Thank you so much for your kind notes. As a head's up, we dip our toes into the Disney canon here, but only in terms of timeline, so there shouldn't be anything objectionable to even the most fervent EU adherents. Another head's up: this chapter is really a bit heavier than I anticipated. Same old warnings apply.

6

That thing, that happened, when you started thinking crazy and knew you were thinking crazy but couldn't stop? That's how he felt – how he knew he needed some space, air or whatever, that he had to just – clear his head. He knew, functionally, fundamentally, at heart, that the binary of his internal reaction was a big ol' specter of Insanity, Missing The Point, and Understatement and yet… yet…

Yet. When she'd picked up the slender wand after the requisite five minutes only to literally drop it like it was on fire and gasp, her hand flying to her mouth in a move that he'd find funny if it weren't genuine, his thoughts immediately began volleying, madly, between two totally beside-the-point thoughts: Maybe this'll be good for her, keep her distracted, something else to focus on and She can't handle this she's still way too fragile it's a disaster in the making. A good thing becauseof what had happened to her or a bad thing because of what had happened to her – crazy. The stupidest way of thinking about this – insane – enormous – bombshell – thing, that sent her hand flying up as if she'd been burnt. Not fair to her not fair to himself condescending and reductionist and wrong and also so easy, to try to make an equation out of how many night terrors is too many night terrors to have a baby.

Like it was his call. Like that was the only factor. Like there would ever be a time in which this whole thing had gone away and if they had only managed to be better about condoms until then this whole thing would be a non-issue.

Would it be a non-issue? If Leia was thinking about the situation in terms of what she'd been through (his favorite euphemism as of late – barking at the sentient resources moron in this shoddy-ass provisional government who said she'd maxed out on the therapy allotted to vets you have any idea what the hell she's been through? til Leia snapped You're humiliating me, dammit, I can very well take care of myself!) – if Leia was thinking that way, she sure as hell wasn't showing it and that made him feel so much worse for immediately going there, for assuming she didn't have thoughts and feelings on the subject otherwise – crazy, he knew he was thinking crazy. In fact, when she'd stared up at him with those panicked twenty-four-year-old eyes all Holy shit!, he'd realized on an intellectual level – and would go on to say so which maybe wasn't the best call – that this was probably the most ordinary thing to happen to them in a long time.

Definitely not a good call. "Ordinary," she'd echoed, wearing a tight, freaked-out, pressed-lip smile. "Well, I feel much better now knowing the situation at hand is evidently quite mundane. And here I thought no one else had ever found herself in my position before! What a relief!"

After that he'd gone through the right motions, he hoped – comforting her and telling her everything would be okay and they'd figure it out and talk more and nothing had to be decided until she decided it – swallowing back every thought in his head, every feeling threatening to bubble up and add to her panic – like too often these days, he put his own emotions on ice and approached Leia as a job to be done, a faulty engine being coaxed back into running: pat her back, rub her shoulders, say the right things, hold her tight ("it feels better with your weight," he hadn't forgotten that), make her tea, get her into bed, soothe her to sleep or back to sleep. A tool belt of tricks to smooth over rough patches, if this don't work try that. Maybe it was callous but it was how he'd survived the worst of it, and on the subject of this – thing – he did the same.

"Look, we don't gotta decide right now," he said firmly, holding her gaze and raising his eyebrows meaningfully. "It's late, you've had a helluva long day and so've I. Let's call 'n regroup tomorrow when you aren't dead on your feet. There's no rush."

"I'm not sure if you know this but it's actually a rather time-sensitive situation," she retorted with a shockingly out of character high, skittish laugh.

"Nothin' has to happen tonight, that's what I mean. Alright? Just – get through the night. Like we always do."

He watched her take a deep breath, press her fingers to her lips. "Like we always do," she finally agreed. And he got to fall back on that pattern of care, of fixing the engine: getting her ready for bed, setting light plans for tomorrow, soothing, not thinking. Autopilot husband, the back of his mind that rapid volley: trauma-good trauma-bad, so fast they blurred together. Louder and more pressing than anything like how do either of you actually feel about having a baby to begin with or other frivolities.

It was when he had been lying beside her in bed while she slept, she'd been amped up and on edge and eventually needed a pill and that'd been a whole thing, if it was safe or not, did it matter if it was safe or not, 'til he'd put his foot down and said enough, it was fine, she'd be alright – when he'd feigning sleep himself, for maybe a half hour, that he realized he just – needed a second. A moment to breathe.

A moment to breathe. He'd barely taken a breath in what felt like ages. What, Leia'd been back from her mission on Naboo maybe a month? That put them on Courscant for a month? Right – they'd been in temporary barrack housing, sex-segregated, for the first two weeks after her return, 'til they finally got a voucher from the higher ups for housing, so now this sparse apartment that made him feel like a damn refugee for the past two – a refugee because it was empty of furniture and they could carry all their things in three boxes, because all of Leia's clothes were military issues, because they'd been given boxes with standard-issue toiletries and scratchy military sheets to get them started and Leia'd shaved her legs for the first time in years. All they had left, all the while him swooping in and out for supply runs, fighter drills with recruits, weaponry negotiations, med supply black market dirty work the provisional government wanted to turn a blind eye too while Leia coordinated disaster relief from an understaffed office that had housed her tormentors mere months ago. Before that, her Naboo mission, his med dealings, the bacta thing, that was a mess. Before that a maybe five-day return to training and briefing on Home One and before that, fourteen days on that damn forest moon, during which: Leia had begun Jedi training, they'd gotten engaged, she'd done her mandated psychiatry and evidently maxed out on it, those fuckers, and they'd been married.

And made a baby, apparently. As it just so happened. Gods. His whole body ached and he didn't even know what from. She had all these bruises and strained muscles and she couldn't identify the source. And now – this. Coming home from work late in the evening and finding her at their cheap, crappy wooden table, head in her hands, only to slowly look up from between her fingers and say, like it was so exhausting to just think about, You're late. You need to sit down. I think I'm pregnant.

You – based on what?

Cycle, nausea, fatigue, my breasts – it just clicked earlier today and now it all makes sense, I feel like such a fool, it's so obvious.

You take a test?

I had someone in my office buy me one. She'd slid the box across the table, a tired, sore motion. I was waiting for you to get home to take it.

Kriff. How long've you been waiting?

I don't know. Depends on what time it is? I can barely recall the date these days.

And before that – well. How long had it been, since he'd been encased in carbonite? Since she'd – been – through, what she'd been through. And here they were. Talk about things moving fast…

He wished he had a way to just knock himself out too. Even though he knew she hated it. He wanted to know, did she have trouble with bad dreams in the barracks, with kicking and thrashing? No, she said, there was a curtained off wing for High Command, she'd slept in a bunk bed with only Mon Mothma and had taken her pills. Imagine, bunking with Mon, she'd said, snorting, and he'd given a weak laugh and wouldn't be the one to remind her that Mon had seen her through a sedated internal exam.

It was amazing, the things he'd think of to avoid not thinking about – You're late. You need to sit down. I think I'm pregnant. He couldn't knock himself out, not like her. His thoughts were everywhere. He needed air, now.

This was tricky. If he left right now, pulled on his pants and went out just clear his head – could be perfect, but could be a disaster. If she woke up with a nightmare, total catastrophe. If she woke up otherwise and the first thing she noticed was he was gone a cool handful of hours after she'd told him she was pregnant – minor catastrophe. But if she slept soundly…

It was just this itch inside him that needed the space to freak out, figure this out, scream even. It made his leg shake and his hands twitch with impatience. It made both those catastrophes seem like better alternatives than Leia bearing the brunt of his rapidly mounting freak out. It made Han very slowly get up in the dead of night and, telling himself he'd write a note saying he went for a walk and move her comm right next to her head, start looking for his pants.

She turned – of course she did – but otherwise didn't stir. She'd finally taken to putting her hair into nighttime braids in the evening again, that made him feel so much better, but still the flyaways danced around her face as she slept, a little messy halo. He moved her comm and scribbled a note and sighed. He felt – well. He had the foresight to grab some tools and a jacket, and he got in the elevator to zoom to the highest floor, didn't hesitate before jimmying the lock on the door to climb up to the roof. It was Coruscant, it was impossibly high, but he didn't care, so long as he stood in the middle he'd be fine. He'd fought the Empire, he'd been entombed for half a year, could anything scare him ever again?

In his pocket was a pack of cigarettes – he fished one out and lit up, relishing in the inhale. Another vice that wasn't kosher during wartime, like good liquor or sex with princesses. He hadn't been much of a smoker before but now that cigarettes were available to him he couldn't get enough them. A small, easy way to relax. Leia had taken to them too, and it wasn't uncommon these past two weeks to come home to find her hidden in a cloud of smoke and a stack of datapads and a grim expression, lipstick-stained butts in the busted mini satellite dish that served as her ashtray. She'd have to give that up now, he figured.

Or maybe she wouldn't – he had no idea, really, if she'd go for this. They could just as well be at Women's Intergalactic by the end of the week. Deciding on a baby right now, in the height of post-war chaos less than two months after Endor, seemed – wholly un-Leia-like, to be honest, except so did the whole thing, really, getting married out of the blue. She had a spontaneous streak, and she really believed she could do anything she set her mind to. That's why he felt most guilty. The thoughts in his head of, Can you handle this right now? Doubting her in that way. Who was he to decide if she'd be a good mom or not? Who was he to say, Nah babe, I think you're too traumatized, let's try again in five years. And it's not like she gave off any indication of being unstable, it was just – it was so soon. It was so, so soon.

No indication other than the nightmares and how she was still really jumpy, anxious about locked doors and windows. Worried during sex, which at any given moment had a three-fourths chance of being successful and the other fourth ending with her needing to stop. He didn't begrudge that. And nowhere did it say to be a good mom you had to have this much sex.

Soon. Yeah, Han thought, looking into the nighttime smog and traffic of the city, inhaling deeply and trying, the way he always did these days, to just steady his damn nerves. It just seemed soon.

XX.

It was amazing, Han was realizing, how much non-action you could take on something so big. It'd been three days since she'd taken the test and they were still living in this liminal state of possibly-having-a-baby-but-were-they-actually. They hadn't sat down and had a formal talk, more like thrown things out there – she'd make a comment or he we would, or he'd offer her a beer without thinking and she'd come up with something clever to respond, or he'd catch her standing in front of the mirror with her shirt rolled up, looking thoughtfully at herself until she'd see him and make a face. She had a doctor's appointment for the end of the week – the very last one on the last day, so her chance of bumping into someone was slim. It was unclear as of yet if he was going. He wanted to – kind of. Well. It was like. At the risk of being blunt. He wanted to go if she was going to have an abortion and he wanted to go if she was going to have a baby but he didn't know what his place was if she was going while carrying the liminal space between a baby and an abortion. Like. She wanted to talk sometimes but he didn't want to like sway her, but when he said that, her response was always, I want you to tell me how you feel, I want you to convince me, no one makes decisions in a vacuum. We're married, we should decide this together.

Did that casual inaction – the way she said they should decide but didn't make any moves to move towards a decision – did it mean she was warming up to the idea? Did the fact that he wanted to know if she was warming up to the idea mean that he was? Sometimes when he looked at her, tired out by a full day of work and looking gorgeous with harried exhaustion, he tried to do a mental cut and paste job, try to put a little baby on her hip. If he can't always picture as the doting mommy type, he can easily see her as a harried young mother with a bajillion baby things exploding out of her briefcase. What did it mean that he could see it but only in a universe with her frantic and busy and bossing people around? But also – wasn't that Leia's form of happiness? Or something like it?

For every fantasy image of Leia with a baby though he had an image – nightmare, really – yes, of Leia with her hips on his lap, legs wide, grimacing and squirming, his fingers in her, applying ointment, in and out, and there – a little baby lying on her chest. A nightmare.

Yeah, a nightmare. But they were past that. Right?

He'd been spending a lot of time on the Falcon – working on it, old parts that needed fixing eventually, deep repairs. After the workday was done, getting home late, which was a dick move, sure, avoiding his – pregnant wife, was that really possible? – but he got the sense that she wanted to be avoided. Which was how he found himself fusing wires with her brother, shaking off the stress of being and Leia and choices and adulthood with some good, hard work. But, of course, there was only so long it could go unmentioned, and within minutes it was spilling out of him…

"Leia's pregnant," Han admitted uncomfortably, frowning a little, knocking down his goggles, and leaning in closer to fuse a particularly pesky frayed wire. He cleared his throat, deliberately not looking at his friend. "Before you jump on me, she said it was alright if I told ya, so… nothing's settled yet, but she's a bit outta sorts. You know how she gets."

When Han finally did look up, Luke's expression was – not what he expected. The kid had abandoned the bolt he'd been tightening and was staring at Han with what could only be described as abject horror. "Oh my god," Luke said in a low, hushed voice. "Is – is Leia okay?"

Han frowned again, said gruffly, "'Course she's okay. I mean, she's driving herself crazy thinking about what's right to do and she's sure as hell not feeling her best but she's a tough gal, shit like this don't phase her. C'mon, kid, you should know better 'n that."

Luke's expression didn't change, though. "I just – even for Leia – that's – pretty unimaginable…"

"Yeah, well. Like I said, she's tough."

"Are you okay?"

"Jeez, kid, you're makin' an awfully big deal about this – look, yeah it's scary but we're gonna figure it out and whatever she chooses'll be the right––"

"Chooses – is she seriously considering actually having––?"

"Hey! If this is about the Vader thing – listen, far as I'm concerned she's got just as much a right to have kids as anyone else, who the hell do you think you are to judge her on that? Of all people––"

"It's not about the Vader thing, it's––…" Luke cut himself off, understanding and relief flooding his features. "You guys started having sex again," Luke said slowly, nodding.

"The hell are you talking about? I just told you she was preg––….nant…" Han's speech slowed way down as his own understanding came to a head. "You. You thought?"

"With what happened at the wedding I'd assumed – but – but if you are, that's – there you go I mean then that's – forget I even said anything," Luke said hurriedly.

"You thought…"

"Han, I'm serious, forget I said anything, it was a misunderstanding, forget I even said a word––"

"Well now that you said it how the hell am I supposed to forget a thing like that! Kriff," he cursed, rubbing his jaw, and then he abruptly gave the panel before him a violent kick. "Fuck!"

"I'm so, so sorry – I'm so sorry," Luke said again. "Just – calm down, okay? Take a second – everything will be okay."

"Don't fuckin' condescend to me! Don't fuckin'… Kriff!"

"Han, they can tell the…" Luke took as second and swallowed before saying, "point of conception – from scans. And there are – I mean, there are paternity tests, and––"

"You'll shut the fuck up if you know what's good for you!" Han snapped, pointing at Luke. "Don't say another goddamn word." He turned and rested his head against the wall, pounding it again before shutting his eyes. "Paternity – for fuck's sake…" he muttered, his voice strangled.

"Han," Luke said gently, squeezing his shoulder. "It's going to be okay…"

"This is it, y'know?" Han said hoarsely. "Just – just when I think this fuckin' – nightmare is over… this is the worst possible… gods!"

"There's no – you don't know is the thing. You don't know anything yet."

"Neither does she," Han groaned.

"Maybe she does. Maybe – look, Leia's on top of things, right? She knows her body. Maybe – maybe she's already figured out the timing, okay? Or – maybe they gave her the – the morning after pill – in medical?"

"Morning after––!"

"That's just the phrase I've heard, I didn't mean – I'm just saying, maybe it's under control. Okay? You don't know where she is."

"This is – the worst thing – to ever…"

"But you don't know that. I don't doubt how painful this is, but Han, you don't even know yet. Can you – can you check her medical file, maybe? Or – forget that, what you should really do – just ask her. You need to just ask her."

Han choked out a horrified laugh. "Not mentioning this. No way. She'll be crushed. She'll fuckin' – she'll go off the deep end, she won't – she won't come back from this."

"Leia's strong, Han."

"They fuckin' – they hurt her – so bad – so bad – yeah she's strong but she's a fucking person – and even if…" Han shook his head again, his voice dropping near to a hush. "Even if it's mine, the whole idea is gonna be – spoiled with this – garbage, this fuckin' – garbage."

"On the really off chance that it isn't, though?" Luke said gently. "She's going to find out."

"You – you have no idea what it's been like!" Han snapped. "You don't – if one of those – fucking – evil – scum – fucking – put their spawn in her – I could kill someone, I could slit their goddamn throat––"

"I know haven't been there, I know I haven't seen it all, but I'm her brother and your guys' best friend and I care and I'm telling you, you're going to get through this. If it's a non-issue it's a non-issue and if it isn't you'll be there for her when she does what she has to do and you'll support her because you're a good man and it'll be done," Luke assured him urgently.

"Yeah, sure, 'cept it won't be done – won't ever be done – how long's this shit gonna stay with her, huh? You have any idea? You know what her shrink says? Forever. Won't ever go away. Said it's unrealistic to expect everything to ever be fully like what it was like before. Which is fine, we all have our shit, fuck knows I've got plenty but it's not fair to her, it's not, and it's all my goddamn fault that the fucking course of her life has just been totally, supremely, fucking––!"

But Han cut himself off and whipped around on gut feeling and sure enough she was there, dressed for field work in a practical jumpsuit-vest-boots ensemble that clung to her trim figure, hair a halo of neat braids, head cocked to the side, hands resting gently on her narrow hips. Her lips parted, as if to speak, and then shut them. She didn't look – she didn't look mad or crushed or anything like that, just – tired.

She gave a tiny nod as if confirming something to herself, and Han strode towards her and her name in a low voice, putting his arm out as if to bundle her against him, but she put up her hand to stop him and walked briskly to the 'fresher, and both men could hear her getting sick. When Luke went to go get a cup of water for her, Han took the moment to punch the panel, hard, three times in a row until his hand was throbbing in pain and the sound was too much. It was just too much – it was all too much.

Han went to go wrap up his hand. He could hear, then, Luke talking softly to her in the 'fresher, the door open to help with the smell – could see from the corner of his eye the two of them kneeling on the floor, him holding one of her hands in both of his. "I'm fine," she was promising in a low voice, nodding and carefully sipping water. "Really, I am, it's been like this for days. I just – got off work early."

"How much did you hear?" Luke was asking, his voice low too.

"Enough," was her simple reply. Poised, sturdy Leia. "I need to check that file…" As he bandaged his hand, he could hear her going through her case purposefully.

"What's in the file?" Luke murmured.

"It's my medical report from after Tatooine – I haven't read it, it's too – it's a bit much for me. But given what – was being discussed, I figured it would be prescient… I know it lists… medications… I had always assumed they'd dosed me with some kind of generic Plan B, but…"

"You don't remember?"

"I was partially sedated… I don't remember any of it…" The sound of scrolling, clicking, then: "There it is. And – oh…" That disappointed sigh of hers, the one when something she anticipated but had hoped to avoid came through. "Oh, here," she said quietly, all leader, all elegant explanation. "Do you see what that says there?"

"Not administered due to…"

"Not administered due to extended timeframe since occurrence." Han could even hear her shaky, steadying breath, that labored inhale. "What it says there is it's only safe within seventy-two hours and by then it'd been at least ninety-six."

"Do you know – do you remember the last time you had your period, maybe?" Luke offered softly.

"No... I don't… I wish I… that time was such a blur for me, and it's never been regular…"

Then he was in the doorframe of the 'fresher, massaging his fist. "Sweetheart." Using all his strength not to scoop her up and gather her in his arms and hold her tight forever.

She looked up from her spot on the floor and gave him a what-can-you-do half-smile. "I know this is disturbing," she was saying in a slow, measured voice, her eyes red and stinging, her breathing deliberate and full of effort. "But ultimately it must be better to have more information, not less, so that we can make the most informed decision when the time comes."

"Yeah," Han said carefully. "Alright."

"We'll likewise have more information after the scan at the end of the week," she managed, shutting her eyes. "So it's only a matter of time before we get to the bottom of this situation."

"I'll give you two some space," Luke offered, kissing her hair and standing, not noticing the way she flinched, and Han moved to let him slip by in the doorway.

"Sweetheart," Han said in a low voice, dropping down to his knees and cupping her face in his hands. She tilted her head out of his grasp. "S'alright to feel – whatever you wanna feel. Get angry or sad or… I don't care. Luke sure as hell don't care."

She shook her head. "It exceeds comprehension," she eventually said, before rising. "I have so much work to do, but I think I'm going to rest before then. Would you get me up in an hour?"

"'Course – and I just mean you can talk to me, is all. 'Bout what you're feeling – we could try to get ahold of another shrink?"

"I just can't really think about anything right now," she said simply, standing up. "I can't – I can't be a person until after this appointment. Until after – we know everything. Everything they're able to tell us."

Han took a deep breath. "Maybe – now isn't the right time for us to––"

"Even if the outcome is the same either way I still want to know," she said swiftly. "I just – I can't – I can't begin to process this right now, Han. My body – feels like not a body. I feel – like I'm floating on the ceiling, looking at it. And right now I feel that maybe that isn't such a bad thing. Because I think if I were inside my body now I would be writhing."

She was writhing three days later, spread apart in one of those chairs with stirrups that Han was sure must've been invented by someone who really, really hated women. The last appointment of the week and she'd let him join her, though he suspected that was more because of the possibility of the news to be bad than good, good and bad both being relevant. But if it was bad, she told him, she would want an abortion immediately, without delay. And she'd need him to help her get home afterwards.

That clinical, tough tone – it dominated the past seventy-two hours, in which he watched her move through her days like an animatronic, flat and empty and without emotion, eating only as much as necessary, needing a pill each night to sleep, treating her body even more roughly than usual in the demands she made of it – that it walk faster, that it get up right after vomiting, that it stretch excessively and wake up extremely early in the morning. That body that really couldn't stand to be touched, was antsy to the point of wanting to sleep on the couch, a neuroticism that scared him, especially when after he offered to do so instead she'd said in a halting voice that she didn't want to sleep in the bed because they'd done it on the bed. Scaring him – also, like when he'd catch her bent over the counter, her forearms resting there and her body curled over, not moving. Doing those breathing exercises the shrink had taught them both, that she was supposed to do when she felt acutely panicked. Like it was just too much. He felt like it was too much.

He wasn't about to nag her about the importance of keeping healthy or whatever, not when she was so obviously on the verge of a total fucking mental breakdown. And he felt the strangest way – even though they didn't know anything yet it had immediately become a parasite, an awful thing sucking the life out of her, some remnant, a convenient metaphor for all that trauma. She seemed the same way. No more looking at her flat stomach in the mirror contemplatively – now she looked like she wanted to gag whenever she went for a drink only to remember. She looked hollowed out. He didn't know how the hell he was supposed to help her. Especially on days like this that had started with him fucking crying in the shower like some stupid soft kid and pounding against the tiled wall until he busted open his knuckles again. How could he tell her she had to take better care of herself?

Now he was rubbing that same hand, trying yet again to keep it together. They hadn't arrived together but had met here, which felt a little ridiculous, and though Leia had arrived with the same steely, vacant resolve she'd demonstrated for the past three days, it was clearly beginning to crack into a kind of panic he never seemed prepared for no matter how many times they went through this. The way her knuckles had been turning white, the look of strain on her face, the way she squirmed and glanced towards the door – a Leia looking to make a run for it, trying to keep it together. The doctor wasn't the same doctor who'd treated her after, thank gods, but she'd clearly been briefed on Leia's past – or had Leia done that herself, how awful?

Either way from what Han could tell the issue once the pregnancy was confirmed was this thing that had to go inside her, for the sono to work – the whole gel and wand on the belly being for later months, as it were. That meant submitting to spreading her legs and trying valiantly to breathe while some woman she barely knew attempted to – insert a – lubed up probe into her – which not only made her panic – bad panic, her heart clearly racing, her face turning red – and was more difficult because she was so tense with fear about what would be found and no matter how much the nurse told her to "Relax, Your Highness, you need to keep still now or it's only going to be more difficult" that wasn't going to go away, but also clearly hurt – the scar tissue, then – because she kept twitching her legs and gasping and grimacing as the thing moved bit after painful bit.

At the start, they'd offered her some kind of gas, like what they did for your teeth, to relax her a bit – she'd declined vehemently, and he could understand why – if she was going to be touched she would rather be conscious for it. But now, with her actively squirming and her hips needing to be held and her labored breath – all this just to see the thing – there was no reason for her to suffer this much. Why was she always so damn proud?

Well. Of course she was proud. That's who she was. Suffering Leia, noble Leia, stiff upper lip. Who was it for?

Which was why he was so impressed and proud of her when she resolved herself and asked for the gas. Asked for help.

As the team moved in a flurry to set it up for her, she turned to Han and said simply, "Isn't it funny? This feels as though it could be the worst week of my life and yet in a second it might very well prove to be one of the absolute greatest."

"Still gonna have been hell getting here though," he noted, adjusting the blanket spread across her thighs for her.

"But memory will – I hope – smooth that over. I mean, if it's – if it's the result that isn't awful and we decide – to move forward with that," she said delicately, "will we ever remember how it felt to fear otherwise? Or will that narrative fall away?"

"Hope it falls away forever," Han muttered. "Hope you – me – neither of us – never have to feel like this again."

It took three seconds: Han kissed her forehead quickly, the nurse brought the mask over her mouth and nose, she inhaled once before it was removed, and then as her eyes grew heavy and lidded and her chin dipped back with a kind of relaxed, relieved ease, the probe slid in with little fanfare, simple and easy.

She wrinkled her nose as the doctor adjusted slightly. "You alright?" Han asked, kissing her hair again.

"Been better," she murmured, slurring slightly. "Thank you for coming, sorry s'taking forever…"

"Please. Should be so lucky to get rid of me that easily."

"S'stupid m'a little scared?"

"Nope," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. "M'a little scared to. But we'll get past this. Can handle whatever it is."

She nodded sloppily. "Took out the Death Star, not scared of any fetus."

"That's right."

"Han?" she said after a long moment, blinking blearily up at him. "M'glad m'married to you," she said seriously, trying to keep her speech clear but failing quite a bit.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. M'glad… m'glad I have you with me. All this. Makes it feel – can get past it all… you make me feel safe. Can do anything. Good an' optimism… Han?"

"Yeah?"

"M'so glad you love me."

"I'm glad I love you too, princess."

"Alright, sorry for the delay… So, I'm going to zoom in a bit and – that's your baby," the doctor said.

If she was waiting for a reaction she didn't get it – the two of them merely waited, hands clenched together, still and anticipatory. As the doctor took them through a variety of different perspectives, they remained similarly unmoved, uninterested – just – frozen. Waiting.

"And – now I can let you hear the heartb––"

Leia shot him a look, and Han quickly intervened. "Wait! Before you – do… that… could you – based on the – c'you tell how many weeks?"

"Oh – yes, of course, I'm sorry. So, based on these measurements, I would say you're about – ten weeks? Which would make you due––"

"When's the – conceive it?" Leia slurred, interrupting urgently. "Ten from – conception or…?"

"Ten from your last period, so eight weeks since conception. And so for your due date…"

Han was still counting backwards in his head when Leia exhaled so heavily, clasping her hands together as if to give thanks – his first thought was, even doped up she can figure shit out faster than me.

His second was: "It's okay," he said allowed, as if shocked. "It's okay, it's okay – you're okay."

"I'm okay. It's okay," she agreed breathlessly, nudging her head up to kiss his lips.

He kissed her harder than he anticipated but she returned it, just as urgent.

"We can have anything now," she breathed, her voice suddenly clear even if her words felt dazed, magical, like an incantation. "They can't take anything away from us."

"They can't," he agreed, stroking her hair, and she kissed him again, pulling back only so that their noses were touching and staring into his eyes like a faerie.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but – would you still like to hear the heartbeat? It can be hard to detect around this time, but it's worth a shot."

"Yes," Leia said immediately, forcefully, leaning forward in an almost drunken movement that was so quick he had to grab her shoulders to keep her from falling forward. "Yes, I'd like that – very much, very… yes? Han?" So much more in that question than just should we hear, he knew – it was everything, it was this whole thing, it was – do you want this, too?

We're going to have a baby, he thought, suddenly, automatically, definitively, the thought appearing in his head and taking root there, exploding, blossoming, spreading its branches out all through his mind, taking up all the space there. "Let's hear it," he said, giving a crooked grin. We're going to have a baby and no one can take that away from us. We can have anything now.

"Alright, let me just… there we go… hear that?"

"Yes," they both said, simultaneously, and he laughed and watched her close her eyes, lying back in the chair and almost blissed out, just listening.

He could hear it too – strong and optimistic. He took her hand and kissed her temple, repeated the incantation to himself. Anything, anything. And no one can take that away.

#

As a head's up, there's another adjacent story I've published called "Innocence, Innocence" that deals with this universe, many years later. As for this piece: I may write an epilogue, but this also may be where we end. To be determined. Either way – thank you so much for your wonderful comments.