdrawn sadness in her eyes – she couldn't bear it, she couldn't bear the idea of laying around, counting hours, bleeding – I want it to be over.

It was over; it had been over – the apprentice confided in him gently – soothing him when she overheard him say something about bringing her in sooner – that this process had started several days ago, and there was little to be done – it wasn't his fault; it wasn't Leia's fault –

I didn't – know, Han, I couldn't tell – she spoke up, and his heart ached every time she said something like that – not for a second did he think she was somehow responsible, not for a second.

He wondered what was on her mind now, as she sat propped up on pillows, an IV still in her arm – her eyes were closed, but her breathing uneven and alert, and once in a while she would open them and stare at him, or stare down at her hands. He'd had his head down on the bed next to her hip, watching her chest move from the angle, and now he shifted, sitting up.

Han leaned on his elbows on the edge of the bed, and as he pressed them in heavily, the thick, textured fabric made little pit marks on his skin. He supported his chin with his knuckles, and brushed his neck lightly with his palm, before lowering his hand and resting it on Leia's thigh.

He ran it back and forth for a moment, looking at her intently. Her eyes were open again, but weren't quite looking at him - she was quiet, she tired, she ultimately seemed to focus on a point just at his shoulder.

Her hair fell entirely over one shoulder, and he noticed it had gotten longer lately; she hadn't had a trim. It looked somewhat dull, in the fluorescent light – one of the nurses had given her a brush when they gave her some soft, clean pajamas to wear, and Leia had thought it a sweet gesture – kind, and somehow understanding.

Han had combed it for her, leaving the brush at the edge of the bed near her feet. He studied her profile carefully, swallowing hard – the silence seemed so suffocating, and the idea of – of facing others so, so daunting – he thought she might be thinking the same, and he wanted to pre-empt that he wanted – Bail was right. Bail was right, he ought to take her away –

"Leia," he mumbled. He moved his hand to hers and cupped his palm around it. He cleared his throat softly. "You want to go to Corellia for a while? The cabin?" he suggested.

She blinked. She looked at him with an unreadable expression, and Han held his breath, unsure how she would react – he thought it was the most useful advice Bail had given him: don't let her start to repress it – Han just wanted to give her a hiding place, an outlet.

He started lining up arguments - he'd tell her he wanted to go, that he needed it, and she'd do it for him - or he'd get Luke to talk some mystic insight into her –

He prepared to persuade her, and she caught him off guard.

She simply nodded slowly.

"Yes," she said, very quietly quietly.

Han's brows went up with mild surprise. He pushed his thumb over her knuckles gently. She turned her hand over in his palm and clutched his fingers. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her wrist.

Leia shifted until she was laying on her side, and curled up, turning closer to Han and tucking her hand and his close to her cheek. She stared at him listlessly for a moment. She seemed a little startled at herself, for answering so swiftly, for being so amenable, but it felt right – she thought of the chalet, and she thought of how peaceful it was, and how…beautiful, and secluded.

She took a deep breath.

"I'll have to – figure out a statement for my office, for a sudden absence -" she trailed off at the look on Han's face.

She nodded, as if she understood his tacit command - her father could handle that.

She closed her eyes and sighed faintly.

Han hunched down and rested his chin on the blanket, watching her face, wondering if she was truly struggling to fight off sleep, or if she was feigning it. He didn't mind either way. They were going to release her in the afternoon, in the lull hours after lunch, she remained stable – in as good of health as she could be, considering.

He glanced up through his lashes when he felt her hand sliding into his hair, combing and stroking gently. Slowly, he lifted his head, and Leia moved her head up, biting her lip. He watched her do it for a moment, until he noticed she was drawing blood, and he reached up with his thumb to stop her.

Leia parted her lips.

"I knew," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I knew it…was going to happen."

She lifted her shoulders helplessly. Gingerly, she sat up a little, propping herself up more and looking over at him, her expression somber. She twisted her fingers together in her lap, swallowing hard.

Han let his hands rest on the bed.

"I know you had a bad feeling, Sweetheart," he started.

"You don't understand," she interrupted hoarsely. Her eyes darted around, as if she was afraid speaking about it was a curse, was somehow – going to hurt her. "I saw this, I saw," she trailed off, lifting her hand, and then flattening it. She pointed at the IV, and then she pointed at him. "I saw it, I just…didn't understand what it was."

"What d'you mean, you saw it?" Han asked patiently.

Her brow furrowed, and her cheeks flushed a little. She hesitated.

"In a vision," she said under her breath. "I was with Luke, at the temple," she breathed in shakily, "before we got married. You remember."

Han blinked a few times – he did; he remembered Luke bringing Leia back from that place, ankle sprained, nose bleeding, shaking like she'd seen demons and ghosts – and the way she'd slept, peacefully, for hours – the day he and Bail Organa came to understand something about each other.

"I remember," Han agreed gruffly.

Leia bit her tongue, afraid of scaring him. She was – scared herself; she suddenly remembered that vision so clearly, so clearly, and it made – perfect sense. She had felt a tiny – growing – amount of dread from the moment she realized she was pregnant, and it was if that vision had lingered in the back of her mind, bursting into the forefront last night.

Even in the worst of throes of it, she had somehow felt a hollow acceptance that seemed to whisper – this has to happen.

But – why –

It didn't have to; she didn't think it had to, that was the wrong way to think of it – and she hadn't known in any way that made her able to stop it, she was powerless, in the face of some acts of nature, just as powerless as any other mortal woman.

She could conceive of some deeper meaning in this happening, she was too hurt right now; she felt betrayed in her own skin, betrayed by the sensitivity that had, at first, made this all seem so bright and beautiful; it scratched at her mind soul, the way this had happened to her –

"My father," she started. "Did he put his arm around you, in the hallway?"

Han was quiet, his eyes fixed on hers. Considering her intently in the silence, he gave a slow nod, deliberate, and tired. He didn't set much store by it, though; seemed like a thing she could have guessed – but he believed her; he did, and he was angry at the Force, somehow; he felt it had snatched something away from her – it was supposed to make her safer, make her more protected – that was what he desperately wanted out of that power.

"I know it doesn't make any sense," she said.

"Leia, I believe you," Han said honestly. He lifted one shoulder. "Doesn't matter. Doesn't make it your fault," he added softly.

Leia nodded, and shook her head – her head swiveling as she did a mixture of both, looking down at her fingers again. She twisted them together, her shoulders falling – she didn't think it was her fault, not in a specifically blameworthy sense – she was struck numb with horror that she couldn't have saved it – she wasn't going to forget, for the rest of her life, the spiritual sense of being clawed at, of something struggling to hold onto her.

"It was such a new sensation," she whispered. "I could," she lifted her hand towards her heart, "I could faintly…there was this overwhelming warmth, the sense that it was there," her fingers brushed at her ribs, and then she gestured lightly at her ear, "and I could hear the hum of a heartbeat – it wasn't – overpowering, and I'm…not as attuned as Luke," she continued haltingly. "When it started to fade, I don't think I really, understood…until," she stopped talking.

She pressed her lips together – until I lost it – and she cringed at that word, 'lost' so piercing and so accusatory, like something she had done was irresponsible, and wrong – she hadn't lost it, she hadn't done this, it was taken from her, taken away.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

"I felt," she started faintly, looking at him through her lashes. "I felt the baby," she stopped again, and did not resume talking this time - die, she wanted to say; I felt the moment the light flickered out, and when she'd come to, really come to, to be aware of what was happening, Han had been yelling at the nurse not to give her a shot.

Han grasped her hands in his and brought them to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. Leia drew his hand towards her, laying back, sliding down on her pillows, and splaying his hand over her abdomen, breathing out in something like relief – she felt empty, and Han's hand was a comforting, familiar weight there.

She licked her lips and looked over at him, her voice still shaking, but her eyes still dry – steady, and resigned; she hadn't cried since they had sedated her, and Han worried that it was due to a lingering effect of the drug; he worried the full force of grief hadn't made its way through the murky haze of medication yet.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Han's lips turned up ruefully. He started to tell her he was fine, but that wasn't wholly the truth, and he didn't feel good lying to her – and he had taken it to heart, when she told him once that their relationship wasn't fair if she was the only one allowed to be unsteady.

He ran his free hand over his mouth, and simply shook his head a little in answer – he wasn't, but he would be, and he was fine to fly – he could safely pilot them away; he just needed Chewie to ready the ship for them.

She pressed his hand closer to her abdomen, and tilted her head back, her throat moving tensely as she swallowed. Han watched a reflective, almost contrite expression spread over her face, and he reached over to run his fingers lightly along her brow, his own face taut and concerned. He rested his palm against her cheek, and she turned her head a little.

She reached up, took his hand, and twisted her fingers into his, pulling his arm tight to her and curling up on her side. She held both of his hands close, his knuckles against her breasts for comfort.

"Han," she murmured quietly. She hesitated to make him feel like he wasn't enough for her, but he was also her confident in everything, the only person she ever really grieved to – and for now, she was…consumed with the grief; she didn't try to contain it - she was afraid of the damage it would do if she did.

"I know you can't do anything about this," she whispered, closing her eyes. "But I…want my mother."

Mama, she thought faintly, Mama, how did you get through it? She could hardly remember missing her mother so desperately – on her wedding day, perhaps, but little had dampened her happiness then; she had missed Breha nostalgically, but not to the point of distress – but how she ached for her now, wanted her mother's understanding touch on her forehead, a kiss on the cheek, the quiet kindness of her voice in her ear.

Han leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead empathetically – missing a mother was something he could relate to – and he didn't feel betrayed by her desire for her mother, or resented, or belittled; he was only sorry he could do nothing but hold her hand tighter, and swear to her, silently, that they would get through this.


anything from chapter, say ... 26 of Identity seem familiar?

- alexandra