Chapter Text
Luke isn’t sure how much time has passed when he senses it. Euphoria, joy, happiness — no one word could encapsulate the sense of love and life coming from the other side of the wall. He smiles as he gets up from his seat, and sees the others doing the same. Luke had opened his mouth to advise patience when the sense of joy collapsed into a well of disbelief before morphing into a cauldron of despair.
Jacen dives to catch a stumbling Leia while Jaina manages a shaky fighting crouch, protecting her mother and brother against an existential threat that seems to exist only in their heads. With the focus of a trained assassin, Mara sprints for the delivery room to confront the danger head on. Luke grabs his wife’s arm and motions for the others to remain where they are. He summons decades of experience in the Force to pierce the veil of confusion radiating from the next room. Luke sets aside his nascent dread and finds the truth: four healthy beings in the room behind them, just as there should be. Cilghal and Anakin and Tahiri and a little baby that…that…
Everyone looks up as Cilghal bursts into the room, the seasoned ex-diplomat working to regain the composure she was known for. “Everyone’s okay.” She manages while figuring out how to say her next words. It’s difficult for Mon Calamari to mimic human facial expressions, but they can all see the unmistakable shock on her face and the resignation in her bulbous eyes. “The mother and child are both healthy. The delivery was safe and sound. It appears that the child — Owen — does not possess, uh, well he…”
“...isn’t Force-sensitive.” Luke finishes, the words coming out before he can even think about them.
Cilghal’s eyes swivel to look at all the faces blurting questions at her simultaneously. “What?” from Mara, “Are you sure?” from Leia, “That can’t be possible” from Jaina, and “Maybe we need to do more tests” from Jacen.
The Order’s premier healer turns to Luke for assistance, only to find the Grandmaster so deep in his thoughts that not even a Death Star could break through to him. She takes a deep breath and faces the onslaught.
“Yes, I am sure.” Cilghal answers. “The boy is not Force-sensitive. He’s a perfectly healthy human baby in every respect. I’m afraid we are still unable to predict Force-sensitivity beyond mere probabilities. While genetics are a major factor, they are not absolute. The Force has a will of its own.”
“Has something like this ever happened before?” Leia asks.
“It is unprecedented. However, the longevity and strength in the Force we see in your bloodline is also unprecedented.” Cilghal responds.
“Does that mean it is likely to happen again?” Jaina inquires, with more than a little fear in her voice.
Cilghal shakes her head. “No, I do not believe so. In fact, I believe the likelihood of Force-sensitive parents having a non-Force-sensitive child may be similar to the odds of non-Force-sensitive parents having a child that is Force-sensitive.”
“Thank you, Cilghal.” Luke chimes in, cutting off further questions until a later time.
Cilghal nods and steps aside. “You may come in now. Please avoid stressing the mother or child. I will return soon.”
Nodding their thanks, the others anxiously file through the doorway into the delivery room. They see Tahiri sitting on the bed with Owen in her lap, while Anakin is at her side with his arm around his wife’s shoulders. Anakin and Tahiri don’t look up when the others enter the room, their gaze focused on the child. Upon a closer view, tears become visible on the young mother’s face.
After several quiet moments, Tahiri looks up and offers a wan smile as she answers the unvoiced question. “I think we’ll be fine. He’s healthy. That’s what matters, right?”
Everyone nods their agreement at the seemingly well-rehearsed line.
Jaina approaches them and places her hand on her younger brother’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”
Anakin shrugs her off. “What’s there to be sorry about?” He snaps. “He’s not a dud. He’s our son.”
Jaina recoils but doesn’t step back. “That’s not what I meant.”
Anakin takes a calming breath before looking back at her. “I know you didn’t. I just…” He can’t find the words to match his feelings.
“I know.” Jaina says before giving him and Tahiri quick hugs. She greets little Owen, followed by Leia and the others.
After a few moments, they end up in a circle around the bed, each quietly gazing at the baby in Tahiri’s arms. That the child will be loved and cared for, there is no doubt. He will be cherished like the gift from the universe that he is. But they can’t help but feel a little disappointment at his lack of Force-sensitivity. The possibility had never occurred to any of them. While Anakin and Tahiri would never pressure their child into becoming a Jedi like them, the sudden knowledge that it isn’t even an option is difficult for the family to wrap their minds around.
“Han’s here.” Leia quietly announces, the others now sensing her husband’s hurried approach.
“He must’ve gotten the Falcon’s hyperdrive through that last jump after all.” Mara says a hint of respect.
“I told him Owen’s name on the comm, but that’s all he knows.” Leia comments.
Han jogs through the doorway mid-apology, catching his breath in time to kiss Leia on the cheek. His eyes go right to the newborn and a wide grin comes across his face. “Aw, he’s a beaut.”
It takes a moment for Han to register the dour looks and weary smiles around the room. He’s learned over time that when he’s the only one in the family who doesn’t know what’s going on, it’s usually about the Force. He waves his arms and jokes “What, the Force ain’t Forcing or something?”
Han winces as shoulders sag all around him. He can tell he hit some kind of nerve. Han holds Leia’s hand and unsuccessfully looks to Luke for explanation on whatever the Force has for them this time.
“Owen isn’t Force-sensitive, Dad.” Anakin explains.
Han feels the color drain from his face as he swallows involuntarily. He briefly contemplates whether his last joke beats out that incident on Nar Shaddaa for the worst comedic timing of his life. Repressing a sigh, Han goes over and puts his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Guess my genes finally kicked in, huh? I was starting to think that was never going to happen.” He lowers his head in apology.
“It’s not your fault.” Jaina replies. “It’s just a matter of the odds.”
Han bends over to look at his grandson and smirks. “Owen Solo. Doesn’t care about the odds. I think you and I are going to get along just swell, eh?”
Genuine smiles break out across the room along with a fair share of eye rolls.
Han continues his conversation with the barely-awake Owen. “The Force messed up. Now I got a partner in crime in this family. We won’t let them forget it, will we? I’m gonna get you an ysalamir as a pet.” He promises his grandson, already plotting how to obtain one of the Force-negating lizards. Han carries on while gesturing around them. “Someone’s gotta remind these people that they’re supposed to be the weird ones.”
Han barely hears the laughter and giggling around him. He’s too busy watching Owen wrap his little hand around his grandfather’s finger and squeeze it. He laughs quietly. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you ain’t strong.”
A big smile blossoms on Tahiri’s face, a sight that encourages Han to go on. And an encouraged Han Solo is a dangerous Han Solo.
“And if anyone ever tells you that,” Han adds, “you let your grandpa know — not your mother.” At Tahiri’s raised eyebrow, he explains “Because we don’t want to have another Duro situation on our hands.”
By using his own special abilities, Han Solo succeeds in the challenging task of removing any lingering trace of sadness from Tahiri’s face — to be replaced with blood-curdling rage.
With impressive speed for a man of his age, Han ducks down and shields his face with his hands. After a moment, he rises to see Tahiri’s glare quickly turn into a smile. Han returns to Leia, who leans into him and mumbles “Thank you” into his shoulder.
Han looks around at everyone and clears his throat. “I know it’s disappointing, but you don’t need the Force to live a full life. Trust me, I know.” He receives a satisfying series of smiles and nods.
“A lot of us have some experience with not being able to use the Force.” Mara says. “Luke and Leia growing up, me after Palpatine died, Jacen in Vong captivity…”
“And you don’t need the Force to follow the Jedi way.” Luke adds. “It’s a state of mind, a way of life.”
“I’m a little jealous of Owen.” Jacen says. “He won’t have to deal with constant warnings about using the dark side.”
Mara scoffs at her nephew. “Like we ever had to worry about the animal lover with the cringey jokes falling to the dark side.”
Anakin breaks out of his silent contemplation. “I just don’t want him to think he’s inferior to his siblings.”
“Inferior schmerior.” Han replies. “We’ll have him shooting a blaster better than any of the others can wield a lightsaber.”
“He doesn’t need to be a soldier.” Tahiri chimes in.
“How about a smuggler?” Han responds. Satisfied with the eye roll he gets from his daughter-in-law, he continues. “You know, I should have the Falcon fixed by the time he can walk. Then Wedge and I will teach him to fly better than anyone with the Force.”
“Jag will help too.” Jaina adds.
Han sighs. “Yeah, alright.”
“There are other careers, you know.” Leia says. “If he wants to help a lot of people, he can go into politics.”
A round of groans and grunts break out around the room.
Leia crosses her arms in mock indignation. “What, you don’t think I helped people as Chief of State?”
A somewhat-mollifying string of acknowledgements and reassurances come in response, followed by several moments of silence.
“He’s so quiet and peaceful.” Mara observes of young Owen, surprised by the complete lack of crying or distress.
“And he’s not complaining about anything.” Luke adds before turning to Anakin and Tahiri. “I’m sorry, but he’s nothing like my Uncle Owen.”
After the ensuing laughter, Anakin and Tahiri look into each other’s eyes and smile.
“He’ll be just fine.” Anakin says softly.
Tahiri confirms with a nod as she cradles their newest little bundle of joy in her arms.