Mother's Day Challenge Submission #8 from dantsolo

Sway

By Dant Solo

Leaning in the doorway of their bedroom, Han quietly observed his wife as she cuddled their newborn child, swaying back and forth in the padded glider. She hadn’t noticed his presence and the awe he felt at the sight of his wife and child was his alone. 
 

Head tilted down, eyes riveted and adoring, she watched the baby as she slept so soundly in her arms. Han had never seen such softness in her gaze, which was saying a lot. If anyone knew the vulnerability and raw emotion that boiled beneath her surface, it was Han. And yet, after all these years, this was a new side of Leia that he was seeing.

She had spent so much time in battle mode and her role as politician and leader that her femininity had suffered. Fortunately for Han, he had somehow managed to remind her that she was, indeed, a hot-blooded woman.

A little too hot-blooded, it seemed. Even with the implant, she had gotten pregnant in the blink of an eye.

He continued to silently watch them, chest swelling with pride. His wife. His child. How had these wonderful beings happened to him? How had he gotten so unbelievably lucky? He felt somewhat unworthy, but planned to spend the rest of his life making sure he was as worthy of them as he could possibly be.

And he would defend them with his life, no question.

A fierce feeling of love blossomed in his chest, even more powerful than he had felt for Leia before. This tiny, helpless human seemed to somehow bond them more closely.

Seeming to sense his strong emotion, his wife’s head abruptly popped up, eyes finding him instantly, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Hi,” Leia whispered. She appeared more content than Han had ever seen her.

“Hey,” he called in return. He felt his small smile grow quickly brilliant at the meeting of their eyes. He couldn’t help it. Such pure happiness flowed through him.

Pushing himself slightly off the doorway, he loped over to the glider and dropped to one knee before wife and child.

Staring down at their baby, he thought he had never seen something so small. “She’s so tiny,” he whispered, able to hear the wonder in his own voice.

“Babies usually are,” she replied, tone dry but laced with affection.

Han grinned, eyes raising to meet hers. “She looks exceptionally tiny. Then again, she probably takes after her tiny mother.”

She feigned a sour look that couldn’t possibly be genuine and Han grinned more broadly before rerturning his gaze to their daughter. Her little finger was curled delicately around Leia’s larger one, as if upon leaving the womb, she couldn’t bear to break the connection.

“She looks like you,” Han said quietly.

Her small smile brightened and she glanced up at Han before her gaze lowered to the beautiful bundle in her arms. “You think so?”

He loved the tender look in her eyes as her gaze caressed the diminutive features. “Of course. Look at that little nose, all that dark hair…she’s a mini Leia.”

She beamed like the sun for just a moment. “She has your mouth.”

“You’re just sayin’ that cause she was screamin’ so loud this morning.” He slanted a wry grin her way.

A light trickle of laughter fell from her lips. “No, look at her lips. Pouty, like her daddy’s.”

Han returned his eyes to the baby’s face, examining her closely. He saw nothing of himself there, only his wife. That seemed how it should be, since she had done all the hard work bringing this new life into the galaxy. Watching her give birth had been nerve-wracking, filling him with awe and a sense that this woman he loved could do absolutely anything.

“I dunno. I think she looks exactly like you,” he finally replied. He reached up to gently brush at the dark, downy hair that fully covered the soft, petite head. “Are all babies born with so much hair?”

“Some. Some are born bald.”

“I know where all this hair came from. See? Told you she looks just like you.”

She was smiling brightly again, eyes flitting to the baby, him then back to their child.

A tiny, magical-sounding sigh burst from their daughter’s itty-bitty lips and Han found himself watching her intently, entranced. Had they really made a human being? The intensity of the sudden pang in his chest took him by surprise, emotion overwhelming him, seeming to spread warmth across his skin. A glance up showed Leia watching him, eyes soft, a broad smile across her cheeks. A bit self-conscious of the burst of emotion, he returned the smile haphazardly and looked back to the baby.

“I can’t believe she’s ours,” Leia said with quiet wonder, echoing his thoughts. “We created her.”

He nodded, at a loss for words, and watched as she leaned down and placed the softest kiss on their daughter’s forehead. That pang returned to his chest, and Han couldn’t help but ponder again at how such a scoundrel had gotten so damned lucky. 

Leia’s brow furrowed ever-so-slightly. “I hope I can be the mother she deserves,” she whispered.

It surprised Han. It was so rare for her to express doubts about herself. She was always so self-assured, so ready for anything. Even during child birth, she had gritted her teeth with barely a complaint, even when he could see her eyes diluting with pain. He placed a hand on her arm.

“Sweetheart.” His voice was heartfelt and reassuring. “You’re amazing at everything you do. Why would being a mother be any different?”

Her grateful smile didn’t cover up her lingering doubts. “Every other role I’ve taken on, I spent years preparing for. Senator, leader for the Rebellion, reinstating a Galactic Republic.” She paused, glancing askance for just a moment. “I’ve had no preparation for being a mother.” Insecurity filled her eyes, slackened her posture, and she bit her lip, averting her gaze.

For a fleeting moment, he just watched her, at a loss for words. He glanced at the newborn, swaddled so protectively in her embrace. Delicate life, so utterly dependent on them for every possible need, defenseless and fragile. She was counting on them, her parents, to provide a stable, nurturing environment for her.

In an instant, Han felt overwhelmed, understood completely how Leia was feeling. How could he possibly be responsible for this innocent life? He swallowed against the sudden fear that seemed to choke him.

With a quick intake of breath, he remembered who Leia was…so strong, independent, so able to rise to any occasion. She, who took care of the entire galaxy, fought for every citizen’s freedom…he had every confidence that his wife could lead him in this, the most important of journeys. Shaping this brand new spirit into who she was meant to be. Alone, he would have been hopeless, undeserving of even attempting it. But, Leia would show him the way.

He smiled tenderly and placed his fingers beneath her chin, guiding her to look at him. “Leia,” he began tentatively, as always, uncertain of the right words. “You take care of the whole galaxy. How hard can one little baby be?”

    

She was looking back at him with quiet disbelief, brow raised as if challenging him to continue.

He attempted to rise to the occasion. “With you as a mother, our little girl will grow up to be the most amazing person, just like her mama. Ready to conquer anything that comes her way, standing up for what’s right, tough, and brilliant, and beautiful. She couldn’t be anything but.”

The corners of her mouth were turning up just a bit, almost against her will, as she tried to fight the threatening smile.

“And with me as a dad,” he added, forcing all the bluster he could manage. “She won’t be allowed to date until she’s thirty. And the whole galaxy knows what a great shot I am, so there won’t be any boys brave enough to come around here.”

Now the smile broke, full-force, quiet laughter brimming from her lips.

Between them, a low, angry-sounding gurgle spewed from their daughter’s bow-shaped lips. They both looked down expectantly as tiny eyes fluttered open and the smallest yawn Han had ever seen elongated the little mouth. It was, quite possibly, the cutest thing he could have imagined.

“See, she does have your mouth,” Leia pointed out. “Look how big it is.”

He tried to aim a mock-glare at her, but he couldn’t even fake annoyance. Instead, he found himself grinning.

A soft cooing noise brought their eyes back to the baby, whose dark-bluish eyes were on her mother’s face. He wondered what they looked like to her.

“Hi, sleepyhead,” Leia softly cooed back in a quiet, high-pitched voice Han had never heard from her until she met their child for the first time.

Her eyes seemed enormous, too wide, as if she were shocked and confused at the world that lie outside her mother’s body. The little lips were open just a bit, adding to her look of amazement.

“I love you, little girl,” Leia murmured. She brought the baby close to her face and nuzzled her cheek with her nose, smiling tenderly. “We’re all going to be just fine.” 

And just like that, Han could see she had moved past her doubts. He liked to think that his words of encouragement had spurred her on, but he knew his wife. She didn’t really need anyone else’s input. She did just fine on her own. 

Their eyes met and they shared a smile of sublime happiness. He was the luckiest man in the galaxy. And their baby was the luckiest as well, to have the most amazing mother who would teach her she can do anything.

END.

Mother's Day Challenge Submission #7 from KnightedRogue

 Ritual

A tradition Han had never, ever anticipated: watching his wife be formally introduced into a grand ballroom. On the holonet. While he sat at home with their three children.

The galaxy was a strange place, he admitted. It’d been years since he’d last scorned the idea of fate or the Force. It was a hard thing to fight when he had seen with his own eyes the work of invisible power in his family. Fate was still a tricky idea for him sometimes; he didn’t like the idea of not having complete control over his own destiny. But if fate led him here, to this bizarre ritual, he couldn’t complain.

Jaina was shoved up under his arm, her legs swinging over the edge of the conform couch in their entertainment suite. Every few minutes, she’d look up at him and ask if it was time yet. Han would roll his eyes playfully at her, tug on her braid and remind her that she had never been the fancy balls type of girl.

And she would say something like you don’t know what type of girl I am, Daddy. And if that wasn’t an eight-year-old version of her mother, he didn’t know what was.

His heart squeezed, he cracked a grin, and they settled down again to wait.

The boys were far more interested in their mother’s security detail than the dinner itself—something that didn’t surprise Han in the least. Bodyguards had blasters and the legal right to use them, and nothing said Han Solo’s sons more than their big eyes whenever a blaster crossed the holoscreen.

Jacen had begun to feed off his sister’s newly-hatched nonchalance in all things mom, but Anakin…. Oh, Anakin was Leia’s baby and hadn’t yet realized that it was considered a bad thing by his siblings.

And so Jacen was off in the corner of the room, pretending to read a holonovel. Anakin was perched on Han’s lap, leaning toward the holoscreen in front of them as Han fiddled with the controls to find the live feed.

A momentary blackness and then a scene winked into existence on the holoscreen in front of the four Solos. A large banquet hall took up nearly the entire frame, the likes of which Han was very familiar after fifteen years of close personal contact with an honest-to-god princess. Swaths of fabric hung from the ceiling in ridiculous purple frippery. A series of long tables topped with gold-hued flatware ran along one side. Han spotted an open bar near the corner and had to laugh: if he’d accompanied Leia to this dinner, he would have found himself hanging out over there.

But foremost on the holoscreen was the timelessly beautiful face of his wife. The scene behind her seemed woefully inadequate by comparison.

“Mommy!” Anakin cried the minute her face appeared. “Mommy!”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Leia smiled.

Han wrapped an arm around their youngest. The kid seemed near ready to topple off Han’s lap if he wasn’t careful. I know the feeling, kid, Han thought, looking at Leia’s intricately-styled hair, her dark eyes, the top-most edge of a blue dress Han hadn’t seen her wear before.

“Can you see me okay?”

“We can see you,” Han said. “You have the whole gang tonight.”

She smiled, a wide, happy smile Han had really only seen her wear since the birth of the twins. “Quite the audience, then. Are you guys ready for bed?”

Han glanced down at Anakin’s full-hilt Rogue Squadron flight suit, Jaina’s red dress and miniature combat boots and Jacen’s too-large Jedi cowl. “Yup,” he said. “Pajamas, pillows, the whole shebang.”

“Liar,” she said with confidence. “Jaina, do you at least have your hair back?”

He spread his hands wide, though she couldn’t see them, while his daughter shifted onto her knees beside him. “Yeah. Uncle Chewie helped me with it because you know how bad Dad is with hair.”

“I really do,” Leia laughed. “How about you, Jacen?”

“I’m in the middle of a chapter, Mom,” he said, though he stood up, set the novel down and came to a soft landing near Han’s feet. “The Gortises are about to fight the Trumizes.”

Han had no idea what that meant and he suspected Leia didn’t either. It was hard keeping up with Jacen’s novel-of-the-week. Leia pursed her lips. “What’s this one called?”

“The Red Scourge of the Applines,” his oldest son supplied. “It’s the third in the series and it just came out last week.”

“I can’t wait to hear all about it,” Leia said, and Han shook his head. Leia and he had spent a lot of time trying to figure out the appeal of these novels. Han despaired of ever figuring it out; Leia still tried, but, honestly, the kid went through them faster than Anakin went through shoes. And Anakin went through a hell of a lot of shoes.

“You look pretty, Mommy,” Anakin said.

“Sure do,” Han added. “I like the dress.”

“Thank you,” she said, shaking her head. The movement made her earrings swing side to side and Han realized they were the ones he’d bought her last year for their anniversary. “I’m a little tired of playing dress up, though. I’d much rather be hanging out at home with you guys.”

Leia was on a diplomatic tour of the Mid-Rim systems. Minister-of-State Organa Solo had done a lot of solid politicking in the past on tours like these and Mon Mothma, tied down to the senate as she was, used Leia as her de facto presence to these systems. Leia didn’t like the tours and Han frankly hated them. But they went quick: Leia could hit several key systems in succession. It was a bang for their buck and it usually meant both she and he could be together, with their kids, here on Coruscant for months without either one of them needing to fly out.

Thus the tradition. Leia smuggled a small visual transmitter into the reception halls and spent a quick minute chatting with them in her full princess finery every night as she was introduced. He liked that there was distance between this part of her life and her family—he hated attending formal events, they drove him crazy—but the kids still got to see their mother in all her glory.

He thought it was important for them to see her doing her work. Leia’s kids should know how amazing their mother was.

Leia leaned in as a soft chime sounded from behind her. “Okay, guys. That’s my cue.”

“Knock ‘em dead, Princess,” he said as the kids gave their own well-wishes, and then the personal line went black.

Han reached back for the holo controls, gave a series of quick commands, and thanks to Leia’s security detail, entered a code that let him tap into the local security cams in the ballroom where Leia was about to be announced.

Setting the control back down on the couch arm beside him, he looked at the kids, all wide-eyed and engaged. Even Jacen looked a little excited, though when he caught Han watching him he rearranged his features to look bored. Jaina’s head leaned against Han’s side, Jacen lounged against his legs, and Anakin was still perched on his knees.

“What do you think, guys?” Han asked as the line of diplomats began to be introduced into the wider ballroom. One by one, names were called and the ambassadors walked past the Devonarian announcer. The line trudged on. Han had done enough of these events to feel sympathy for the ambassadors’ poor escorts.  “Pretty impressive, right?”

Jacen shrugged. “She’s just doing her job. It’s no big deal.”

Han could spot her in the sea of people, edging closer to the doors, electric blue dress striking against the marble pillars of the hall. He hadn’t seen the skirt of the dress in her earlier transmission, and she looked like she was floating a foot above the floor. “Yeah,” he said. “Still. Look at her. Making people act like grown-ups everywhere she goes.”

Jaina yawned into his shirt. “She looks nice,” she said.

He chuckled. “Won’t argue with you there.”

Anakin leaned forward again, as if he wanted to be closer to her through the holoscreen. The Solos watched quietly as Leia moved toward the announcer. Then, with a loud bark and the scattered applause of the partygoers, the Devonarian swept his hand to the room and announced Minister of State of the New Republic, Her Highness Leia Organa Solo of Alderaan!

His youngest son threw his arms up and cheered, as if this wasn’t the third time this week they’d performed the exact same ritual. Jacen shrugged, and Jaina perked up enough to smile at the image of their princess on the screen as she walked through the throng of people assembled around her.

Han had long ago become accustomed to the way Leia took command of a room. But he enjoyed watching her through the lens of their children, through eyes that were unsurprised by the grace of their mother. As far as Jacen, Jaina and Anakin were concerned, saving the galaxy was Leia’s secondary job, what she did when she wasn’t here with them, warning them about their hair and asking about their holonovels.

As if every kid in the galaxy had a mother who could negotiate a cease-fire to a decade-long civil war on a far-away planet. As if that was a totally normal way of seeing the incredible woman in blue on the screen.

That killed him.

Someday they’d understand. For now, he would continue this tradition, continue to make their children confront the reality of how lucky they were to have her for their mother. That determined, brilliant woman in blue, fighting for galactic peace like it was going out of style, who then came home to them and acted like family dinner was the most important part of her day.

And maybe to Leia it was.  

He switched off the holoscreen, told his kids (over loud protests) that it was time for bed: pajamas, pillows, the whole shebang, as he’d told Leia. The twins retreated first, and Han helped Anakin with the zipper of the flight suit before getting him settled down and in bed.

After nearly half an hour of entreaties and bargains, Han was able to close their doors and wander back to the couch. He thought about going to bed himself, though it was still early and he hated sleeping alone. Then he thought about calling up Chewie to come over and beat back some of this damn quiet, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. The Wookiee would wake the kids faster than the opening notes of their favorite holofilms: loud growling and heavy footsteps did not make him a good visitor at this hour.

And, really, the person Han wanted here was Leia.

He sprawled out on the couch, long legs propped up on the table in front of him, and reached into the comm clip on his belt. Knowing she wouldn’t have her personal comm on her—that dress had absolutely no room for any extra items—he flipped the comm to message mode.

You damn well better call me the minute you get back to your suite, he sent her. That dress belongs on our bedroom floor.

Then he turned on the holoscreen, watched a smashball game, and waited for Leia to call him back.     

Mother's Day Challenge Submission #6 from knitzkampf

Acceptance

“Whaddya say, Sweetheart,” Han broke into her thoughts as he barged noisily into the Falcon's lounge. “It's on the way the home.”

She'd left him to do the flying himself. Retreated from his side in the cockpit, saying she was tired and wanted to lie down. It was a good excuse, one he couldn't argue against. “On the way?” she said skeptically, though she did note Han's use of the word 'home'. “It's not anywhere to stop, Han.”

“Sure it is,” he argued.

“How can someplace that no longer exists be somewhere to stop,” she wondered acidly.

“It's the Graveyard,” Han said evenly. “It's the planet that doesn't exist, but the Graveyard is a bona fide place. On star charts and everything.”

“That's because the star charts have to acknowledge that Alderaan used to be there,” she said.

Han nodded thoughtfully. “Just so pilots know the change is not a misprint.” He noted her darkening expression, and waved a hand nonchalantly. “Sure, history, too. Cartography and exploration. You been back at all?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Me either. We should go pay a visit. Let 'em know what's been going on.”

Leia's eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Pay who a visit. Tell who?”

Han's voice took on a narrative tone, “You know, on Corellia, there's a tradition. Started before the large nectar farms, when people lived dirtside and had their own nectar hives.”

“And?”

“Nectar bugs were valuable and important. And no one wanted a hive to just pick up and leave.”

“What would make a hive leave?”

Han shrugged. “People thought they'd leave if something changed in the house. Like if the master died.”

Leia found herself unwillingly interested. She knew why Han wanted to bring her to the Graveyard, but she said, “That sounds like typical Corellian superstition. I'm sure it was a scientific factor that caused a hive to leave.” All of a sudden, however,  something connected. She remembered touring a nectar farm with her father, long ago, and marveling at the colorful ribbons wrapped around the hives that seemed to serve no purpose. She'd just assumed it was Corellian self-expression. “Is that why the hives are decorated?”

Han nodded, pleased. “Yeah. If there was a party or a holiday, you dressed them up, too.” He frowned down at her, picking up the flimsi she had not been reading at all. “'The Essence of Being',” he read, and tossed it back down. “How do you read this crap?” and before she could open her mouth to answer was back on the nectar hives. “You're supposed to keep the nectar bugs informed. Treat them with respect, like a member of the family.”

He reached out a hand, pulling her in for a squeezing hug once she was standing. Since her face was pressed against his chest and she wouldn't have to see his eyes, she muttered, “I know why you want to bring me there. I know you so well.”

“Then you oughta know yourself by now,” he rejoined, the teeniest of reprimands in his voice, and keeping one arm wrapped around her shoulder, led her to the cockpit.

I should, she thought. I do. And yet-

They were already here. He'd brought them out of hyperspace, left the space lanes, and set them adrift in the Graveyard. Leia glanced at the console and saw Han was cautious against getting hit by the fast-moving rocks, and had raised the shields. She sent him an accusing look; ''whaddya think, Sweetheart', my ass, and found he was smirking at her. He'd never intended to negotiate with her. Stubborn man.

With a stubborn wife. Who'd been quietly panicking now for two months, barely able to admit the time they talked about was here and she couldn't say it out loud.

“Here's your essence of being,” Han said, sounding awed.

She had never been to the Core like this. She'd traveled directly to one planet or bypassed it completely in hyperspace. It was clustered with numerous features, colored twinkles of distant stars, the steady brightness of light passing through planets made of gas or rock. She'd never just seemed to float within it, a guest of a star system. Her sun, the one she looked up at from Alderaan as a girl, was blazing near by, and the Graveyard swirled in constant movement..

“It's beautiful,” she breathed in wonder.

The Graveyard was remnants of the planet Alderaan, little bits of rock. They were the planet's core, Leia reflected, or maybe the mountains. Could there be a piece of brick or stone from a building? Ash even, or bone. Something to indicate the great variety of plant and animal life, of the billion humans.

The little bits of rock floated in silence, and soon all of them would be pulled into gravity and leave the area of space where they came from, and that would be the end of the Graveyard.

“Existence,” Leia pondered aloud to Han, “is out here, don't you think? Life and Death. Creation and Destruction.”

He rubbed her back. “You're just- scared, I think.”

She made no answer but watched the movement of the rocks. They moved fast, directionless, but it was oddly peaceful. “The Graveyard was created,” she said. “A marriage, of the Death Star and Alderaan. Existence is Void and Birth.”

Han stood behind her and leaned her back against him, his arms crossing her front. “It's more than that,” he said patiently.

She craned her neck back to see him, found only neck and throat. “Are you sure?”

“First there was just me, and just you, and then there was me and you, and something had to come from that, as a result, you know?”

She smiled slightly. “That's a nice way to see it.” She envied him, hoped she hadn't hurt him.

Her sun still shone on the remnants of her planet, and every once in a while a rock glittered in the light. “Do you think the Graveyard is beautiful?” she asked. They were all different shapes and sizes, and maybe composition, too, she thought. That's why some reflected light and others didn't.

She thought it might be beautiful. Somehow. It was awful, what it was, what it meant; but it was also its own thing, and it existed where other things didn't, and maybe that made it beautiful.

Han lifted his shoulders a little and his warm hands over her abdomen moved the slightest. “Space is beautiful.”

Yes, her lips moved to answer but her voice didn't come out. She nodded once because she knew he couldn't see her lips. Han, consummate pilot, loved space. Not what there was on a star chart, where systems were organized by suns and each planet and moon had a name. Not by the space lanes that told him where to fly. The part that didn't belong to the beings of the universe. The unnamed, the infinity, the promise and the damnation. The godness of it all. And Han Solo was not a religious man.

“You know,” Leia began, beginning to offer an explanation, “I'm new at this existence thing. I'm pretty experienced with the Death part. Really good at ending existence.”

“Doesn't really end, though.” It seemed his voice issued from his heart, where her head rested against his chest. “Just changes.”

“Mm,” she sighed with a quiet nod. He was right. Alderaan had died, and she would never have thought that something could rise from its ashes, have its own beauty, its own purpose. “It's a horrible name, Graveyard.”

“What would you call it?”

“I don't know. I'm going to have to think about that.” She put her hands over Han's forearms.  “I just- Han. I worry I'll go into the void. I don't control anything anymore.”

“Leia. Look out there. Are your parents out in the void?”

She wanted to say, well, technically yes. Bail and Breha were dead. They didn't exist anymore. They died on Alderaan, which gave birth to the Graveyard. “Well, te-” but the words died on her lips. For she felt them, in her, a part of her, just as Han's story of the nectar hives was ingrained in him.

There was a timelessness out here. Nothing was afraid. It merely was, and it waited, when it might become something else. Beings of Essence.

All the things that loomed large and terrifying dwindled to insignificance. Han was right. She was scared. And that wasn't the end of the world.

She was Leia, one of innumerable human women who graced the galaxy with their lives. Many came before her, and others would follow, some carrying stories of nectar hives and memories of Alderaan's sun. Right now all that mattered was Leia and Han, that cursedly virile husband of hers – she smiled. “What?” but she shook her head. There was just him, and her, and the essence of their union. Which would have a being.

Han bent his head to kiss her neck. She tilted it to the side, and gooseflesh rose all over her neck and arms. “I love you,” she told him and he nodded into his kisses.

Would he think to take it farther? Would she let him? Sex in front of the Graveyard…

His lips were on her neck, warm and soft. "My mother would disapprove," she told him and felt him smile.

"She can watch," he murmured.

His tasteless sense of humor no longer shocked her but she whacked him lightly. "She would not want to watch," Leia insisted.

"She's not doing anything else," Han's mouth was at her ear, his breath warm and wet.

Which rock are you, Mother? Leia wondered."I never got to introduce you to my parents," she told Han wistfully.

He lifted a wrist that was down by her belly button. "Hi, I'm Han," he waved at the Graveyard, and a laugh escaped Leia before disapproval took over.

"You're so terrible," she said huskily.

"I am," he agreed dreamily and she roamed her hands again up his forearms, feeling strength and firmness.

Rocks floated all around them and she greeted them with her eyes. "It's not like a nectar farm, you know,” she pointed out to Han.“It's not like they can leave."

"But they'll be unhappy with you." Han pulled the neck of her shirt down and added kisses, speaking nonsense. "Put a curse on your house."

"The house of Organa," Leia murmured. "It stood for centuries."

"You're an Organa." Now his hands were under her shirt, roaming freely, warm and solid. "Still stands."

The Graveyard was for remembrance, Leia thought. Life and death.

"Will keep standing," Han added.

And it stood for renewal. Han circled around her and got to his knees, lifted Leia's shirt and spanned her whole middle with his two hands. "Tell 'em."

Leia nodded, reading so much in Han's fingertips. There was need, his and hers, and a bond, and – a lump rose in her throat, realizing how unfair she'd been to him – delight.

She put her hand on the top of his head. "Mother," she said, and stopped. The words were so new. "You're going to be a grandmother."

Han smiled against her belly. He kissed it and moved his hands all over, from her ankles to her breasts.

She grabbed onto his hair, feeling her center begin to pulse, life hammering away, even here, in the Graveyard.

"Tell your father we're married and all, so it's legit," Han said, reaching under her skirt and pulling down her panties.

She lifted his chin, smiling. "Would you be worried about that? At the same time you're pulling down my underwear?"

"Hell, yes," he declared.

"He'd come around," she told him gently.

"Like you," Han said. He returned his attention back to her body.

She nodded. "I'm sorry."

He looked up. "Don't be. I'm scared as shit, too. But it's happening to us together, so you know," he shrugged.

His head barely grazed her breasts, and she enjoyed the view of him below her, his brow, his eyelashes, his boyish appeal. Things she rarely got to see. Like the view from the Core, and the Graveyard.

They made love in the cockpit, tender and deep. For Han sex was like speaking a language, Leia thought, or telling a story. He could be playful, making her shriek with their acrobatics, or solemn, or desperate and clinging. He treated her body now as if it were brand new, recognizing the life within, confirming to it their love and connection. Her climax built slowly, and she thought in its own way it was like a birth, even the birth of the Graveyard, released when all the pieces were finally in place.

Sex with Han was confirmation of all things real. Fear was for something you couldn't know, didn't have, and he had a way of centering her, shrugging away the unknown.

They recovered in the over-sized copilot seat while the Graveyard surrounded them. The place knew life and death, but there was no fear here. The Graveyard knew it all.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Han said, out of breath, and Leia laughed, suddenly free.

"Which; the sex, the Graveyard or meeting my parents?"

He smiled. "The announcement." His eyes were happy. "Coming to acceptance."

"Father," Leia raised Han's limp wrist. "This is Han. We're going to have a baby."

"Hi" Han said exhaustedly. He kissed Leia's cheek.

"Bring me back," she told him. "After the baby's born."