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In Tandem

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She’s trying to finish a trade deposition. It’s an important one– it’ll keep the fighters in the air and it will cement supply lines to remote outposts. And it’s dense reading. Two datalogs. 

He hasn’t shut up long enough for her to finish it.

“Looks like you’re having a good time.”

She rolls her eyes. He smirks.

He’s just. There. Leaning over her desk, his elbow managing to press on eleven different comm lines at once without his realizing it. He just got in. From being gone for six months, with only two messages. And she’s trying to read but apparently now is convenient for him.

“I’m busy.” She says, scrolling down another line.

“I’m not,” he replies. He shifts to lean closer to her. His arm is now pressing on thirteen comm lines and she’s pretty sure his…Hanness has just managed to send an incomplete data file to one of her ambassadors.

That does it.

She raises both her brows. “I’m pregnant.”

His eyes round. His lips open. Close. Puff out. Close again. He sags against her console. She grins as she keeps scrolling through her tariff notifications.

“Arm off my comm links, flyboy.”

His arm slides off. He hasn’t stopped the thing with his mouth yet.

“We’re not naming the kid Luke. It’ll confuse people.”


“Or Lando.”


“Or Ackbar.”

She tilts her head. He shrugs.

“Gotta make sure everything’s covered.”

She wakes up with his arm around her shoulders. When she tilts her head, she sees a deep furrow between his brows, as he stares at something on her wall.

“Hey, you up?”

She nods, nestling further into him. He adjusts accordingly, a well-rehearsed action between the two of them.

“So. I was thinking.” Han says to her wall.


“What if I…didn’t meet up with those bounty hunters?”

Leia blinks, tilting her head up further until he meets her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean. There’ll be guns there.” He gestures with his free hand in a swooping motion. She’s not sure what he’s gesturing to.


“And. You know. The kid.”

She pushes herself up, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “What about him?”

“He’ll need a dad.” He shoots her a questioning look.

He makes it too easy. She smiles, drumming her fingers around the exposed swell of her stomach. Makes a show of looking contemplative: “We could manage.”

Han presses his lips tightly together. “Well excuse me, trying to do the right thing here-“


“-trying to be responsible-“


“-start a family, marry a general. Run an alliance out of firing range. Normal stuff-“



She wraps a hand around his neck and kisses him. He makes a show of being huffy for a moment, but it passes quickly.

“Not Wedge.”


“Or Mothma.”


“Or Hobbie.”

“Chewie Jr.?”


His hands are heavy over her eyes as he leads her up the gangway. She knows the sound of a tin can echoing—that they’re walking into the Falcon is the least surprising thing ever. But she humors him, staying silent until they stop.

“Okay, ready?” He mutters into her ear.


He drops his hands, “Ta da.”

She looks around. It’s…the Falcon. “What am I looking at?”

“It’s baby proofed.”

Her eyes drift from wall to wall. All electrical casings are taped. All the corners are covered.

Something flips in her stomach. She’s not sentimental enough to actually believe the baby’s kicking, but it feels that way.

She crosses her arms. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting a child in here.”

He moves to stand in front of her. His smirk threatening to split his face as he lifts up a finger. “Knew you’d say that. That’s why I have a Contingency.”

“A Contingency.”



“Well what?”

“What is it?”

He sidesteps out of view. Behind him is a small chair.

“New co-pilot seat.”

After delegations, they come to a consensus that the kid (who they don’t know yet. Though they do know they’re not a Luke, Lando, Ackbar, Wedge, Hobbie, Mothma, or Chewie Jr.) can start learning to pilot once they’re ten.

“And that’s when your mom realized she was crazy about me,” he tells her stomach. She’s reading a deposition on the top of it. He’s…lounging. “And then she gave me a lot of money. That’s how you do it, kid.”

“It can’t hear you.”

“Sure it can. It has that weird mumbo jumbo crap. Just like you, and Luke, and old Ben-“

He trails off. She’s instantly concerned whenever he’s silent and therefore looks down.

He has a strange little grin on his face. “Ben?”

“Ben could work.”

Leia tries to picture Han as a father. She envisions her infant son being asked to hold a plasma torch as dad attempts to weld a coupling that’s come undone for the fifth or sixth time.

Han tries to picture Leia as a mother. He sees his kid, with tons of hair.


Lots and lots of hair.

She never really planned on being a mother. Mothers, in Leia’s experience, had an inherent sadness to them. Were absent.

“How are you feeling?” Luke asks her out of the blue, the two of them enjoying a brief moment by the lakeside.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly.

“Any particular reason?”

He’s her twin. He gets it without her having to say anything. Still. “I don’t know what motherhood is.”

Luke laughs. “Does that have to matter?”

Leia shrugs. “I’m used to knowing things.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He nudges her shoulder. “You’ll be a great mom.”

She snorts, but her stomach twists once more. “Whatever you say, farmboy.”

He’ll look more like her, Han decides.

Chewie lets out a bark and Han startles.


A growl.

“I’m not distracted.”


“Okay, fine. I’m distracted–I got a kid on the way. It happens.”

A softer bark.

“What kinda question is that? Of course you’re still co-pilot.”

A short grunt.


A longer one.

“Chewie, he’s a baby. The arms couldn’t even reach the thrusters-“

A pitiful whine.

“Look, it’s just a chair alright?”

A longer, more pitiful whine.

“Chewie I know your arms will be longer than his. Can we get back to repairs? Please?”

“We can do this, right?” She asks him, leaning against his side as they both stare out a window.

He wraps an arm around her. “Your Worship, I’ve yet to see anything you couldn’t do.”


“You like it.”


“Won’t be long, now.”

“I know.”

“We still sold on Ben?”

“Why, what were you thinking?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Falcon.”


“Or Millenium-“


Ben is born after eleven hours of labor.

“Leia,” Han whispers, cradling her son near her face. “Look at who finally showed up.”

“Really? I didn’t notice.” She smiles.

Han snorts. Ben is red, and splotchy, but he has a shock of dark hair and his hands wave in small fists. “He’s gonna have your temper, you know.”

“Hopefully not your timing.”

“It’s been working out alright so far. Scoot over.”

She does. He settles right beside her, Ben in the crook of his elbow—he’s surprisingly good at holding a baby like a baby and not like a hydrospanner. She hears their heartbeats—one strong and steady and familiar. One young and vulnerable. And she decides that she likes the sound of them in tandem. They wrap around her in sync until she finds her eyes closing.