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Leia had not realized how desperately she wanted the child growing inside of her until she thought she was losing him. Despite the harried medic’s assurances that the light bleeding she had experienced was entirely normal, Leia insists they run more tests. And then some further tests after that. Also, they should keep her in for overnight observation. And then run another test in the morning, just to be sure.
The next night, having made fresh enemies of every medical professional in the vicinity, she slumps into the bed she and Han share. The apartment in Coruscant had been a reluctant concession to settling down, but today, for the first time, Leia sees it for what it could be. She would have to soften the sharp edges of the antique cabinets from Naboo, and lock away the artifacts from Alderaan until her son was old enough to appreciate them. There would have to be locks placed on the lower drawers and cupboards in the kitchen and bathrooms, and she’d have to move her books from a bookcase to a high shelf.
But there could be soft toys and bright teething rings to make up for all this effort. There could be gurgled laughter and sleepy eyes and tiny fists. The spare room next to their bedroom – the one she and Han specified they needed but have been avoiding decorating – could become the center of someone’s first few months in the galaxy.
Leia pictures it, uncertain at first but letting the image slowly sharpen. There would be plenty of toys, piled up inside a crib with a mobile hanging above it. When the time came, some of these toys would be replaced by books detailing the great exploits of heroes. She would regale her boy with the stories of how his parents met, and how it just so happened to intertwine with the grand and daring tale of how good triumphed over evil.
(Let her son think of the world in such black and white terms, at least for the first few years of his life. He doesn’t need to know about the splintering factions of the ‘defunct’ Empire, or the reasons why his mother is getting called into increasingly more Senate meetings.)
She might even talk about Anakin Skywalker, when the time was right. Her son will grow up with love and Light and happiness.
Leia blows out a breath. Han, curled around her front with his head next to her stomach, glances up in silent questioning. Leia doesn’t meet his eyes.
“I was worried we were going to lose him,” she admits aloud for the first time. The darkness around them swallows the words.
“This kid? Nah. He’s a fighter,” Han promises. “He’s going to be just like his old man.”
Just like that, with those baseless words, a weight is lifted from Leia. She wonders at the powers of a man who, by the Force’s standards, is powerless.
“Two of you?” Leia groans, gently shoving Han’s head away. “Ugh. Besides, I might be wrong. She might be a girl.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Han snuggles closer and presses a quick kiss to her stomach. “This kid’s already the stuff of legends.”
Leia smiles into the night. For the first time, she feels hopeful rather than terrified and inconvenienced. Her son – for she knows she’s carrying a boy, deep down – will use the names of his family as footholds and climb higher than them all. He will be a force to be reckoned with.
*
Thirty years later, Leia lies awake most nights bitterly reflecting on how irony has torn her hope to shreds.