a/n: this is my favorite chapter of this story. maybe one of my favorite chapters in the entire series. but, y'know, no pressure to like it.
Four
7 ABY
Han wasted little time making preparations to leave Coruscant – or rather; he wasted little time enlisting help where he needed it so he and Leia would be able to leave for Corellia as soon as she was medically cleared. He remained wary of her lack of resistance in agreeing to the trip, and he hadn't wanted to give her time to change her mind.
Chewbacca ensured the Falcon was in pristine condition and would encounter no mechanical problems, and Tavska handled Leia's professional engagements – Han had briefly found himself commanding the situation in the way Leia most often did. He had plenty of responsibility in the course of his military duties, but he rarely made socially logistical decisions – and there he had been, deciding what needed to be packed, determining who Tavska could tell the extent of the problem to, and when, and balancing that with his reluctance to leave Leia's side, even if she was asleep.
He handled it, though, and rather seamlessly; he was told Leia could go home in the afternoon following the night it happened, but he hadn't let them release her until it had been a full day – in both an effort to reassure himself that she was okay, and to ensure it was so late when they left that there was no chance of press seeing it.
Though he had made sure she was cleared for interspace travel as well as release, he had planned to spend a night or two at home to let her recuperate a little, just on the off chance something happened – but Leia hadn't wanted to sleep in their bed, and he supposed he should have anticipated that –
So – barely a day and a half later, they were hurtling through hyperspace away from the voyeuristic shadows of Coruscant; by standard nightfall on the third day they were tucked away in the Corellian mountains, and when Han had settled everything, as best as he could, and had given himself a some time to reassess things, take some deep breaths, and orient himself – he sat down to place a call to Bail.
Seated downstairs, in the minimalist office that existed in the chalet – nothing more than a little comm console center in the corner, really; a place for Leia to work if they were here and it was for some reason deeply urgent – he leaned forward on his elbows, the sharp points of them digging into his knees. Watching the flat steel disk shimmer with the fade-in, fade-out of the Organa seal as he waited for his father-in-law to answer, he ran his hand over his knuckles, his jaw a little tight. He rested his teeth lightly against his fist, unfocused, staring at the image, yet listening for sounds of Leia moving upstairs.
His gaze had drifted up to a moss painting hanging in the alcove, a vibrant artistic work of forest greens and indigo blues, depicting some wild flower field on Alderaan – he'd bought it for Leia years ago, maybe some time before Hoth, without any real understanding of how precious moss paintings were on her home planet.
He'd just thought she'd like it – and she did, she had almost been speechless, and it was one of the first times she'd looked at him with some…admiring wonder, and one of the first times Han had thought, his heart skipping a few beats – kriff, Solo, you – you've got it bad for this woman –
"Hello, Han."
The Viceroy's greeting interrupted his reverie quietly, and Han wrenched his eyes away from the painting, drawing his knuckles away from his mouth a little and clearing his throat – there were indentions from his teeth on his index finger, and he loosened his fist, flexing his fingers.
"Hey," Han answered gruffly.
The two of them looked at each other for a beat – Bail, Han noticed, was in Leia's office; Coruscant was on roughly the same rotation as Corellia, though Han calculated it was several hours earlier there. After a moment, Han arched an eyebrow dryly, and Bail folded his hands formally.
"How's the weather?" he asked bluntly.
Han looked at him in mild surprise for a moment, and then snorted, grateful for the breakthrough in the tension, the uncertainty of the silence. He rubbed his hand over his mouth and then gave a sweeping gesture.
"Great," he said. "Warm. Sun just set. No black smoke polluting the air," he listed dryly.
Bail nodded.
"Well, now that we've established that," he said, his shoulders falling a bit. "The sun just set?"
Han nodded, his own shoulders slumping. He still rested his weight on his elbows, ignoring the dull ache that was starting to pester his lower back – he'd been sitting in this position too often lately. He glanced around, wrinkling his brow a little.
"Still a little light out," he muttered, for lack of anything better to say – he had promised to give Bail a call and let him know that they had arrived safe, and were settling in all right – and Han hadn't done so right away, which he was sure Bail expected.
He wasn't entirely sure what to say, though – with the chaos of the past few days dying down, the panic and fear that defined his emotions for several nights had faded into the dull acceptance that this had happened, and physically, Leia was going to be okay – he didn't know what was left to say, and so, after a moment, he offered –
"She's asleep," he grunted. "Been asleep for a while," he added.
Han nodded.
"Your flight was okay?"
Han shrugged a little jerkily, his brow twitching. He frowned, and shook his head, and Bail leaned forward, worried.
"S'not – a big deal," Han placated gruffly. "The…gravity changes messed with her, y'know, they cleared her to fly, but it still made her pretty sick," he explained, trailing off.
He swallowed hard and looked down at his knees, sitting up a little. He braced one palm on his thigh.
"And uh," he started. "I'd made this…I did a," he waved one hand vaguely, "modification on one of the bunks, in the cabin," he said. "I did it…weeks ago," he explained tersely. "For…to make it…baby safe," he explained with a grimace.
Bail sat back a little, leaning heavily back into Leia's chair. His lips turned down grimly as he listened.
"Guess I kind of forgot it was there," Han muttered. "'Cause I was…thinkin' about everything else."
He bit his lip roughly for a moment, chewing on it thoughtfully, then looked back up to meet Bail's eyes and give an uncomfortable shrug, as if waiting for judgment – kriff, he'd been so – so sorry that was there, when they were quieting down after the hyperspace jump – even though Leia said nothing about it, he'd seen her stop dead in her tracks for a moment when she walked into the bunk room; he'd seen her focus on that spare bunk.
He'd tried to mitigate its presence by getting past her and throwing their bags on it, but somehow that seemed to make it more obvious – and Leia still didn't say anything, just quietly went into the 'fresher alone to wash off the hospital, and then came to bed – and slept, with her back facing the bunkroom, almost the entire trip.
"You can't erase the reminders," Bail said finally. "There was a lot of excitement. And it isn't realistic to wait to make plans until later, in case something happens," he trailed off, sighing – there was just as much harm in being radically pessimistic as there was in brash optimism, and Han and Leia had had no reason to be pessimistic – not like he and Breha had learned to be.
Bail shook his head.
"Breha's first, I bought her a crystal rattle, a keepsake, with the name we'd chosen engraved on it," he trailed off again, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk and scratch his jaw tensely. "Don't blame yourself," he muttered.
Han said nothing for a moment.
"What'd she do with it?" he asked. He sat back. "Br – your wife," Han amended, narrowing his eyes – "Leia says I say it wrong," he muttered. "The rattle," he asked.
Bail frowned, glancing down to think, his brow furrowed.
"Well, she never gave it to Leia," he mumbled to himself, parsing it out – what had happened to that? He knew she hadn't gotten rid of it, she had, she – "She kept it in her jewelry box," he said finally. "Next to Leia's," he paused, looking sheepish – "er, toddler tiara."
Han arched his eyebrows.
"She had a toddler tiara?"
"She was a princess even when she was two."
Han laughed a little, the sound muffled in his knuckles – his hands hovered near his face, and he kept his voice low; he didn't want to wake Leia. He didn't think she'd mind him talking to her father – and in any case, he wasn't reporting on her or anything; he was talking to the Viceroy as much for his own benefit as for hers.
Han dug his toe into the floor.
"S'just wonderin' if I should dismantle the modifications – "
Bail shook his head.
"You don't want to do that," he said softly.
"I don't want Leia to have to look at 'em, and think about – "
"Of course you don't," Bail said calmly, "but there's no point in…erasing it, either," he said, lifting his shoulders. "You don't want her to think you're giving up. She needs," he sighed tiredly, "hope."
Han looked at him warily.
"That sounds stupid, doesn't it?" Bail asked dryly.
Han shrugged.
"No," he answered flatly.
It didn't – and Bail was right, the last thing, the last thing Han wanted to do was convey to Leia that he was over this, in any way, because despite how nervous he'd been at the prospect of fatherhood, real fatherhood, he wanted that, and he wanted to share that with her, and now, in addition to the pain he felt over the loss, he was afraid she would be scared off the idea forever.
"You do say her name wrong," Bail ventured. "Breha's."
Han noticed Bail said it the same way Leia had explained to him, and he scowled, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
"She said she – " he started, and then stopped – didn't want to name the baby Breha because of that– weren't there rules about discussing baby names? He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to let anyone know they'd even started talking about that – or what they'd talked about – Bail waited politely, and when it became obvious that Han wasn't going to finish, he went on:
"Breha wouldn't have minded," he said quietly. "She would have thought it was sweet."
Han smiled a little. He sat back a little more, and folded his arms across his chest tightly.
"Well, my ma's name's easy," he said, supplying gruffly, before Bail could ask – "Jaina," he said. "Translates to anything."
"Much like your name does," Bail noted.
"Yeah," Han grunted. "Guess she wanted me to blend in."
He frowned a little, and then cocked his head to the side.
"This is a weird conversation," he muttered at Bail.
Bail took a deep breath.
"Everything feels like weird conversation after a monumental loss," he said wisely. "I…often felt like there was something dramatically wrong with me if I inquired about what Rouge would like for dinner when we had just been pulled out of the void of Alderaan."
That drew a small laugh out of Han.
"You know what else was dramatically wrong with you? Thinkin' I was some kind of menacing threat to Leia's well-being," he drawled. "Remember that? 'Member when you thought that, Dad?"
Bail compressed his lips, smiled a little.
"Yes," he said, with a small sigh. "Well, you've certainly been anything but that."
Han tilted his head back a little, looking up at the ceiling – anything but that. He did everything in his power to be an asset to her well-being. Bail fell silent again, and then, after a moment, finally asked –
"How is she?"
Han had been expecting that question – in fact, he was surprised it had taken Bail so long to ask, but at the same time, he was strangely comforted that Bail had been plenty willing to just…shoot the shit with him for a bit. He was taken aback to realize he'd been glad to know Bail didn't just want to know about Leia – it seemed Han had been stuck thinking he and Bail got along fine, and got along because of Leia, but it occurred to him abruptly that it wasn't really just that any more – hell, he and Leia's father liked each other.
They had their own relationship outside of her, and he wasn't sure when that had happened.
Distracted by that for a moment, Han was slow to answer – then he ran a hand over his mouth, leaning forward again. He winced as his back protested, and rested his forearms back onto his thighs.
"I - she's…fine," he answered. "I mean, not fine," he backtracked, "but…she's…she's okay," he trailed off.
Bail looked marginally relieved.
"I worried," Bail said thoughtfully, sitting back himself. "She agreed to go without argument. Leave all her work. I thought it was weird," he paused. "What I mean is, in light of how I know she…can be, now…I expected…her to argue with you."
Han was nodding as Bail spoke.
"Yeah, weird," Han agreed. He rested his chin in his knuckles. "It was weird, but," he shrugged. "She seems okay," he said again, and shrugged. "She's talking to me."
"Good," Bail said quietly.
She was – she was…Han didn't know what to say. She was subdued, but she wasn't catatonic. She hadn't been crying – most of their trip on the Falcon, she had spent either trying to sleep, or sick in the 'fresher, and Han had kept his distance when she wanted him too – she never liked an audience while she was sick.
Despite his mild protests, she had helped him pilot out of Coruscant, sat in the cockpit for a while making small talk, spending time with him – the most important thing to him, regarding her attitude since leaving the hospital, was that she seemed to really want to be close to him, and he'd had some…peripheral fears, that he was just now identifying, that she might – somehow not be able to stand looking at him, or something.
"I didn't see much of her at the Med Center," Bail allowed, "but she seemed despondent, and I…worried."
Han frowned a little.
"She's not despondent," he muttered. "She's not…bein' quiet isn't really Leia's version of depression," he added – rather, it was hyperactivity; robotic efficiency.
He felt silent, thinking back to some of their muted conversations on the Falcon. She had just asked about who was handling things – who knew – only Tavska and Evaan; your father's going to tell everyone else; don't worry about that, Sweetheart – and, oddly, where he got the leather he had redone the seats with.
Han grimaced.
"I don't know what's normal for women after somethin' like this, but she's actin'…normal," he said, frustrated with his inability to explain it. "She's…sad. Not hidin' it." He arched his brows a little, looking down at his palm, rubbing his thumb along the lines there. "I think it's the first time she's handled something in a, uh, healthy way since…before I met her," he admitted gruffly.
He flexed his fingers – last night, she'd held his hand against her abdomen the entire time she slept – your hand feels good there, she whispered – it's warm.
"I guess," Han said. "I dunno." He looked up intently. "How did she used to handle bad stuff on Alderaan?"
Bail blinked, finding himself startled by the question. He pondered it for a moment, and then smiled ruefully.
"I'd say…there wasn't anything bad I can think of. Not to say she had no heartache, but I don't know if I feel comfortable comparing anything in her childhood to anything – since," he said slowly. "Perhaps Giles Durane…but Leia never seemed quite bothered by that, not like I was," he said dryly. "Sabé's death, perhaps," he said quietly. "Her governess, when she was fourteen. She never behaved in a way that I thought needed intervention, in terms of mental health."
He stopped, reflecting silently for a while.
"You know, after Sabé's death, she did sleep with Breha for a few days. I slept on a couch."
Han bowed his head, his chest tightening a little at the mention. Her mother – in times of great sorrow, Leia wanted her mother, and for so long, she hadn't had that – and hadn't even been able, he figured, to acknowledge that she needed her badly. So it was a good sign, maybe, that she wanted Breha Organa so much – but terrible that Han couldn't give her that.
"Yeah," Han said. "She wants her mother," he said. He reached up to rub his temples roughly. "S'like…the only thing I can't, y'know…give her," he muttered.
"I can talk to her about Breha when she's ready," Bail offered heavily – he and Breha had never discussed their trials in parenthood with Leia. She knew that they hadn't been able to have children, and she knew Breha had miscarriages, but little more – and perhaps having more of a connection with her in that regard might help.
Han's brow furrowed suddenly, and he lowered his hand.
"She doesn't have women to talk to," he grunted, as if it was dawning on him. "Not about this."
She had – Winter, for girl talk, he supposed, and he thought she got along well with Evaan and Dansra – and he'd noticed Tavska had been around their apartment lately for social, rather than professional, visits – but she didn't have friends who were mothers, or older women who could – except for maybe –
"D'you think maybe one of the Naberries – " he started.
Bail pre-empted him a little.
"Perhaps," he said slowly. "She did take their insights to heart about children," he said, sighing: "but Han, you can't just…ask one of the Naberrie women if they've had a miscarriage."
Han's lips turned down sourly – he knew that; he wouldn't dream of it. Despite what little experience he had in this department, it was instinctive for him not to ambush other people by asking about what private sorrows they may or may not have had.
"I still haven't spoken with them," Bail murmured.
Han dipped his head forward, thinking of something else Leia had said –
We shouldn't have told anyone yet.
It was barely anyone, Leia.
She'd shrugged a little, compressing her lips, and he'd kissed her cheek, and gotten her some juice from the galley – and then, thinking twice, offered her a drink – I can't drink, she started, and then, pausing, frowned – I guess I can, now.
She still declined the alcohol, but she did take some kaffe.
"I think she figures…we got too excited, too fast, y'know – "
Bail waved his hand a little dismissively, though not unkindly.
"You should," he said firmly. "I've never been fond of the idea that you should just hide it and obsess over what could go wrong. I know Leia never intended a public announcement, and I understand that, but…we know she's lost something, and it may be difficult for the two of you right now, but you'll be glad of having a circle of people who understand. It doesn't help anything to also be concealing grief from your family."
Han looked up and raised his eyebrows.
"I feel like I'm in a damn counseling session," he griped good-naturedly.
Bail blinked at him sternly.
"Isn't that why you called?" he retorted.
Han grinned a little. He sat back lazily, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles.
"Kriff," he muttered. "Sure. Yeah."
Maybe it was. He'd called to let Bail know he and Leia was safe, and Leia was still hanging in there, but just like he'd instinctively know he'd need Bail's advice in the hospital, he knew he'd benefit from talking to Bail now.
He looked up again, and shifted his weight.
"She's sleepin' a lot," he offered. "Just…sleepin'," he said, almost to himself.
He was glad she was finding it so easy to sleep. He still felt a little apprehensive, like it hadn't all really, really crashed down on her yet – but there was little more he could do right now than just be glad she had wanted to come be alone with him out here.
He heard some faint noise up on the loft level, and frowned.
"Actually, I think she's up," he muttered.
Bail cleared his throat.
"I don't want to keep you," he said. "You and Leia left to be alone, and you should be," he said.
Han didn't answer right away, distracted by listening – he heard Leia on the stairs, and for a moment he was unsure if she'd be angry he was on the comm with her father – would she feel…betrayed, spied on? Or would she understand that her father just wanted to make sure she – they – were alright –
He sat up straight, as Leia appeared down the loft ladder, enveloped in her winter robe. He turned back to look at her, then turned to look at Bail, who saw her approaching. Silent, Leia came to stand behind Han, running her hands over his shoulders softly.
Han looked up at her warily, and she patted his shoulder, looking past him to her father.
"Hi, Daddy," was all she said, a soft, sleepy murmur.
"Hello, Lelila."
Han turned to look at her, and her lips turned up – it wasn't a smile, but it was a gentle look, and Han grunted in understanding, swiveling back to Bail.
"Signin' off," he said.
Bail nodded.
"You two take care of each other," he instructed, and Leia gave him a little nod, watching his image fade.
She didn't say anything – nothing about Han speaking with him, nothing at all, and he turned in his chair, reaching out for the tie on the thick, fluffy robe.
"Why're you wearin' this?" he asked slowly – it wasn't the Winter season here, and he himself was faintly warm.
"I'm cold," she answered huskily. "I think I'm a little anemic."
He started to stand.
"I'll turn the heat up."
Leia caught his hips in her hands, hesitating.
"Would you mind starting a fire?" she asked, tilting her head back a little at the hearth. "I want to…just…sit in front of it."
"Okay," Han agreed – he'd just peel off layers of clothes, if he got too hot. He reached out to twist a tendril of her hair around his finger. "You hungry?" he asked, brow furrowing. "You haven't eaten in a while."
Her fingers plucked at his belt, and she nodded.
"A little," she admitted.
"Okay," Han repeated. "I'll light a fire, and fix you somethin'," he said.
"Thank you," she murmured. She stared at his chest. "How's Dad?"
"Oh, he's – y'know. Fine."
She nodded again. He touched her cheek, catching her eye.
"You alright? You need anything else right now?"
She splayed her hands on his chest, and then pulled them back to herself, cupping her wrist in one hand.
"Music," she murmured slowly. "I…want to listen to your radio."
He cocked his head curiously, and then nodded – so, he'd get that out too, and she could sit over there near the stone hearth and close her eyes, and listen. She bit her lip, and reached out to squeeze his elbow, letting go and turning to go make herself comfortable by the fireplace.
Han stood for a moment, his brow creased, watching her. He reached up to rub his hand over the place on his chest she'd been touching – was she okay? Was she on the verge of losing her mind, starting to scream, falling over the edge – or was she really just…coping, finding strength somewhere? He wasn't sure what to think – so he followed her lead, and he started the fire, and turned on the radio – and fixed her something to eat.
Without work, without set schedules – with all the sleep she was doing – time seemed to run together for them, and Leia wasn't sure if it was the second, or the third night they were on Corellia that she had a nightmare. It was a long time coming, she thought – she'd expected it, even, and perhaps that was why she hadn't startled out of it too violently – no screaming, no thrashing – just lingering nausea, and shortness of breath, and an ache in her abdomen –all things she could also attribute to the – to the –
Miscarriage.
She flinched at the word, even at the silent thought of it; she had been doing so good with not saying it out loud – she wasn't in denial of it, she just…the word was so harsh, and so – final.
Burying her face in her arm for a moment, she tried to take a deep breath, and felt sicker. She pressed her lips together and reached out for Han, grasping his arm firmly. Her fingers slipped over his shoulder and she lifted her head a little, shaking him.
"Mmhm? Yeah?" he mumbled sleepily, pulling his arm from under the pillow and reaching out for her. He moved his head, eyes lifting open a little in the dark. He started to pull her closer, but she resisted.
"Han," she whispered.
"Mmmmmawake," he answered.
"I know," she said gently. "I'm sorry I woke you."
"S'okay."
"I had a nightmare," she said, sitting up a little more. "I don't feel well," she added faintly.
Han turned onto his back and lifted his head, blinking at her. She drew herself upright completely and gave him a tired look, and he nodded, silently understanding – she hadn't wanted him to worry, so she let him know –
"I'm, um, I'm okay," she said shakily, "but I'm…going to sit in the…'fresher," she said haltingly.
Han rubbed his brow a little.
"You going to get in the water, or just sit by the sani?" he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. "Don't get under the water," he said. "Don't…you might fall asleep'n drown."
Leia parted her lips, a strange feeling tickling at her throat a – a – laugh; she laughed a little, incredibly shocking as it was – was Han delirious; did he really think she'd drown if she fell asleep under a spray of water - ? Her stomach lurched as soon as she laughed, and she grimaced, leaning forward to press a kiss to Han's forehead – good man, she thought to herself; the best –
He turned his head up to accept the kiss, and nodded, pulling the sheets back a little for her. Leia slipped out of bed and made her way to the 'fresher, turning on only the little nightlight over the sink. She opened the medicine cabinet, blinking wearily, and retrieved some of the vitamins the medic had given her to help with her recovery.
Swallowing them with a cup of water, Leia took a towel from the rack, and a decanter of mouthwash, and sat down gingerly on the edge of the spa Jacuzzi, her eyes on the sani. Her stomach was still churning, and she kept – reflecting on the nightmare – oh, it wasn't new; it was an old threat, actually, one she'd confronted several times at Varykino, and the months before – Vader, sweeping in to somehow snatch her baby away.
It was so much more visceral now – it had been disturbing then, but now, now –
Leia closed her eyes tightly and bowed her head, bending over almost until her nose touched her knees – she was so uncomfortable, physically, emotionally – in every possible way; she felt desperate to be close to Han, and yet desperate to shut herself away from him, not because he was too sharp a reminder, but because this was so – so – unpretty.
She didn't think it was vanity that kept taking a hold of her, but some – instinct, that wanted to preserve Han's perception of her, of what this whole process was like – it wasn't supposed to be this way, bloody, and exhausting, and full of technical terms and insensitive doctors – they were supposed to just get pregnant, have a charming forty weeks – have a baby at the end of it -
Leia grit her teeth, choking back a sob – she still felt nauseous, and her abdomen was throbbing dully – intermittent, fading cramps, and bleeding, she had been told, was relatively normal; nature still taking care of her, to get her back in working order.
Her nausea faded into a headache at her temples, and she lifted her head, parting her knees. Gritting her teeth again when she experienced a sharper throb in her stomach, she brought her foot up to rest it on the sani and assess the situation between her legs.
There wasn't much blood – not anymore. She stood up – peeled off her panties anyway, shredding the pad shed been wearing in her hands and wrapping it in tissue before she threw it away – she thrust her towel down on the floor and sank to the ground, staring ahead of her, eye-level with the sani. She tucked the towel between her legs, and closed her eyes, pressing her hand against herself aimlessly.
If she didn't go back to bed soon, Han would come looking for her – and maybe she wanted him to. She felt…broken and devastated and she was tired, so tired, and now perhaps the Force thought her recovered enough to let nightmares plague her again, and she didn't want to go back to sleep. She didn't know what she wanted, other than answers – but she was afraid of those, too, because this was just – just – exactly what she'd been terrified of; that she'd gotten pregnant so easily didn't eradicate her fears – not when she knew there could be other problems – not when her own mother had never been able to sustain a pregnancy –
There was a soft knock on the door, and Leia, unsure how she could even physically manage it, broke into a muted, wry smile – there he was.
He was so – he was so –
Smart, for bringing her here. She needed to be here. She needed –
"Leia, you okay?" he asked quietly.
She looked up, and nodded.
"I'm, I'm just," she broke off, and sighed. "Don't turn the light on," she murmured. "I'm bleeding a little."
He visibly tensed.
"You need a – "
She shook her head slowly.
"It's normal," she offered faintly.
Han stood in the doorway.
"You…want me to leave you alone?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"No," she said. "Not really."
He took a step forward.
"Mind if I sit with you?" he asked.
Leia tilted her head back against the wall, the back of her skull making a soft thump. She gave a little nod, and started to answer – please sit with me – but she barely had a chance to get the words out – she started:
"Han – "
- and just his name dissolved into a sob; she was usually well aware of when she was about to lose all of her resolve, but this came unexpectedly, from some deep, intense well of grief she hadn't fully tapped into until this moment, sitting on the restroom floor, confronted with the – last, fading remnants, in a way, of what they'd lost – dull, fading cramps, and dark, stale blood.
Despite the sudden onslaught of tears, Han didn't leap into a fumbling panic; his jaw tightened miserably, but he kept moving deliberately, and calmly, taking his time to sit down next to her and slide his arm comfortingly around her shoulders. Leia was unable to speak, for a moment, her shoulders heaving violently, head bowed forward and tucked into her knees.
He kept running his hand over her shoulder, letting her take her time – this was – much more in line with what he'd expected, though he didn't think her earlier calm, subdued coping had been unhealthy, per se; this was probably an integral part, sheer, unfettered heartache – and Leia had experienced some of that, the night it happened, before they sedated her, but since then, she hadn't cried, and now – he figured now it was all embedding itself, the finality of it.
She held her hands tightly against her chest, and then lifted her head a little, her eyes fixed on her knees.
"I am so tired of this, Han," she choked finally. "I am so tired of being hurt, I am so tired of having things – things – taken away from me!" she sobbed – angry, and confused, and lost, all at once – she so often bore the tragedies in her life with grace, that she deserved a chance to question why, why – "I don't understand. This isn't – this isn't – fair, it's not fair."
He turned his head to kiss her temple, holding his lips there, closing his eyes. He nodded his head in agreement – it wasn't, and there was no explanation, nothing he could say, to make them feel better – it just happens sometimes, the nurse had told him, and even Dr. Mellis hadn't had much for them – its…commonplace, Han –
"I should have known – that this wouldn't be easy, that I wouldn't be allowed to have something this – simple, and normal," she broke off, throwing her head back again, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.
She bit at her lip, her lips moving tensely, opening her eyes, and then closing them tightly again.
"I resisted," she cried hoarsely, "I resisted everything, every bit of torture – I never told them anything, never betrayed my family, or the Rebellion – and they took Alderaan, they took my body – they took everything else from me. Why can't I have this?" she demanded.
Her lips trembled again, and she turned her head to the side, lashes fluttering, her face pale, wet – and she rested her chin on Han's shoulder, pressing closer to him, asking for answers, answers he didn't have - she reached up to wipe at her eyes, kept wiping them, and it did nothing to stem the flow of tears.
Her head throbbed miserably, aching with crying as much as anything else, and she licked her lips - she felt insecure, and violated, and somehow belittled, so consuming was her belief that this was something the Empire had done to her, made her body somehow – uninhabitable – made certain that even if she won the war, she'd still be a casualty.
"I have paid – my dues in sadness, Han," she moaned, her voice raw, "and I can't handle anymore. I can't," she shook her head, her head tipping forward. She brought her hands up to cover her face, gripped with resistance and despair – "I won't do this again," she snapped angrily – at herself, and at no one in particular – I am not going to let the Empire torture me from their ashes, I won't risk this, this – heartbreak –
Han swallowed hard, tucking her head against his shoulder and wrapping his arm around her more tightly. His chest tightened with dread at her words, at the defeat in her voice – kriff, she sounded so defeated – he didn't want her to be conquered by this, he didn't want her to lose hope so entirely – the loss was still so fresh, and he had to believe that when she'd had more time to heal, she wouldn't be so willing to call this attempt - their only attempt.
She had no right to write herself off - they didn't know if it was a Death Star induced anomaly; they didn't know anything. Dr. Mellis – Leia had finally been able to see her physician right before they left, and Dr. Mellis, for Leia's sake had promised to run some tests to see, but she told them – sympathetic, but earnest – that this just – it just happened; she was so careful to gently, repeatedly tell them that it wasn't exactly out of the ordinary for Leia to experience this.
I by no means am implying that you aren't to be sad, you have every right to be devastated, Leia, but please understand – we don't always know why, but we do know that statistically, one incidence isn't cause for concern –
Leia had such a different background, though – and he knew she was scared, and devastated, and now subject to a tragedy that, by virtue of confirmation bias, reinforced the belief she held that there was some irrevocable damage done to her – and Han suffered by extension of her suffering, hated how hurt she was, even if he recognized that his own feeling over the loss had less depth, had more – abstract focus to it.
Leia licked her lips, pushing her hands back through her hair, knotting her fingers into it.
"The Empire – Vader, my father, my own fucking father – he took my past, my people, and now he takes my future?" she burst out, words shaking. "And he took it from you," she gasped, her voice cracking again, "he took this away from you, too, Han," she broke into fresh tears, pressing her wrist against her mouth.
Shifting one knee up, Han turned his head towards her, studying her profile. He stroked her hair, and leaned over to kiss her jaw, trailing his lips up to her ear, his voice low, placating –
"Don't do this to yourself, Sweetheart," he pleaded. "We don't know anything. We don't know what happened. Don't," he said again. His fingers pressed into her scalp, drawing little, soothing circles. He verged on telling her – Sweetheart, this isn't our only chance – and he bit his tongue, on Bail's advice – don't just tell her you can have another.
Leia said nothing for a while, preoccupied with tears, hugging her hands to her chest again, and then she shook her head roughly.
"I have to assume the worst. It will hurt less than – having any hope, and being disappointed," she choked out.
Han took a deep breath, burying his face in her hair.
"Okay," he murmured. "Okay."
He kissed her hair, reaching up to cup her face in his palm and pull her close to his chest – it had been a long time since Leia was so raw, since she was entirely wrenched open and pouring her soul out, and it ate at him; he felt vague guilt, for wanting a baby in the first place, he felt bewildered, and betrayed by nature, and all of it tugged at the back of his throat, and the corners of his eyes, like – acid, or alcohol, burning, searing.
"I'm gonna be here, Leia," he murmured quietly – she'd had such fear that he might – he might leave her, if she didn't want a baby; he couldn't let her think, even for a second, that he'd do such a thing if it turned out she couldn't. "You've got me. I'm here."
She nodded, pulling his arm close and holding onto it. She kept saying things, disconnected thoughts, really consumed by grief, and Han listened, he stumbled through responses when he could, he tried to say the right thing. She hugged his arm closer, then again pressed his palm hard against her abdomen, keeping it there tightly.
He wasn't sure what she needed right now – he didn't think she knew, either – just to cry a lot, most likely, and vent any feelings that she couldn't contain – she'd never had anything like this, he didn't think, after the destruction of Alderaan, and he was sure that she was overwhelmed by how much she was feeling.
Time was so…unreal, right now, and he didn't know how long they sat there, how long it took her to calm down, and even when her tears had dried some, she made no effort to move –
"Han," she whispered. "That – what you did to the bunk, on the Falcon, I – "
"Yeah," Han muttered heavily. "Yeah, I'm – sorry I know that was hard for you to look at…didn't… feel great for me either."
Leia swallowed hard.
"I loved it," Leia said tightly. "I loved it, and I don't think I told you – how much."
He tilted his head to look at her, smiling a little – hadn't quite what he'd been expecting her to say –
"I loved it so much, Han," Leia said, her voice hitching huskily, "it's so sweet, it's such a – you thing to do."
"Chewie kept callin' it nesting," Han said gruffly. "Nestin' – "
Leia muffled a few soft sobs in her hands, and Han swallowed hard, kicking himself –
"Sorry, Leia, I'm sorry," he started.
"I'm sorry," she whispered back. She bit her lip a few times, and turned to look at him, her eyes red and swollen – "You would be…such a good father," she bit her lip again. "I'm sorry."
He stared down at his feet for a moment, setting his jaw, and then he turned, his arm slipping off of her as he faced her.
"Don't apologize to me again," he said.
He didn't say it harshly, or dismissively, or rudely – and it wasn't a command; it was a statement, and a firm, sincere request, but it was very final, and it didn't give her much room for argument.
"You hear me, Leia?" he asked gently. "Don't apologize to me." He leaned closer, holding her gaze. "You didn't do this." He parted his lips, lifting his shoulders. "It just happened."
She caught her tongue between her teeth, looking back at him steadily. She closed her eyes, tears dripping off her lashes, and nodded, inching over to curl up into his side. She tucked her ear against his chest, listening for the sound of his heartbeat, and caught her breath, the ache in her soothed a little by that sound, that comforting, rhythmic sound – it filled the eerie silence that had plagued her since she'd – since she'd lost the faint, aural hum of the baby's heart.
He tilted his head against hers, lifting his chin a little to murmur –
"I don't want you to talk like this is it for us," he mumbled.
Leia leaned against him heavily. She said nothing, but pressed his hand to her abdomen again, twisting her fingers into his. She rested her nose against his shoulder, and then moved closer and kissed his neck, kissed his jaw, and at last, kissed his lips – soft, and slow; not lustful, but – intimate.
"I think, ah…I think I'm going to take a shower," she murmured, pulling away slightly – her lips still brushed his, and she swallowed, giving a small nod as if to decide – she wanted to wash off some of the grit of the past few days – or feel like she was washing it off.
Han nodded, reaching over to squeeze her knee.
"Want me to wash your hair?"
She was silent for a moment, and then reached up to brush her fingers along his brow, tilting her head.
"Go back to bed, Han," she said softly. "You need to sleep, too."
She knew he'd been up with her, or up watching her; she knew he can't have gotten any since – a few nights ago, and his health and well being were important, too. She had yet to really sit down and ask him – how he was – but she at least recognized she wasn't able to do it right now, and he was so good in his unyielding support.
He nodded, giving her a dull, lopsided smile.
"I'm prob'ly gonna lurk outside the door 'til you come out," he admitted dryly, and Leia lowered her lashes in understanding, almost anticipating that.
She nodded, and he stood, crouching down again to help her up. He hooked his arm under hers, and he picked up the towel she'd been using, too, examining it without flinching, to make sure it did seem like a harmless amount of blood, and tossing it into the sink. She took a moment to squeeze his elbows in appreciation, and then run her hands over his chest – and then, one final time tonight, step closer and wrap him in a hug. He rested his hand on her lower back protectively, and she thought – my God, the first time I told him I loved him, did I ever think I'd love him like this?
She couldn't even have comprehended the depth of it, back then – nor could she have ever anticipated he'd love her this intensely in return.
When she woke up, just before dawn, she braced herself tensely, anticipating the rush of sadness that was sure to hit her – and though it was there, not in a rush, but just in underlying presence, what she was more overwhelmingly feeling was a quiet, almost peaceful relief that she had a chance to get up and watch the sunrise.
She took great pains not to wake Han – yet as she quietly tiptoed around, she was fairly sure there wasn't much chance of that. He was clearly exhausted, sleeping so heavily even her slipping out from under his arm hadn't disturbed him – usually he stirred just a little.
He wasn't awake when she went down to the kitchen to get herself some fresh juice and a plate of fruit, and he wasn't awake – hadn't even moved – when she went back up to the loft and slipped out onto the balcony, where she sat down in the corner, and tucked her breakfast down next to the stone railing, and peered through the carved stone columns to watch the Corellian sun peak and shine over the mountaintops.
She felt – well rested, a little better; her head had stopped hurting, so had her abdomen, for the most part. The persistent ache in her chest had not faded, but she supposed that would take a much longer time than the more physical ailments. The air was warm, springy, and the colours in the sky were beautiful – this cabin gave her such a feeling of safety and peace; it was the right place to be right now. She was glad Han had recognized that.
She picked up a slice of fruit and nibbled on it, picking off parts of the peel childishly, hearing her mother's words in her ear – the peel is healthiest, Leia – don't pick at your food – Leia had always done it anyway. She did it anyway now, grateful she had an appetite – she knew Han would be relieved, too. She felt weak, and the few times she'd glanced at her reflection, she'd looked awful – drawn, and pale, and sick –
Normal, she thought to herself. Normal, because I had a miscarriage, and it poisoned me from the inside.
She continued to eat the fruit thoughtfully, hoping Han would sleep for most of the morning – he couldn't have gotten much sleep lately. He certainly hadn't gotten any at the Med Centre, and he'd been restless on the Falcon, as she faded in and out of sleep, facilitating between curling up in bed with her back to the spare bunk, and shutting herself in the 'fresher to vomit. She wanted him to sleep – he was always up with her, always catering to her, and sometimes she wondered if he ever needed a break from the constant emotional toll she had to take on him –
He never seemed bothered.
She had so wanted this not to be something that took an emotional toll, on either of them, it was supposed to be the one thing, the one thing, that didn't go wrong, or end up tainted – they were far enough removed from the Empire and the war that it should have stopped overshadowing everything in their lives, and yet – and yet.
Leia picked up her cup of juice and cradled it in both of her hands, looking down at it. The slight carbonation fizzed and reflected sun, and she took a deep breath, tilting her head back, her brow furrowing – it occurred to her, in a disjointed thought, that it had felt like that, the baby, moving around – she'd heard it described as butterflies before, but it was like…carbonation – at first.
She hadn't gotten a chance to fell what it was like – later. Neither had Han, and Han had been so…fascinated. He hadn't been able to feel it – and despite her neutral comments that Leia's instincts were more important than her statistics, Leia knew Dr. Mellis hadn't really believed Leia was able to sense movement yet. She had, though; she knew she had, and right now she was thinking about how she'd asked Han not to flaunt the sono to her father, and she thought about how Han had stared at that thing for hours in bed the day they'd gotten it.
I can't tell what it is. It's too small.
Leia, pointing at where Dr. Mellis had pointed, tracing the outline for him – it won't be small forever.
But it'll be small when it gets here, yeah? What if I drop it?
I hope you pick it back up, she'd quipped.
Sitting on the balcony, she smiled a little tensely at the memory – she didn't think there was any chance of Han dropping a baby. Not the man who had successfully piloted through an asteroid field, who had survived six months of intense carbon poisoning –
She knew it wasn't her fault – logically, she knew she'd done nothing wrong, and spiritually, some feeling lingered, some whispering apology from the Force, almost, something she wasn't ready to mediate on yet – but it seemed to plead with her: it wasn't the right moment, it wasn't you, it was just – not well. She knew all that, and she still felt an immense, tiring sadness separate from the obvious grief: she was mourning everything that Han had lost, too.
She didn't feel like she was suffering alone, but she felt Han had somehow been spared the worst of the grief, unable to feel it as she had been, but compounding his lesser grief was his worry for her, and she had some confusing mix of feelings that wished he was able to feel it on par with her, was glad he wasn't, and also – hated that his excitement over all of this had been doused so spectacularly.
Things looked a little better in the bright light or morning – less damning, less hopeless. She was intensely aware of her own fragility at the moment, but – Han might have been right, she should try to meter her thoughts – don't talk like this is it for us.
The sun was visible over the mountaintops now, bursting over her face. The heat was a welcome comfort, and she took a long drink of juice, and went back to her fruit, losing track of time – she wasn't even sure how long she had been out there when she heard Han start moving around.
In fact, she saw him in the doorway of the balcony, rubbing his eyes, and then bit her lip a little as he disappeared, and she heard him go looking for her – she didn't make a move to get up; she knew he'd find her.
As it were, Han dragged his feet sleepily around the cabin in search of Leia, his brow furrowed in lazy puzzlement. There wasn't really anywhere for her to tuck herself away here. He was sure she hadn't left - she wouldn't - and he'd already checked the balcony, so where…? He frowned, trudging back up the stairs –
Ahhh. He'd only poked his head out on the balcony; when he checked again, he found her, pressed up against the brick off to the side, taking refuge in the furthest corner. His cursory glance hadn't revealed her.
He left the glass door open as he stepped out and approached her, acknowledging the slight burn of hit pavement on his bare feet with a mild grimace. He fixated on her profile as he approached - the petite slope of her nose, the fragile pale pinkness of her cheeks - bright with recovery, and sunshine.
He was silent as he came to her side, and after a long moment lingering in that silence, Leia cleared her throat softly and turned her head a little, twitching her eyes up at him through her lashes.
He leaned his shoulder against the brick, arching his eyebrows.
"Why're you hiding from me?" he drawled lightly.
Leia smiled faintly.
"I'm not," she protested half-heartedly. She supposed it wasn't very convincing, since she hadn't called out to him when he'd first poked his head out. She gave a gentle little wince, at her lack of sincerity, and then shrugged. "Ah, well," she relented.
She sighed quietly, and bit her lip.
"I'm…feeling, um, self-conscious," she admitted, "about last night," she hesitated. "I'm sorry."
Han tilted his head, resting his temple again at the brick. He frowned, and then turned and gingerly sat down, his back pressing uncomfortably into the brick, shoulder sliding against hers gently.
"Leia," he answered gruffly, sighing. "C'mon, don't apologize to me. You know I don't care." He turned his head and gave her a pointed look. "Didn't we just talk about apologies, last night?" he asked seriously.
Leia gave a little shrug. She tilted her head towards him, chewing on her lower lip for a moment, her expression thoughtful.
"I was being…fatalistic," she whispered. She closed her eyes. "I'm not sorry for crying. I'm sorry I sounded so," she paused. "Hopeless. Dismissive? I don't know."
The thing was, she felt sorry for dismissing Han's feelings, Han's attempts at trying to make her feel better – he had been trying to ground her, give her some hope – and not with anything that belittled the loss; he'd never said anything as insensitive as we'll just try again – and yet she had glossed over his comfort.
Han reached out and touched her shoulder, drawing his knuckles over her arm gently. He stepped a bit closer. He lowered his head to her ear.
"It's not hopeless," he murmured firmly.
She closed her eyes. After a moment, she nodded, smiled, and turned to look up at him.
"I feel better today," she confided slowly – sincere, in recognizing it. She felt better in the sunlight, she felt better with her fruit, and her bubbling juice, and she even felt a little better knowing that for a little while, they could just be here, away from the world.
She had time to wallow, and start to recover – both, really – and she shouldn't dwell on answers they didn't have yet – or she should try to compartmentalize that dread and fear for now, until it was more of a reality – if it even was.
Han smiled and moved forward to kiss her temple. She reached out and touched his cheek, pressing her palm against him lovingly.
"I was thinking of going to the market after breakfast," Han said quietly. "Want to go? Want anything specific? Might be nice to get out."
Leia turned towards him suddenly, sliding her arms around his waist. She pressed herself against him, hugging him tightly, her head falling forward into his shoulder – and she shook it, gently declining.
"Or I can stay," he offered.
Leia shook her head.
"Go," she encouraged. "I'm better. I'll check in with Tavska for a moment."
"Hmmm," Han's stern response rumbled through his chest, and Leia loosened her grip a little, pulling back.
"I want to talk to her a little," she said. "Not…I don't want to work. I don't want to go back to work," she admitted. "I'm not ready yet. It might distract me, but," she sighed. "Wouldn't help for much, would it?"
Han turned and looked at her with raised eyebrows.
"Leia?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and scrutinizing her. He made a show of leaning forward and putting his hand against her forehead as if to check her temperature. "Who are you?" he muttered.
She smiled a little, even gave a quiet, hoarse laugh.
"I need a little context on how my absence is being handled," she said softly, wrinkling her nose and shaking off Han's hand gently. "What's been re-arranged, what." she sighed, "people are being told."
"Hmph," Han grunted. "Last I heard, Evaan was gonna mention it as an anniversary trip," he offered. "S'about the right time."
Leia splayed her hand out; looking at the ring Han had given her for their anniversary, several months ago. Han watched her for a moment, and then cleared his throat.
"What d'you think they'll say?" he asked. "The press?"
Leia compressed her lips tightly, and curled her fingers in, running her thumb over the stone.
"I think they'll speculate that I had a miscarriage," she said flatly.
Han blinked, startled.
"What? No one knew you were – " he broke off, not wanting to say it out loud – no one knew you were pregnant.
"No," Leia agreed grudgingly, "but the Media is…smart," she clicked her tongue edgily, and splayed her hand out again, still looking at the ring. "I cancelled several morning events that week I was feeling particularly bad," she muttered, "and I," she shrugged, unsure what else might have given it away – she had gained a little weight, filled out some, but she was thin to begin with, so she didn't look out of the ordinary.
She grimaced.
"Regardless of what they did or didn't know," she said huskily, "at least some news outlets will speculate that it was a miscarriage."
She lifted her shoulders.
"And…it was," she said quietly.
Her shoulders fell in an accepting shrug. Han reached up and rubbed his jaw, his eyes narrowing in the sunlight.
"I hate 'em, you know," he said under his breath. "The media."
"I know you do," she acknowledged softly. She took a deep breath, and picked up her last piece of fruit, biting it in half. She was quiet while she ate – finishing her breakfast, and then she took a deep breath. "I'll be okay. We'll be okay," she murmured.
She brushed off her hands on her knees.
"At least here I have a chance to…confront it, right away," she reflected. Her brow furrowed. "Not something I usually do, is it?"
Han laughed hoarsely.
"I dunno, Your Worship," he said. "You ain't as bad as you used to be."
She smiled again – it felt so strange so smile, but she let it happen; she had learned, throughout the years, that feeling amusement, or happiness – was not a sin, was not a betrayal, or a contradiction, of deep sadness; rather it was a much-needed relief, and a sign of health – it was okay for her to feel some joy, even if everything was not perfect.
She sat forward a little, stretching out her legs, and swallowed hard, turning her face up to bask in the sun. She anticipated – a roller coaster of emotions for an undetermined amount of time, but for the moment, she did feel okay. She felt strong enough to talk to Tavska a little, and regain her bearings.
She turned to look at him, reaching out to slip her hand into his loosely.
"Han, are you okay?" she ventured finally – she had asked in the Med Center, but she was hazy on what his answer had been – and she worried about him, worried that over the past several days, she hadn't given enough attention to him in return for the support he gave her.
"Yeah, 'm okay, Sweetheart," he answered smoothly. "'M okay."
She turned his hand over, looked down at his palm, and then pulled it towards her, tracing the lines there. Her brow furrowed a little.
"Are you hurting as much as I am?" she asked huskily. She looked up at him through her lashes. "Don't let me neglect you, Han."
He sat forward a little, a muscle in his jaw jumping a little. He shook his head a little, reaching up with his other hand to rub his mouth, and then sighing heavily.
"Ought to be honest, I guess," he muttered. "'M not hurtin' as much as you," he admitted. He lifted his shoulders. "I just…can't, not the same way. Not as much," he said gruffly. "But it's…not a good feelin'," he offered. He reached over and brushed his knuckles against her jaw. "Hurts that I can't do anythin' for you," he added gruffly.
Leia nodded, shifting back to lean against the brick again. She interlaced their fingers, bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles. She understood what he was saying – and in the face of his bewildered, difficult to navigate, shallower grief, his attention to her, his understanding – meant all the more.
She cleared her throat.
"Go," she encouraged softly. "I should get up and about, you should," she agreed, trailing off confidently.
He nodded, clearing his throat.
"You want anything from the bazaar?" he asked.
Leia thought about it for a moment. She thought of the arallutes, back at home in their apartment, still blooming, none the wiser to what had happened – the same for the vase of them on her desk – still blooming. She felt a tug at her heart, and the back of her throat, and she took a breath, nodding.
"Bring me some flowers," she requested softly.
He arched his brows.
"Flowers," he repeated. "Sure, Princess," he said, a little amused. "I'll bring you some flowers."
She leaned over and kissed his shoulder, running her hand over him gently, murmuring a soft thank you - even to her, it felt like an odd, and out of place request – like she was sure it had been odd, and seemingly out of place when she calmly wanted to listen to music the other night, wrapped up by the fire.
He straightened up, rolling his head a little and wincing as his neck popped. He reached up and shoved his hand through his hair, gearing up to go get dressed, start the day – it was the first day, he realized, that either of them would really – get up, and start, on a regular cycle, since the night she'd lost the baby – and it felt eerie.
"Don't get too tangled up in work," he mumbled.
"I won't," she agreed. She took a deep breath. "I might…call Luke," she murmured. "I want to see if he's okay."
Han sighed heavily.
"Yeah, the kid was pretty affected," he muttered, with a grimace. He stood, and extended his hand to her, which she took – and let him help her up. She started to bend back down to reach for her empty plate and cup, but Han preempted her, picking it up himself.
He picked up one of the uneaten peels and ate it; Leia wrinkled her nose a little at him.
"Hey, uh," he started. "Uh…I can't, uh, tell you what to do, I know that," he said sheepishly. "But…you're not gonna try to meditate, are you?" he asked. "Just," he sighed uncomfortably and looked up, chewing without speaking for a moment – just 'cause it kind of fucks you up, and I'm not leavin' if you're gonna do it.
He almost glared at her apprehensively, and Leia smiled a little, leaning her shoulder against the brick wall. She shook her head.
"No," she said. "I want to talk to Luke a little about that," she admitted, "but I…don't feel very safe reaching out to the Force right now," she said. She hesitated, and then reached up to tuck her hair back. "There was a lot of…pain, there," she said huskily. "You know, I could feel, I could feel," her hand hovered at her abdomen.
She shook her head.
"Anyway," she whispered. "I'm not ready for that."
Han nodded. He gave a satisfied grunt, picking at more of her abandoned peels.
"You gonna talk to your old man?" he asked.
Leia sighed, folding her arms. She looked down at her bare feet, and then looked up anxiously, wary of Han's reaction –
"I don't…know," she whispered. "I want to…talk about Mama," she said, "but not…maybe I'm not ready for that yet, either," she said.
There was a lot of similar grief in her father's life and she wanted to…be more at ease with her own, before he became a part of it. Han nodded, shrugging as if he understood, and saying nothing to either shame her, convince her, or contradict her.
He ate the last few bits of fruit peel, and then came forward to kiss her, sliding his free hand up to her cheek affectionately and tilting her lips up to his, devoting carefully attention to the kiss – and somehow, even though it was the only intimacy they were engaging in right now, it was all she needed.
He took his time at the bazaar. He realized he did need to breathe, needed to be out and about for a little bit, distracted by chaotic stimulus that wasn't aggressively painful or stressful. He had no resentment or blame for Leia – more for their situation as a whole, and he had learned from the past that he was better at doing right by her if he had time to re-center himself.
He wasn't too worried about being spotted, or recognized; the average person on Corellia didn't give a damn about who was who in politics, and for him, there was more danger in someone he'd pissed off in the past recognizing him – but this was not Coronet City, so even in that respect, he had few worries. He spent time poking through things lazily, recharging a little, vaguely sorting through his own feelings – he hoped he hadn't hurt Leia's feelings with what he said, about – not being able to relate to the pain the same way –
He thought honesty was better, mostly because he wanted her to understand why he might fall short – but also because he felt guilty about it, and he – ah. He didn't know. She hadn't seemed upset, but he was regretting saying it.
He picked up a bunch of assorted things to cook for the next few days – they had not determined how long they would be here – and nearly gave himself a stroke trying to decide which flowers she'd like best.
He ventured over to the fruit vendors to find something to replace what she'd eaten – they had to be running low, Leia had really only wanted fruit or toast for the past few days – and he immediately ignored the skappi; she hadn't been much a fan of it before she was pregnant, but he doubted she'd ever want to see it again now.
He also wallowed around in the more exotic sections of the market, skeptical of those hocking miracle cures or strange amulets, stopping to peer closer at a cart full of baby animals – there was a tiny, colourful, feathered, thing pouncing around inside a box full of loth kittens, and he tilted his head curiously at it –
"It's a mooka," the vendor growled pleasantly.
Han glanced up – the thing's ears were far too big for its head, and it kept trying to play with the loth kittens, most of which nipped at it or screeched at it in response.
"Can't get rid of it," the vendor muttered.
Han kind of ignored the guy – he was good at ignoring those who were pawning stuff, but he was distracted by the creature – it looked something like a bird of paradise and a puppy, if Han was remembering what puppies looked like correctly – he hadn't seen one outside of a Holo since he was a kid –
He reached in to see what its fur felt like, and it leapt at his hand, clamping its mouth down on his fingers gently. It shook its head, and gave a weak sort of hissing squeal, and Han drew his hand back, glaring.
"Means it likes you," howled the vendor, laughing. "You wanna take 'im home?"
Han snorted, giving the vendor a skeptical look – like he needed to take home a biting little beast – he shook his head, adjusting the heavy bag on his arm, and glanced into the box again – the a loth kitten was hissing in the pup's ear – and he figured he'd better get back to Leia.
She'd had more than enough time to have some chats with Tavska, and Luke – he hoped those had gone well; that's what occupied his mind as he walked back, absently looking at the vaguely red, irritated teeth marks on his hands – he kept thinking of his mother, suddenly, of the look on her face one year – a few months before she'd died – when he'd brought home an injured Husk Lizard he'd found – some privileged Corellian family had left it out, when it was found defective, and he'd rescued – technically stolen – it, and Jaina Solo had clicked her tongue, eyeing it fearfully – Han, you'll get yourself in trouble, baby, rich people want their things back when poor people take them.
Han told her he didn't think they deserved it, if they were gonna just kick it to the curb 'cause it was hurt – he'd said he was going to save it – and his mother had come to love it, even though it died a few weeks later – and a month after that, he'd lost her, too –
Han shifted the bag in his arms again – the walk up the cliffs to the chalet always seemed longer than the walk down, and for good reason; it was uphill. He made it, though, and transferred the bag to his other arm as he unlocked the door.
"Hey, 'm back," he shouted, lifting his head a little so the bags wouldn't block his voice.
He swore under his breath, suddenly finding it difficult to balance them; they were over spilling with produce, and the flowers were probably getting crushed – he strode quickly over to the island prep table in the kitchen, and as he sat the bags down, he peered over them, scanning the room.
He saw Leia curled up in a small ball in the corner of the sofa, her head tucked into her arm, and stomach dropped heavily, He slid the bags way from the edge of the counter, abandoning them, and walking over to her. He crouched down and balanced on the balls of his feet, reaching out to touch her hair gently.
Leia shifted her head and peeked out at him, her eyes red and wet. He ran his thumb lightly under her eye, rocking back and forth a little on his heels.
"Hey, Sweetheart," he said, giving her a muted smile.
She cleared her throat and placed her head on her arm, looking at him quietly. She flicked her eyes over to glance at the bags he'd brought home, and bit her lip, scraping at it wordlessly.
"I thought you were feelin' a little better," Han said, pushing her hair out of her face.
He rested his hand on her neck.
"I was," Leia said hoarsely. She shrugged honestly. "And then I wasn't."
She wasn't sure how to explain what had happened, but she was up – and then she was down. She closed her eyes and Han slid his hand to her shoulder, squeezing gently. He rested his chin on the couch, eye-level with her.
"I feel so sad," she murmured.
"I know," he murmured back. "S'okay, Leia."
She nodded, and Han looked at her a moment longer before straightening up, and nudging her shoulder a little. She sat up and let him sit down on the couch with her, and curled right back up, her head in his lap. She slid her arm under his knee, curving it around his leg. He leaned down to kiss her forehead, and then sat back.
"I got some fruit you like to make cobbler," Han offered gruffly. "There wasn't any starblossom," he mumbled – rarer these days, since Alderaan's demise. "Shuuras, though."
Leia squeezed her eyes shut, closing her mouth and very quietly dissolving into tears. Han looked at her sympathetically and kept stroking his hand through her hair, combing it back from her forehead.
She winkled her nose, and Han moved his wrist down to wipe it for her. He brushed his hand off his shirt and Leia blinked at him, tilting her head.
"Han," she said hoarsely. "That's gross."
He shrugged carelessly.
"Marriage is gross."
She gave a strangled laugh, and sat up. She looked at him intently for a moment, and then put one arm around him, and her head on his shoulder, resting all her weight on him. She engaged in a lot of – maneuvering around for a moment, and then ended up with her legs tucked over his lap, feet wedged in between his ribs and the arm of the sofa.
She faced him, holding one of his hands in her lap, leaning heavily against the back of the sofa, shifting her head a little once in a while to brush tears from her face. She ran her hands over his, pressing it close to her stomach, the noticing the marks –
"What happened?" she asked huskily.
"Ahh," Han sighed, shrugging. "Little creature bit me, some," he trailed off, frowning when he tried to think of the species. He glanced at his hand; the indents were turning a curious, bright blue, like he'd been marked. He gave it a curious look. "It was mixed in with a bunch of loth kittens, at the market."
Leia sniffed a couple of times, and ran her thumb soothingly over the marks. She clicked her tongue sympathetically.
"Didn't hurt," Han remarked. He snorted. "Kind of tickled," he muttered.
Leia looked up at him through her lashes, and a small smile touched her lips. He watched her touching his hand for a moment, and then looked up to meet her eyes.
"Somethin' upset you?" he asked gruffly.
She lifted her shoulders.
"I don't know what happened," she said honestly. "Other than the – general reason I'm upset, I was okay," she trailed off. Her voice caught, and she swallowed hard a couple of times before going on – "I think it comes and goes, in waves," she said hoarsely. "I had these two…weird moments," she trailed off.
"Weird how?"
Leia gave a hoarse, somewhat anguished sigh.
"Well, I was talking to Tavska, and she mentioned the Haven," Leia began. "I…have been, recently, conditioned to think of my life in a certain way," she closed her eyes lightly. "I said something about having the baby shortly after that," she trailed off again, and then went on: "and for some reason, after I hung up with her, I thought it was too quiet here. Then I thought I should enjoy the quiet, because soon we'll always have a baby crying. Then it…hit me again."
Han squeezed her hand, relaxing back and looking around the chalet – high, open ceilings, wood paneling; the intimacy of it.
Leia's lashes fluttered, and she looked at him as if she was wary of what he'd say.
"Isn't that silly?" she asked shakily. "It's like I…miss…hearing it cry," she murmured slowly, "but I never heard it cry."
Han nodded. He put his hands down on her thighs and then ran them down to her knees, brushing them back and forth gently, hoping the touch was soothing to her.
"I don't think it's silly," he said.
He didn't say anything for a little while, and then slowly, his hands stopped, and he looked down at her knees thoughtfully.
"We were thinkin' about it a lot, Leia," he said huskily. "We had plans," he added, shrugging – it seemed – normal, for her to have trouble adjusting to the disappearance of those plans; it seemed normal for her to need more than a handful of days to really realize –
She leaned forward a little more, her nose pressing hard into his shoulder. She took a deep breath, her eyes closing once more.
"I feel empty," she whispered against his shirt.
Han lifted his arm and rested it across her shoulders. She pulled her arms in, making herself small, letting him hug her. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, her cheek resting there lightly.
"I started having all these maternal feelings I wasn't used to," she whispered. "I want something to take care of."
Han leaned over to rest his chin on her head. She sighed, her shoulders shuddering.
"I think it's why I keep asking you if you're okay," she confessed weakly, her voice a little reluctant, a little apologetic. "If you need me to take care of you…I'll feel a little better."
"You can always take care of me, Leia," Han murmured into her hair.
She smiled to herself, and reached up to wipe her nose on her hand. On the verge of brushing it on her shirt, she changed her mind, and tested his mature assertion that this, that marriage, was gross – she wiped it on his, instead, and Han laughed, the sound humming in his chest against her ear.
It brought an unexpected smile to her lips, and she bit down on her lower one, easing the pain of such a broad grin – there was such comfort in that simple comment – marriage is gross. Part of her, buried under everything else that was wrong, had the visceral fear that Han would be disillusioned romantically, made leery of her by the blood, gore, and technicality of a failed pregnancy, but there was none of that –
No squeamishness, no reservations.
Han pressed his cheek against her head gently, several times, and then pulled back a little, reaching up to stroke her hair. He tilted his head back and cleared his throat, hesitating.
"You want to talk?"
"About what?" she murmured.
He shrugged.
"Anything. Keep you sane," he said. "Keep you grounded."
She lifted her head, and waited, so he said –
"What'd Tavska have to say?"
She licked her lips, pursing them, answering slowly:
"Nothing out of the ordinary," she said. "It seems my absence isn't too interesting, yet," she frowned faintly. "I suppose that will depend on how long we stay."
She fell silent, and then went on:
"You know why I like Tavska?"
"Hmmm?"
"She's," Leia said appreciatively, "she's very talented at…carrying on as if nothing is wrong, without giving the impression she's unbothered," Leia licked her lips again, "if that makes sense."
Han nodded – and felt relieved; so talking with Tavska hadn't been a grueling experience – that was good; he figured Leia needed that brief foray into her work life to start bracing herself for what it would be like.
Though he'd try to convince her to stay here a little while longer, a week – even two, if he could get that lucky.
"She cares without making it a burden on me," Leia murmured, half to herself.
Han swallowed, running his hand down her back. It came to rest at the base of her spine, and he cleared his throat, turning his head to look at her intently. He hesitated a moment, and then cocked his head.
"You mind if I ask you somethin' personal?" he asked slowly, dwelling on something Bail had said – or something he'd said to Bail.
Leia looked a little amused.
"You've done some very personal things to me, Han," she quipped lightly. "I'm intrigued to know what prompted you to ask."
He looked a little sheepish, hesitated again, and then said –
"What's the worst thing that happened to you before the Death Star?" He asked. "Y'know…back on Alderaan."
Leia looked caught off guard – not angry, just, thoughtful – and then subdued, and then skeptical, as she reflected. She pursed her lips again, catching her tongue between her teeth – and she appeared to think for a long time, before giving a quiet, resigned sigh.
"I don't know…that I would ever refer to anything back then as…bad," she said softly. "Not compared to," she clicked her tongue gently. "I feel almost…spoiled, thinking of what I considered bad then," she murmured.
She lifted her shoulders, biting her lip.
"I failed an astrophysics exam," she said, grimacing at herself. "I…my thranta had to be shot, when I was eleven," she whispered. "S—Sabé died," she added. "Ahh," she snorted quietly. "When I was thirteen, a stable boy refused to kiss me," she said.
Han arched his brows a little.
"Thirteen, and runnin' around with stable boys?"
"Yes," Leia said in a hushed voice. "Trying to be a tomboy and a bad girl," she said, compressing her lips. "I wanted him to kiss me. The way high class girls always get taken in by someone unsuitable, in books, and he told me…that I was the princess, but it didn't make me pretty enough to kiss."
Han clearly hadn't been expected that, and he sat forward a little, in disbelief.
"He said what?" he asked – affronted both because – he was shocked someone had the audacity to say that to their sovereign – someone on Alderaan, at least – and he – couldn't imagine anyone looking at Leia, and thinking – not pretty enough to kiss.
Leia laughed, the sound a little teary.
"I was quite heartbroken."
Her mother had, in some exasperation, tried to console her, but for some reason – a younger Leia had been so bothered by that.
"Maybe that's why I was so disinterested in relationships for most of men for my teenager years," she whispered.
"Well, damn," Han drawled, his voice dry. "Imagine how much faster I could have gotten you if I'd just called you pretty."
She made a muffled noise that sounded like it was trying to be a giggle, and closed her eyes, leaning forward to rest her cheek on his shoulder again. She nodded, without saying anything else for a while.
"Sabé's death," she murmured. "I feel…spoiled, and ridiculous, really trying to answer this question, but her death was awful. The Empire killed her, for dissident speech. Losing people, once the Rebellion started gaining traction…that was hard," she reflected.
She girt her teeth for a moment, and then rested her chin on his shoulder, looking quizzically at his profile.
"Why do you ask?"
Han gave a little shrug.
"Dunno," he said slowly. "'Cause I guess…I was wonderin' how you used to cope," he said. "'M just…talkin' to you," he said. "Talk's good."
Leia hesitated, thoughtful.
"I used to cry," she said simply. "When I was sad. I shouted at my protocol droid when I was angry. I," she reached up and touched her cheek, sighing. "I went to my mother."
"Hmm," Han mumbled. "Hmm," he said again, and then snorted. "Me too," he muttered – he hadn't much, as he'd gotten older, and tougher, but when he was little – he remembered showing her scraped, bloody elbows, a busted lip, and her taking time away from cooking, her face and clothes still sooty from the mines – you rascal, Han, you little rascal – come here, boy –
Leia rubbed her hand under her eye.
"You know," she began in a hush. "There was never, never, anything in my life, as singularly horrifying as Alderaan's destruction," she said. Her lips compressed briefly as she swallowed hard. "Not even what they did to me on the Death Star."
She wrapped her arms around herself, pressing her legs down on him and leaning forward a little, her expression thoughtfully.
"I couldn't handle it. I still can't handle it, sometimes," she said quietly. "I…I wasn't equipped to cope with that. No one was. I think…part of me, most of me, thought that the ways I had been sad in the past, as a child, as a teenage girl…they weren't enough. That no way I knew how to grieve was appropriate to process the magnitude – so even the few times I cried," she paused, and gestured at him, "with you," her voice trembled, "it didn't feel like grieving, it didn't feel like – enough."
She swallowed hard, looking at him intently.
"I thought it was impossible to mourn - big enough. So I just," her shoulders collapsed while she tried to find words. "You know," she said. "I froze. I've been…getting over that…emotional handicap…ever since."
Leia fell silent, and then reached up to push her hair back, first running her hand through it, and then tucking it behind her ears gently.
"I'm not saying this is a good thing," she said thickly, "because I am…miserable," she admitted honestly, "but I think…it's like…I understand how to grieve again. Really understand. There is no right way," she said, clenching her teeth. "You just…have to feel it."
She nodded a few times to herself, reaching for his hand again. Han had been looking at her, listening, for such a long time – and he still looked at her, long after she had stopped talking, squeezing her fingers, his head resting heavily on the back of the sofa.
Leia brought his hands to her lips and kissed his wrist, taking a shaking breath.
"Here's something I miss, something I used to do," she revealed. "My mother had an aviary," she explained. "She kept birds, took care of them. I don't know," Leia stopped abruptly, parting her lips silently as a realization glimmered in her eyes – "Well. I think I understand, now," she said. "She raised baby birds," Leia murmured. "I used to go to the aviary when I was upset, and play with them."
Leia was quiet again, and then she finally – she told Han – something she'd never told him before, something she'd kept so private, and dear to her heart –
"The last time I saw Mama was in her aviary," she confided. "She knew I was leaving for something more dangerous than usual. She gave me some of the feathers. She kissed me on the forehead and told me," Leia's lips trembled, "that little birds always remembered where their home ways," her eyes closed, and a few tears fell down her cheeks, "she tucked feathers in my hair and made me promise to come home to her and I never saw her again."
Han sat forward and ran his hand up Leia's back again, massaging gently at the back of her neck – she didn't give into full blown tears again, but wiped steadily at the flow that came, licking her lips – the tears were salty, fresh.
"I can't stop thinking about her, Han."
She wanted her mother so badly – she thought about Breha constantly, these past few days, trying to conjure up her face, wishing she could hear her voice, wondering what Breha would say to her – oh, she must have such words of comfort, and Leia would never hear them; she'd never know.
Han leaned over and kissed her brow, and she turned up her face to kiss his jaw, smiling at him a little.
"I don't talk about her very often," she whispered.
"You wanna talk about her some more now?" Han asked huskily.
Leia sighed, wiping her eyes.
"I don't think so," she said. "I'm drained, I'm…tired," she admitted. "But I think I want to talk about her more…in general."
Han nodded.
"Sure, Leia," he said. "We'll talk more about Breha."
He said her name, and Leia tilted her head, her tongue caught between her teeth lightly.
"You've been practicing."
Han's lips turned up wryly.
"Just in case," he confided.
Leia curled her toes, and collapsed against the couch, sighing.
"I'm tired," she repeated. "I'm tired of sleeping," she added, a little restless. "Tired of…crying."
Han thought for a moment, and then sat forward, hugging her legs to his abdomen. He cocked an eyebrow, an then looked over at the things on the counter, looking back to her quickly.
"You want to learn how to make cobbler?" he drawled.
Her brows twitched a little.
"Do I…?"
"C'mon," he said gruffly, jerking his head at the kitchen. He patted her legs, and she moved them back a little; he sat forward, and then stood up, holding out his hand gallantly. He nodded at her seriously. "C'mon, Leia, I'll show you."
"How to – make – ?"
"Cobbler," Han grunted.
It was a good way to take her mind off of it, to give them something to do, to give them some time together that was – fun, light, not quite so heavyhearted – though he was sure there was plenty more of that to come.
Leia placed her hand in his, and stood up, a chill running up her spine as her bare feet hit the floor. She stood there a moment, and Han gave her a muted smile, and released her hand, beckoning to her as he went into the kitchen. He pulled the netting bag of fruit out of the paper bags, and Leia hesitated for a moment as he threw them on the counter, and started pulling out knives, cutting boards – a dish.
He turned on the stove, and Leia came forward, standing at his side for a moment. Then she – she boosted herself up on the counter, small enough to sit sideways and watch him at the stove – he was – starting to melt sugar, and butter, in a pan…? – her feet up on the counter –
Han poked one of her toes.
"That's gross," he said pointedly.
She leaned forward.
"Marriage is gross," she retorted huskily, arching a brow.
"Yeah," Han drawled. "Well, your snot's part bein' married," he retorted, "feet on the counter, that's just rude."
Leia did not move her feet, and Han ran a hand over her ankle, pausing at the stove to turn around. He muttered to himself, searching through the bags – "Almost forgot," he mumbled, as he pulled a bouquet from them.
He turned and stepped up to Leia's side, showing them to her. He smoothed out some wrinkled petals.
"Sasaleas," he grunted.
Leia smiled. She took them in her arms, cradling them gently, and leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek – which he turned into a kiss on the lips, and a tight hug, pulling her nearly off the counter, flush against his chest. She slipped an arm around his neck, hugging him back, and tucked her head against his shoulder, content to be held, thinking – it didn't make sense, that Han was going to show her how to cook something, and that would make her feel better – it didn't make sense at all, but it would help.
There was just – just no correct way to grieve; and so – she went easy on herself, and she was…uninhibited in her sadness.
The last thing Han Solo had ever expected, when he stuck his hand into a box of loth kittens at the market and was nibbled on by the odd one out the – the mooka – was to end up so fixated on the colourful, feathery little animal that he kept glancing down at his hand to make sure the faint marks were still there, kept running his hand over the indents.
He couldn't seem to stop thinking about it, and he wasn't sure if he was just – attempting to occupy his mind with something mundane, or if his initial interest in the thing – it had clearly been an outcast among the loth kittens – had been compounded by Leia's quiet reflection that she wanted – needed – something to take care of.
He initially had the fleeting idea that he should buy it when the vendor said it liked him, but he'd shaken off that notion; it was impulsive, and likely the last thing he should do – and he was uncertain why his – admittedly recurrent habit – of attempting to save forsaken things had been reignited.
Though the reasons for why he was dwelling on the little creature were unbeknownst to him – or, arguably, he hadn't bothered to delve too deep into them – the fact remained that he kept thinking about it, so when he abruptly returned to the market roughly a week after they had arrived and bought the damn thing, it couldn't necessarily be called impulsive, specifically because he had thought about it for days.
That, at least, was what he told himself, as he made his way up the winding path to the chalet, trying to decide what he was going to say to Leia when he showed her – when he, ahh, tried to explain –
It was about the size of Chewbacca's paws, and half-fit into one of the pockets of Han's vest, though it kept wriggling out and hanging over his arm instead, wagging its feathery tale and making excited, sniffling noises as it looked around. Han frowned, figuring he should have got a basket or something – and it put its paws up on his shoulder and curved its small talons into his vest, darting its tongue out to lick his ear.
Affronted, Han stopped in his track and glared – what the hell had – gotten in to him? Not the animal – him, Han Solo, what the hell had gotten into him, why had he taken it upon himself to sneak back to the bazaar and rescue the little gal – guy, guy, the vendor said it was male – and take it back up to the chalet like some, some –
Offering, soothing gift; something for Leia.
It made a shushing noise in his ear, and Han arched his eyebrows, cocking his head - the mooka's eyes blinked happily, its tail brushing his wrist over and over again. It was – admittedly, kind of adorable, in an exotic, unexpected way; bird-like, and canine-like, at the same time – bird-like.
Well, if Leia's mother had taken care of hatchlings to occupy her mind, maybe Leia would – but Han was wary of bringing something home and implying it was some shallow replacement for what they'd lost –
Except he – also thought, standing there and waiting for the creature to calm down so he could walk more easily – he wanted this. He was…still having a hard time figuring out why – probably had something to do with how it had been homeless, and homeless without other animals that liked it – it had been abandoned, and it liked him, and he just felt like there was something right about it.
He didn't think Leia would be angry with him. He thought she might be – bewildered, and he grimaced a little, when he again tried to think of how he'd articulate why he wanted it – why he'd decided to buy it –
'Cause it's little, and colourful, he thought to himself, grudgingly, and it bit me, but that meant it liked me, and that reminds me of you, Sweetheart – he grinned a little, starting to walk again – that'd probably amuse Leia.
He had thought about asking Bail if he thought this was a good idea, but he'd refrained – as much as he appreciated Bail, and intended to continue seeking his advice in some respects, he didn't want all of what he did for Leia to be an extension of what her father suggested – he wanted some of it to be organic. Not that advice taken from the Viceroy wasn't genuine but – somewhere, Han had to find the confidence in himself to believe he was capable of comforting Leia on his own, just as he had been in plenty of situations in the past.
The mooka gave a short, high-pitched chirp of excitement, and Han stopped outside the door of the chalet, alarmed.
"You're gonna give me away," he muttered, resting his palm on its head, between its ears – damn ears were huge, almost comically too big; the vendor said he'd grow into them – he gave it a stern look, and it's ears twitched, its head cocking almost as if it understood.
Its tongue darted out, and it licked Han's jaw again – he scowled at it.
"Don't make me regret this," he muttered, half to it, half to himself – he didn't think he would, and he might have succeeded in banishing the little guy from his mind if Leia hadn't been having a harder time the last day or too – it really was a unpredictable storm, striking her in waves.
He wanted to see her smile again, and he hoped –
He stepped up and swiped his palm on the access lock, slipping inside quietly. He made a shushing noise to the animal, and it shhhhhed back at him in its strange language; Han gave it a twice as alarmed look, and shushed it again. It was silent.
- he hoped he was doing the right thing.
It felt right. It felt right, somehow. He just wasn't going to be – completely convinced, until he had Leia's reaction, and even if she wasn't moved by it he – he kind of hoped she didn't mind if he kept it, because he was –
Grudgingly, he figured he was attached. He'd been attached since it bit him a few days ago, he just tried to ignore it because it seemed so…absurd, to be a guy his age, seeing a baby animal and deciding he wanted to take it home.
Things – weren't normal, though, not right now.
Hell, maybe he wanted somethin' to take care of. Maybe it was like…how he'd been aggressively re-conditioning the Falcon for weeks, even before Leia got pregnant, for lack of anything better to do, because he wanted to be ready.
Well, he still hadn't felt ready, and then it hadn't mattered because she – they – had a miscarriage, and that made everything seem bleak and hopeless, but he still…wanted to be ready.
He stopped in the entrance, struggling to keep the animal from leaping out of his arms and scampering wildly across the floor. He looked up hesitantly – where had Leia been when he left, asleep – curled up in a patio chair on the lower level, out in the sun?
"Leia?" he called, and then immediately winced – dammit, what if she was asleep? He sure as hell shouldn't be waking her up –
"Loft."
Her answer was soft and a little muffled, but she didn't sound as if she'd just been woken up. Han strode forward to the ladder-style stairs up to the loft and frowned, staring up them. He looked at the mooka, and then back up the ladder, thinking – then he tucked the mooka under one arm loosely, deciding he was limber enough to climb up with only one hand as support.
"Calm down," he muttered at it, as it writhed and squirmed in his arm, tapping its nose against his chest repeatedly. "Hey, behave and she might like you," he warned, peering over the edge of the loft at the wire frame feet of their bed.
He took a step up, his head and shoulders appearing, and Leia rolled over across the bed, stretched out gingerly on her stomach. The sheets and quilts were a mess – hadn't been made in days. He could see Leia looking over at him, waiting for his appearance, and she hung her arm off the bed, waving her fingers at him.
"Han," Leia murmured. "I…might be ready for some wine."
Han grunted a little, hesitating on coming all the way up. The mooka made one of its soft, curious chirping noises, and Leia lifted her head. She gave him a quizzical look, her lips pursed, and Han shook his head hastily to indicate it wasn't him.
"Uhh," he started. "I…got somethin' at the market," he said slowly. "Don't freak out," he said dryly. "I hope you're not gonna…freak out," he muttered, dragging his feet up the last few steps, and then transferring toe mooka so he was holding it with both hands.
Leia, who was already sitting up cautiously, the expression on her face one of calm wariness at his words, paused, her legs curled towards her, one arm supporting her as she leaned up. Her hair cascaded over one shoulders, and she stopped moving when she flicked her eyes over him and caught sight of what he was holding.
Han winced a little, bracing himself – suddenly, what had seemed like a sweet, almost whimsical gesture – wasn't so –
Leia sat up fully, tucking one of her hands into her lap. She stared at him, her lips parted, her lashes quivering a little as her eyes widened. Han took a few steps forward.
"Remember I told you that…uh, a baby animal bit me the other day," he explained quickly, feeling distinctly like his face was turning red. He took a few more steps forward, letting her see it a little better. "Well," he muttered, "I got…kind of…I kept thinkin' about 'im, and – "
Leia swallowed hard, shifting forward a little. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder and she tilted her head, reaching out carefully. With that, Han stepped up to the bed – and at the sight of a new human, the mooka was shivering with excitement, flicking its tail and chirping in a song-like flurry, straining to get to Leia's hand.
"Be nice. Don't bite her," Han said to it, without thinking, and Leia looked up as soon as he spoke sternly to the animal, a funny, soft expression on her face – and Han cleared his throat gruffly.
Leia placed her hand on its head, her thumb brushing its ears, and she bit her lip, eyes running over it – the vibrant, multi-coloured feathers, soft and velvety, the beak-like snout, the small talons – she sat up a little straighter, looking up at Han.
He nodded at her, understanding she wanted to hold it – he wasn't sure why she wasn't saying anything, but he gingerly transferred the mooka to her anyway, wincing again when it leapt up at her and licked her face. Leia closed her eyes, rearing back in surprise, and Han reached up to rub his jaw, holding his breath – was she – pissed at him…?
Leia caught the animal in her arms and drew it close, surprising him when she buried her face in its ears and made a strangled noise that – well, unaware of what she was thinking, Han thought it was a sob, until she lifted her face, and he saw her eyes were bright, and sparkling with disbelief, her cheeks flushed pink.
"Han," she squealed, catching her breath as it licked her cheek again, and then wrestling some of its energy down so she could get a better grip, cuddling it against her chest. "What is it?" she asked, not waiting for an answer. She bit her lip and scratched its ears, tilting her head to look at its face with wonder.
"It's so cute," she gasped, her lips trembling. She ran her hand lightly over its head and back, stroking its downy feathers and offering her cheek to let it nuzzle its snout against her. "Oh, Han, it's so cute!"
Taken aback for a moment, Han stood there, slowly lowering his arm to let both of his hands hang at his sides – and as Leia pursed her lips and buried her face in the mooka's bright coat, he started to grin, amused – he'd never seen Leia so effusive, so – traditionally girly – over anything, not really even on their wedding day. She made a little squealing noise again – practically in tears; in near hysterics, and he couldn't stop smiling at her reaction – not bad, Solo, he thought, and then – god, I love that smile.
"Look," she called, her voice catching – "Look – !" she bit back a smile, insisting Han admire the animal in her arms – as if he hadn't been the one to smuggle it home.
Han nodded, unable to hold back a gruff, proud laugh – seeing her like this, it was a beautiful thing, and for the first time in the better part of a week now, he got a tight feeling in his chest that wasn't bleak and painful; it was good. It was good, because while he and Leia had some lighter moments while they were here – this was purer, and a feeling of relieved optimism flooded him.
He folded his arms, watching her with rapt attention as she caught it's little face in her hand gently, and studied it closer.
"It's a mooka," he said gruffly, reaching up to run his hand through his hair. He scratched the back of his neck, recounting the minimal things he'd learned: "They can't fly or anything, they just are kinda like birds, but like loth cats too, I figure," he explained.
He folded his arms, and scuffed his foot, clearing his throat.
"He was the only one," he grunted. "All 'lone, y'know," he said, glancing down at the mark on his hand. "Thought you'd like 'im," he went on slowly.
He reached out to pet the mooka, and it turned, nipping at his fingers happily, making its ksshhing, chirping noise.
"He won't get very big, but they're real loyal, and the feathers stay soft but turn white when they shed," he trailed off a moment, giving the mooka a mild glare when it kept nipping playfully at his fingers. "Think I, uh…got a little soft spot for 'im, 'cause he bit me," Han said slowly.
Leia clicked her tongue softly.
"He marked you," she murmured softly, shifting the mooka towards her and leaning forward to kiss its soft snout. "He wanted you to take him," she closed her eyes and kissed the mooka's cheek, holding him closer – and Han noticed it was calming down in her arms, spell-bound by all the affection.
"Yeah, well, the vendor said it bitin' me meant it liked me," Han drawled, "so it reminds me of you."
Leia jutted her foot out and kicked him gently in the shin, shaking her head.
"He's mean," she whispered to the mooka, glancing up at Han through her lashes. "He's a grumpy old man. Hmm?" she kissed its ear again, and reached up to rub her knuckles lightly under its chin – it dipped its head, and started nipping at her.
"Hey," Han said sternly. "I said don't bite her."
"Oh, let him, Han, it tickles," Leia murmured, her cheeks flushing again. "Look at him; he's so sweet – he's so little," she fawned.
Han arched his eyebrows in delighted surprise – it was going over - better than expected, even; he had hoped she'd be amused by it, but he had no idea Leia would gush over it like this.
"You're sure it's a he?" Leia murmured, watching it blithely nibble on her fingers.
"That's what the guy said," Han said, shrugging.
Leia lifted it up, peering between its back legs, and Han swept in and lifted it away, giving her an affronted look.
"You – c'mon, you gotta feed' im first, or somethin'," he said, outraged, and Leia laughed huskily, biting her lip. She scooted back a little and patted her hand on the bed expectantly.
The mooka chirped eagerly, straining to get back to Leia, and after looking at the bed pointedly to make sure Leia was sure she wanted it on the sheets, Han set it down – and watched it promptly lose its mind, chirping and twisting in circles – chasing its tail, then pouncing on pillows.
He thought for a moment Leia was going to die over it, she was so fixated, her hand over her heart. He folded his arms, watching for a minute, and then nudged her over, stripping his boots off before sitting down next to her, and swinging his legs up.
Immediately, the mooka pounced on his ankles, and attacked his feet, delighted with the new toys; Leia sat up straight, but pressed her shoulder into his, her legs curled up, knees brushing his thighs – and her eyes followed it fondly. Han turned his head to watch her, the remains of his apprehension fading a little with every second that look was on her face.
It abandoned Han's ankles, and scampered up Han's legs, pouncing on him, front paws on his chest, and Leia clasped her hands at her shoulder, biting her lip as she watched it. Han tried to give it a frown as it chirped at him, but was damn near brow beat into a smirk when it nipped at his ear – almost smugly – and then lost its balance and tumbled backwards into Leia's lap –
Damn thing was – twice as – twice as adorable around Leia than it had been at the market.
It writhed on its back in Leia's lap for a moment, unsure how to right itself, and Leia rescued it, sweeping it up into her arms and cradling it gingerly, like it was a –
Han cut off his train of thought, but tilted his head back, watching her sway it a little, her hand running over its stomach in an affectionate rub. It chirped and snapped at her hair harmlessly as the curling edges tickled its face, and Leia laughed huskily.
"You little darling," she murmured at it, her voice accented with a fawning purr, and Han – couldn't resist laughing, drawing one knee up to rest his wrist on it.
"What's so funny?" Leia asked, without looking up – as if she knew damn well what he was laughing at. She arched her brows. "He's making fun of me," she whispered to the animal snuggled in her arms. "He's teasing me," she told it.
"Never seen you like this, Sweetheart," Han admitted, laughing again.
Leia clicked her tongue, and then looked up and over at him, her face softer, but still bright with the unexpected happiness he'd given her, the rush of affection she'd felt the moment she saw he was sheepishly holding some – furry, feathery, baby animal.
She smiled.
"I love him," she said sincerely, turning again to lavish attention and snuggles on the mooka. "He's so happy – look, Han, he's so happy, and cute," she said again, trailing off huskily.
She leaned heavily into Han's shoulder, and he noticed her hand stilled in petting him, trailing back up to scratch between his ears. The mooka wagged its tail, and chirped gently, and Leia lifted her head a little, bringing her hand up to brush at one of her eyes.
His smile fading sympathetically, Han slid his arm behind her shoulders and pulled her close, reaching up to cup her cheek in his hand, and tilt her face towards him. He stroked his thumb over her jaw, searching her face, and Leia bit her lip, her eyes still sparkling somewhere – between a smile, and the lingering sadness.
"Hey," Han said softly, his voice deepening. "Hey, Sweetheart. I'm not tryin' to replace anythin', okay?" he asked, earnest, and soothing. "Don't want you to think," he trailed off. "'M not thinkin' that I can just…fix this for you," he tried to assure her, stumbling over the speech uncertainly.
He lowered his hand and nudged the mooka's ear, and it turned to nip at his hands, giving a soft, chirping growl – an indefinable noise that was strange, and amusing; Leia laughed a little, glancing at it, and then looking back at Han.
"I know," she started, but Han was already talking again, and he accidentally spoke over her –
"'M not tryin' to make you get over this, or make it seem like…y'know, a pet's the same as – 'cause I know it's not," he said huskily. "I know it's not, Leia."
"Han," she broke in softly, blinking – a few tears slipped out, but she wiped them away swiftly – as she loosened her grip on the mooka, it finally figured out how to scamper to its feet, and pranced down their legs towards the pillows, eyeing them suspiciously. "I know," she said again.
She knew – exactly where his heart must have been, when he was thinking of this, when he decided to do this –
"You said you needed to take care of somethin'," he said gruffly, his voice hesitant, and almost raw, like he was hoping he'd really done something right, done the best he could, "and it didn't have anyone to take care of it."
Leia nodded – there, that's where his heart was; in the right place – in a good place, like always; a place that listened to her, and didn't think she was silly, or unreasonable, or losing her mind.
She looked over at the mooka, watched it hop around their bed, sniffing at the sheets, chirping as it discovered its new surroundings – and she lowered her head, looking down at her lap.
"He," she corrected, looking up. "It's a he."
She smiled shakily at Han - she thought the baby might have been a boy; but that didn't matter to her much, not now – and it hadn't then, either; she had just wanted it to be healthy, and that itself had been taken from her.
She compressed her lips, reaching over to run her palm over his thigh, her eyes lingering on the mooka, watching it play at Han's feet – it looked up at her, paused, and then darted forward, spinning in a circle on her lap, and then collapsing in a content, warm ball, snuggling up against her ribs.
Leia stroked her hand over its ears, soothing it, and it chirped at her softly, content.
She looked up at Han.
"He means something to you, doesn't he?" she asked, pursing her lips. "You…why did you want him, Han?" she asked.
She understood why he'd given the mooka to her, but she sensed Han himself would have wanted the pet even if he had to convince her, even if she was reluctant – she liked baby animals enough, but she was a little taken aback – though delighted - by her own effusive reaction.
Han shrugged.
"Dunno," he said, honest and gruff. "Used to take home strays when I was a kid," he said. He arched his brows. "Then I was a stray," he snorted. "Kind of looked like no one was gonna give it a chance."
Leia was quiet for a while, and then she took a deep breath.
"On Naboo, I asked Luke if he could believe you wanted a baby," she said quietly. "I was…still reeling, a little, over it being – me, who needed convincing, the woman," she paused, shook her head, "which is…sexist of me, I suppose – rather misogynistic towards myself."
"Hmm," Han grunted, deadpan. "Can't believe you were that old fashioned."
She laughed a little, and then swallowed hard.
"Know what Luke said?"
"Somethin' that's gonna be engraved on a damn statue somewhere, probably," Han joked.
Leia tilted her head, looking down to watch as she gently stroked the mooka's ears.
"He said it didn't surprise him at all," she murmured, "because you like taking care of things."
She kept her eyes on the mooka, waiting for Han to say something. He was quiet for a long time, and then he took a deep breath.
"Guess I do," he said slowly.
He fell silent again. After a long time of reflection, in which he reached down to pet the mooka, he frowned, grimacing as he tried to get the words out –
"Leia…I miss my ma a lot, too," he admitted. "Sometimes, I think I miss 'er more, 'cause I'm pissed she never got to meet you."
Leia reached over and took his hand, her palm sliding against his smoothly.
"Dunno why we're talkin' about mothers so much," he said gruffly.
Leia's lips parted dryly, and she hesitated.
"Because I was going to be a mother," she said finally. "And now I'm not."
Han turned his head, and kissed her forehead protectively, leaning into her.
"You will be," he whispered. "C'mon, Sweetheart. Don't give up."
She squeezed his hand.
"Do you remember at Varykino, when you told me you wanted a baby because you loved me, and I said that wasn't good enough?"
Han nodded, kissing her forehead again.
"Yeah, I remember," he said. "'Cause it was pretty sappy, so I like to pretend I don't," he muttered.
She laughed hoarsely.
"I changed my mind," Leia whispered. "I feel different. I think that's good enough." She hesitated, and then her voice cracked as she went on, "because this is all about how much I love you, and I don't care if I somehow had a baby that was ninety-nine percent Vader, if it was one percent you."
Han smiled a little, and reached over to touch her cheek again, muttering incoherently in her ear, and she closed her eyes, resting her head against her shoulder. Her hands drifted over the mooka in her lap affectionately – oh, it meant so much to her; it was so cute, and sweet, and the gesture – the very fact that Han was doing everything he could to try and alleviate some of the pain, to connect with her – god, she couldn't have found a better man if she'd tried, and somehow, he'd just crashed into her all those years ago, collided with her in some – wild twist of fate.
Leia picked up the sleepy animal in her lap, and cradled it against her chest, kissing it between it's ears – the pet was so out of the norm, but somehow, it fit, and she loved it already – cherished it, already, and everything it represented; Han's perseverance, and her consuming grief, grief she felt, without letting it destroy her.
She took a deep breath, her face buried in the mooka's feathers for a moment. She lifted her head.
"I thought about it," she said softly, "and you're right, we should stay another week," she agreed. "I think I'm okay. I think I'm going to be okay. But…I still feel like bursting into tears at any given moment and…I need to be able to," she said quietly, "so we'll leave Evaan in charge, for a little longer."
Han kissed her temple, relieved that she'd agreed. He reached over to scratch the mooka's ears himself, and after a long moment of silence, cleared his throat, voicing a concern he'd had – that he'd had since he decided to bring her here; since Bail had suggested it.
"Leia," he ventured hesitantly, his voice a little hoarse. "Is this…has this, um, poisoned this place, for you?" he asked. "Y'know, we came for our honeymoon, and now," he trailed off – their honeymoon had been so, so – so wholesome, and everything they needed, and he had this lingering fear that he'd brought heartache to their sanctuary.
Leia tilted her head, her nose pressing into his collarbone. She stared at his throat for a while – staring at nothing in particular really, thinking—about how much she loved it here, and how much the solitude, and simplicity, of this place meant to her.
She shook her head
"No," she murmured. "This place is sacred."
Han shifted closer, and turned his head, bending down to capture her lips in a kiss – and he felt no worry, or apprehension, when he tasted tears on Leia's lips, and felt them on her face, because this was part of the process – it was normal, and it was slow, but it was real, and he was sure – he was sure – that they could make it through this, just as they had made it through everything else.
(did you like it?)
-alexandra
