Nobody knew exactly when the weather on Coruscant changed from natural to engineered. By most measures, the world should be a rainy one. Given its average temperature, the moisture in its atmosphere, and distance from its star, mathematical models suggested an average waiting period between storms of three days. Now, the planet received rain about once a month. Thunder storms like this one were even more uncommon.

Leia understood the logic of the beings that chose to regulate Coruscant's weather. On a world of metal spires, lightning quickly became fatal, and clouds and rain alone forced delays for the tens of millions of transports that entered and departed the Coruscant system every day. Still, she enjoyed them, and over the years, she had made a habit of sitting out under the awning of their balcony and watching the storm. So few things on this world reminded her of Alderaan; she couldn't waste these rare opportunities. And so, wrapped in a blanket and with a mug of tea beside her, she sat and listened to the rain and wind. Her datapad sat beside her, largely untouched. Leia took few breaks from her responsibilities to the New Republic, and even now, she could not quite give up the pretense of work. If Han was here, he would tease her until she shooed him away or abandoned the briefings entirely. Leia took another sip from her mug. With Han gone on a hopefully-aboveboard mission and her four-year-old son asleep, their apartment was a bit lonely.

But nothing ever stayed still for long in the Organa-Solo household. She felt Ben's presence in the Force before she heard the pitter-patter of little feet on the tile floor. "Did the storm wake you up, sweetie?"

The poor thing rubbed sleep from his eyes as he nodded. Ben climbed up onto the couch next to her.

He needed to be at school bright and early tomorrow, and little boys needed good sleep. Still, there were too few opportunities like this one to spend time together. Leia adjusted the blanket to cover both of them, and Ben wriggled a little closer to her, resting his head against her side. She kissed the top of his head. He still smelled of his bath soap, the baby kind she wasn't ready to part with, and Leia stroked his hair as she listened to her baby's breathing slow as he eased back into sleep.

Their peace was disturbed by a burst of lightning, which long, low, rumbling thunder soon followed. Ben pulled the blanket higher and buried his face deep into her chest. Leia held him tight. "Shh, sweetie, don't worry. I'll keep you safe."

"I'm not afraid." Muffled against her chest and with his body still quivering, his words were less than convincing. Sometimes, she swore, he was too much like Han for his own good.

Leia had to admit, though, that her own reaction as a child likely hadn't been much different. "Being afraid of storms is part of what keeps us safe from them. If we didn't know that they could hurt us, we wouldn't be careful around them."

"I'm not afraid. Other people are. Not me." He had moved away from her by this point, and his big brown eyes were defiant.

Her diplomatic training served her well in motherhood. "I was talking about people in general, sweetie. Not you in particular." He wouldn't be a Solo if he wasn't stubborn, would he? She gave him another kiss, this time to his cheek. "I think most kids your age are a little afraid of thunder and lightning."

He frowned. "I'm better than them."

"Different, not better. There's nothing wrong with either way of thinking."

"Are you afraid of storms?"

She shook her head. "No, there were lots of thunderstorms on Alderaan. I didn't like them very much when I was little, but then I came to enjoy them. They're kind of nice, aren't they?"

"Yeah."

"Would you like to hear some more about Alderaan, or do you want to go back to bed now?" It wasn't a real question, for she knew what he would choose, but she always liked to offer the choice.

His nod caused several long locks of hair to fall into his eyes, and she fixed them before she began her stories, talking until his eyes fell shut and the storm faded into nothingness around them.