a/n: We're on Endor now; "Hold me" scene, and onward -

Absolution
Part 3/3

6 months after Bespin / 4 months after abortion

Han had no idea what he was walking into, when he left the campfire in search of her; he didn't know what to think, when he caught the tail end of a conversation between Leia and Luke that had clearly upset her, badly. He was already agitated, maybe irrationally so, that they seemed so close, because Luke had been around for Leia when Han hadn't been able to, and that bothered him on a deeply personal level.

He had left a world in which he was Leia's safe place, a blank page for her to scrawl her fears and worries on, the only person she let her guard down around, and he was awakened in a world where Luke seemed almost eerily in tune with her –

Jealousy was a nasty thing, a blaster with a hair trigger, and it flared so quickly that it went off like a shot from the hip, an angry outburst was a half-thought-out trigger pull, bad marksmanship – Could you tell Luke, is that who you could tell? – he regretted the hit as soon as he took it, because she'd dipped her head, with a grimace on her mouth like – don't make this harder on me than it is.

What is it? - he thought to himself, bewildered, holding her like she'd asked, his arms tight around her shoulders, smoothly rubbing her back.

Their day had gone off track, that much was obvious; it wasn't part of the plan to end up in a primitive colony with an earnest alien species, but they seemed like they'd be good allies, and it wasn't all blown to hell – yet. He knew she was on edge, they all were – this was it, kill or be killed – but what got her down now, specifically, he didn't know –

Leia was usually calm before a storm, calculating, and right now she was shaking, trembling just imperceptibly as if she were cold, though the planet was thick with a rainforest-like humidity – and Han looked over her head along the path of elevated bridges via which Luke had disappeared, his expression darkening – something Luke did, or something Han did?

She untucked his shirt, and her hands slid up underneath it, brushing against his back; she pressed her face closer – Leia wondered if Han's arms were the only place she'd ever feel safe, for the rest of her life.

She felt like crying, but her tears were trapped somewhere behind a wall of horror, and disbelief, and she was only able to process Luke's clear, accepting blue eyes, the maddening sagacity in his tone – It's you, Leia – well; sharing a mother with Luke was all well and good, but the implications of the rest –

Darth Vader.

Leia pushed away from Han a little roughly, alarmed, hoping he didn't take it personally, but too shaken to care – she felt, acutely, needles pricking her under her fingernails, but she spread out her hands and nothing was there – no, no, just memories – the probe droid, piercing her skin over and over again, Vader – your father – standing there, watching – Tell me where the plans have gone, Your Highness –

Leia's thoughts and memories turned into a single, sound, a piercing internal scream, and for a moment, she saw only black, her vision blurring dangerously – she thought she was going to pass out, and she reached out for Han, grabbing his sleeve tightly.

He stepped forward, putting an arm around her waist. He said something to her that she didn't understand; the lightheaded feeling passed, but it settled into a moving, violent ocean in her stomach, and she knew she was going to get sick – she closed her eyes and bent over the rope of the bridge, still holding onto Han.

She knew there was no amount of retching that would purge this knowledge from her, this savage revelation, but her stomach continued to churn anyway, until there was nothing left inside of her to cough up and choke on, and she was just standing there with her head bowed, trembling still.

Han was rubbing her shoulders lightly, his touch soothing, bent over her, head near her ear.

"You done?" he asked calmly.

She nodded, and he drew her back from the edge of the bridge. She looked up at him through her lashes, and he was pale, his expression tight. He nodded behind her, walking her backwards – "C'mon, go sit down," – he said.

She let him guide her until she was perched on a rock, on firmer ground, and he crouched beside her, apprehension in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "What's going on, Leia? This got somethin' to do with Luke?"

She didn't answer – it wasn't Luke's fault, but – he had – ambushed her with this – Leia shook her head unconvincingly, and Han put his hands on her knee, hesitating again.

"Does this have something to do with…" He trailed off, moving his hand up her leg. He seemed to reach out for her abdomen, second-guess himself, and his hand fell nervously to his own knee – and Leia twitched away a little sharply.

"No, that was months ago, Han," she retorted tensely, her teeth snapping together.

She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Hey," he snapped back, a little angrily. "I don't know what to ask – "

"I said I was okay with it," she interrupted. "I'm fine."

Han bristled.

"I know what you said," he fired back, narrowing his eyes, "this isn't very convincing!" he pointed out.

Distressed, he shifted, standing up, and then sitting down beside her, leaning forward next to her on the boulder. He grit his teeth in frustration – what was he supposed to think? She'd just told him this – confided in him about this, massive thing she went through, while he was hibernating away, oblivious, and he still felt like mere seconds had passed, sometimes, he felt like it should be fresh –

She told him – barely a day ago that she'd had an abortion, and she expected him to believe that whatever was going on with her right now had nothing to do with that conversation? He'd already been a little taken aback by her – neutrality on the situation – he tried to attribute it to the time she'd had to adjust that he simply did not benefit from, but still his mind was full of jumbled agitation about her – did you do it because you assumed I'd want that, Leia? He kept agonizing over it – because there were things he wasn't ready to do right now, but he did everything he could to make himself a good man for her, and he didn't think he wanted her assuming he'd have just shrugged and thought, yeah, get rid of it –

He swallowed down sour insecurities, ordering himself to remain calm – don't snap at her again, you don't mean it – but he was afraid something about this had turned her off of him, and it left him powerless.

Leia pushed her hands through her hair.

"No," she said softly. She closed her eyes and compressed her lips. "I'm not upset about that."

"What made you sick?" he pressed, anxious. "Is it a side-effect?"

She held her hands out as if she would throttle him.

"It's done with, Han, it's over," she said. "Months ago," she reiterated. "Kriff, if it was such a bad scrape that I was still sick, I'd be dead."

He looked at her with wide eyes, acutely startled by the insensitive slang. Leia caught sight of his expression, and covered her mouth as if she could put the words back in, blanching. She closed her eyes, and Han ran his hand over her knee, shaking his head gently – he wasn't offended by that, just stunned she –

"Leia," he asked thickly, "are you sure you handled this?" he asked perceptively.

She lowered her hand and looked down at her hands.

"I don't," she said carefully, "want to talk," she took a deep breath, "about that," she let it out, "right now."

She pressed her palms together and slid them between her knees, bending forward – Han's concern, and frustration, seemed to emanate off of him in waves, frigid, and demanding answers, and Leia felt stricken with a bloodthirsty guilt, because a grim thought whipped through her – good thing you killed it, if Vader's your father.

She breathed in and out a few stuttering times, gutted by her own inner voices, and shied away from both the vindictive side of her, and the grieving side of her, trying to find some safe space in between – but Han was her safe space, and Han was worried, and trying to keep up, and this – damnable truth that Luke had handed down was something else she'd have to tell him, and right now Han was – Han was the last pure thing in her life –

"Han," she gasped, lifting her head to meet his eyes. "Is there anything I could say to you that would make you stop loving me?"

He tilted his head at her, speechless for a moment - and he thought, rapidly, of everything they'd been through – hell, of everything in his life he'd been through, and what it had taken in the past to turn his love into nothing – and he came up short; he started to say – if you told me you wanted Luke instead – but that was a lie, it might piss him off, but it wouldn't flip a switch and stop him feeling anything for her.

He shook his head, and shrugged.

"No." He looked at her, and then down at his knees warily. "Why? Are you going to try?"

Leia turned to him and put her head directly on his shoulder, letting out a breath heavily. She slid one of her hands between his legs, holding onto his thigh, and he sensed palpable relief in the way she touched him, and his throat constricted – Sweetheart; what do you have to say?

"I just want one more night like this," she said hoarsely, almost to herself.

Han opened his mouth, and shut it quickly, unsure what that meant – but he was suddenly too wary to question her, and too wary he'd say the wrong thing. He reached over and rested his hand on the back of her head – one more night like this, sick and crying and miserable – like what, Leia? –

She dug her fingertips into his thigh, holding onto him – one more night of him not knowing what he was getting into, that's what she wanted, that's what she needed –

- because the strange thing about the impending all-or-nothing fight was that she felt the end of the war at her fingertips, and it felt like rock-bottom, and certain death, rather than victory – she'd have to live in a whole new world, if they triumphed, and deal with everything that had happened to her.

Luke smelled like carbon and smoke, and he moved stiffly. The physical residue of his harrowing altercation with the Emperor was prominent, yet he looked effervescent, and shining, and relieved – he said he had set the masked menace alight in a bonfire – a traditional Jedi funeral, Leia; he was redeemed – and she thought, quietly, to herself – Good; you burned the bastard.

There was campfire smoke all around them, festive music, celebratory drinking, laughter, singing – all the noises of victory, and Luke sat with Leia on a fallen tree trunk, a casualty of the day's battle, and he examined her blaster wound, his fingers delicate on the dressing.

"It isn't that bad," Luke said, relieved – he'd been worried when he heard someone mention Leia took a hit during the melee. He laughed a little. "The way Han was acting, I thought your arm was disintegrated."

Leia laughed hoarsely, softly - she looked up and found Han over by one of the fires, having an animated conversation with a couple of the Rogues –

"He can be a drama queen," she murmured.

"Nah," Luke said, releasing Leia's arm. He folded his arms pointedly, arching a brow. "He's just protective."

Leia nodded her head slowly, still watching him. She smoothed at the skirt of her gown, fingers tripping over the crude cross-stitch in it, and she looked down at her hands, spreading them out before her.

"You told him?" Luke ventured.

She looked over at him blankly, placidly, for a moment, and then her jaw tightened.

"You have to be more specific," she said, almost icily – about which terrible thing, Luke? She demanded silently.

"I'm not talking about what happened four months ago," Luke said simply. He turned and followed her gaze. "I mean, Han gave me a hug when he saw me after the battle, and it was a nice hug, so you must have said something to him."

Leia fought the urge to laugh – and then surrendered to it, telling herself – no, you need to laugh Leia; please laugh when you feel like laughing.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, distracted for a moment, and reveling in it. "You keep an analytical index of Han's hugs?"

Luke feigned solemnity.

"Don't you?"

Leia laughed again, grinning at him. She shrugged, and tilted her head.

"Well, yes," she joked.

Luke smirked. He gestured at Han, and became serious again.

"He's been giving me the cold shoulder," he said quietly. "It's about you. You know it is – or, was."

Leia nodded. She turned towards Luke.

When he comes back, I won't get in the way.

"Yes, I told him," she said slowly. "I think he feels significantly less threatened," she said, deadpan.

Luke snorted gleefully, and ran his hands over his jaw.

"How'd he take it."

Leia put her head on her palm, propping her elbow on her knee.

"Strangely well," she whispered, thinking of his half-cocked questions – Like a brother? – No, my brother – and Han had just looked at her kind of skeptically, waiting for more, and she'd said nothing else, because it was daylight, and they had just won something magnificent, and she didn't know how to follow it with – and-we're-both-the-spawn-of-the-devil-himself.

"Good," Luke said earnestly.

He put his hand on her back.

"What about Vader?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head stiffly.

"I can't."

"Leia, Han won't care."

"Vader tortured him."

Luke held up his prosthetic hand pointedly.

Leia's expression darkened.

"Not everyone has your capacity for forgiveness, Luke," she snarled.

He lowered his hand, his face falling. He sighed, and shook his head.

"Han used to work for some of the nastiest criminals in the Outer Rim," he said grimly.

Leia pushed her hand through her hair – that did not make her feel better, and really, it wasn't that she couldn't tell Han; she had to, she needed to, it was fair, and it was honest, but –

"I don't want to tell him," she said shakily. She closed her eyes, and her lips trembled. "I've just…heaped so much on him since Tatooine, Luke," she went on, opening her eyes and looking at him pleadingly. "With all of this – stuff that has happened, it's as if we went from friends to – to," she searched for something to compare it to, and laughed mirthlessly, "I don't know, the tenth year of marriage."

She bit her lip, pressing her hands into her stomach.

"I think I want to be with Han for the rest of my life, but our relationship was new, and how can it take all of this?"

She bowed her head.

"I don't know," Luke said honestly. "I'm not the expert there," he added a little dryly. "For what it's worth, you and Han were never just friends," he said. "It was all or nothing with you two. That's just how it is with some people."

He was quiet for a moment, looking at his hands.

"How was he about the other thing?" he asked finally.

Leia took a deep, shuddering breath, delicately choosing her words.

"Dazed," she decided finally. She tucked her hair behind her ears. "He was, ah…he still is," she amended, "worried?" she tried. "I think he just…doesn't know what he's supposed to do. I think he feels guilty."

Luke's brow furrowed.

"Why?"

Leia didn't answer that question, though she said, after a moment –

"I know how he feels."

Luke put his arm around her shoulders. He fell silent, sitting there with her, and she tried to dwell on Luke, not anything else; Luke was her brother, and there was nothing wrong in that, nothing unpleasant in having such a good soul for a sibling – if there was no Vader, there would be no Luke – but if there was no Vader – Vader was responsible for so much of the darkness in her life; she could trace almost everything back to him, and his Empire.

"Luke," she said quietly, resting her head on his shoulder. "Is it genetic?"

She bit her lip.

"The Force," she clarified. "That…power."

"Yes, I think so," he said airily.

Leia lifted her head and straightened up, looking across the fire at Han again. She felt like sobbing, but like last night, her tears were still stuck; she was tired of crying, even if it hurt not to, sometimes. She felt ripped up and tattered inside and she couldn't identify the feeling yet, she kept flashing between relief that she wasn't on the verge of furthering Vader's bloodline, and a hollow sense of despair – and where exactly that stemmed from, she wasn't sure – regret, desire, grief?

Leia turned her head and looked off into the forest, the noise fading in her ears. She drew her bottom lip into her mouth, heard footsteps, and Luke stood, stepping aside – Hey kid, she heard Han say, his voice anchoring her back to the present.

She felt his hand on her shoulder, his lips on her cheek as he bent down, reaching for her hand.

"You want to go to bed, Sweetheart?" he asked in a low voice, suggestive, and alluring.

Leia squeezed his hand, and turned to him, catching Luke's eye for a brief second as he gave her a small wave and bowed out, jogging down to the campfire. She swallowed hard, and met Han's eyes –

"I have to tell you something first,"she said softly.

He nodded, tilting his head curiously, and she stood up, tilting her head up to look at him – there weren't many times she wished she was tall enough to stand toe to toe with him and look him in the eye, but this was one of them – she wondered if she'd look any different in his eyes when he knew.

Outside on the porch of a treehouse, beneath the moon and the stars, in silence away from the cacophony of the party, Han leaned against the sturdy carved railing and looked at Leia, his arms folded, listening to her with all he had.

He found himself, again, drawn into a moment when he didn't know what was coming – he didn't understand what was going on – but at least, at least, this time, Leia was new to the issue as well – and as strange as it might seem, he was glad he had some context for her pronouncement that Luke had been her brother all of this time.

Leia talked to him like he wasn't there, though he recognized it as a tactic to shield himself – her body language suggested she didn't want to be touched, so he respected that, listening, just listening, while she stumbled over the explanation – or, not really stumbled, quietly, and stiffly, related what Luke had told her – separated; hidden from him – Vader, my father was…Vader –

Han was half-tempted to demand she tell him what Luke's proof was; that was an outrageous claim to make, it was an unbelievable story, but the words froze on his lips, because some part of him told him that it might sound like he wanted her conditionally – well, let's find out if it's true before I decide you're the one – and on some level, he wanted to hunt down the kid, and punch him a couple of times in the gut, because maybe that might convey a little of how Leia felt about this.

She had stopped talking, and she leaned against the railing, her face pale, staring at him.

He cleared his throat quietly.

"This is what you were talkin' to Luke about?" he asked gruffly. "The other night?"

She nodded.

Han's mouth felt dry.

She said, in a whisper –

"I never – thought to care who the people who gave me up were."

Han noticed she didn't even refer to them as parents of any kind; she was so wholly the Organas' that perhaps she was even having trouble comprehending her own adoption, despite the fact that she'd always known it was a fact of her existence.

Han shifted his weight, and looked down over the railing, and then back at her.

"And now you think I want to give you up?" he asked bluntly.

Leia tilted her head up and shrugged.

"I know what he did to you," she said hoarsely. "I was there."

Han didn't answer for a moment. He flinched a little – he wasn't even completely healed from the injuries on Bespin; his third degree burns were peeling and flaky, still a little sore to the touch, and he still felt the suffocation of the carbon freezing chamber, choking him in the back of his throat, when he slept fitfully.

"I don't care," Han said flatly.

Leia sucked in her breath, and he pushed away from the railing, striding forward.

"I don't care, Leia."

She put her hands up wildly.

"How?" she cried in a whisper. "How can you not care?"

He tried to put his hands on her shoulders, and she struggled away from him, her head tilted up fiercely.

"I care. I care," she said. "I feel ruined. That's what's in my blood. Him," she held out her hands like they were covered in it, shaking. Instead of saying anything else, she made a noise of frustration, a soft scream.

Han took her hands tightly, thumbs on her wrists.

"So what?" he asked. "So – you want nothin' to do with Luke, then?" he asked.

She clenched her teeth. He stepped closer, reaching up to touch her face.

"What the fuck?" she hissed angrily – what did that have to – ohhh, ohhh. He said it even as realization dawned on her face –

"If you don't think Luke's ruined, then why would I think you are?" Han asked coolly.

Leia gasped.

"Luke's…better than any of us."

Han laughed a little. He stepped closer, running his hands through her hair, pulling her as close as she would let him.

"I love you, Sweetheart," he send, leaning down to his her temple, and her eyelashes, and her lips. "Hell. Oh, hell, I love you," he swore.

He caught her eye.

"This is it?" he asked gruffly. "The thing you asked me, if there's anything you could say to make me stop?"

Leia rested her head on him, and nodded.

"Try harder," he said bluntly.

She slid her hands into his pockets, pressing into him tightly. He held her again, hoping she took it to heart, the things he said. He still looked at her and wondered what the past six months had been like – up until today, he'd struggled with the fear that she was playing a part with him, looking for a way to tell him, gently, that she'd prefer Luke, and no matter what he said, he didn't know what he'd have done if she had.

He wouldn't have hurt Leia, but he'd have lost something he'd never find again.

He tilted her head up and kissed her, and she slid her hands up to his neck, her nails brushing the ends of his hair, rising on her toes to reach him better. She kissed him like she was trying to convince herself he was still there, and he resolved to be as convincing as possible – he wondered if there was more bothering her, there had to be – she had to have known, deep down, that he'd never think differently because of who she was related to.

"Leia," he mumbled, kissing her between words. "C'mon, let's go to bed." He kissed her neck, inhaling her.

She sighed.

"I'm gun-shy," she murmured anxiously.

He paused to look at her, nose almost touching hers – he didn't understand, for a moment, and she looked at him and seemed so young, and nervous, and he hadn't seen her look like that in a long time – gun-shy? He asked himself – she couldn't be scared he'd hurt her – he lifted his brows abruptly, suddenly realizing –

There was no way Leia felt secure about sleeping with him – with anyone – after she'd been betrayed by practicality itself. He hesitated, trying to think of something to say to soothe her – he just shrugged –

"We'll deal with it," he said quietly, though he figured there was no way birth control fucked up twice for the same woman – "Hey," he reminded her, "I'm gonna stick around, remember?"

He expected a smile – and she nodded, and looked relieved, but the words didn't seem to have quite the right effect. She leaned in to kiss him, and she tasted like heartache, and he pulled her into the treehouse, unsure if he was ever going to be able to make that go away.

She was awake, long after he'd gone to sleep.

It made sense he'd find it easy to sleep – they'd won the most significant battle of their lives, he had her, the Vader connection she so abhorred wasn't something that weighed on him.

She lay next to him, flat on her back, naked and wrapped in furs, and grappled with how she felt about herself – she accused Vader's ghost, and Vader's connection to her, of reawakening her distress over the choice she'd made four months ago, but if she was honest with herself, she knew it only made the grief more complex, exacerbated her already tangled feelings –

- it was like Han, telling her – we'll deal with it – saying, in his own words, that he could be there if an accident happened again, he wouldn't go running; that should have comforted her, reassured her that he didn't fault her, and wasn't going to leave her, but it only made her feel like she'd done something awful.

The spark of cold relief she'd felt at first, relief that she wasn't going to have a baby that was related to that monster, had writhed and twisted into a horror that she must be like him, if she could make a choice like that so quickly –

The certainty she'd had that there was no way she could chose fatherhood for Han when he wasn't around to have a say in it had dissolved into a paralyzing fear that she'd stolen something from both of them, because here he was, lying next to her, prepared for anything.

She listened to him breathe, and listened to the rustle of the wind in the trees, and listened to lazy, fading shouts of laughter and bursts of music, victory celebrations still going on even as most people and creatures retired to bed.

Victory.

If she'd known, four months ago, that this would happen – but that didn't matter, did it? Civil War or not, Han's absence or not, she was broken, she was in no place to be a mother, then – definitely not now – she knew that about herself, she just hadn't had time to deal with it – nothing about what had happened fit with how she wanted to have a baby, if she ever wanted to have a baby.

More often that not, she couldn't understand if she wanted the baby – she'd wanted Han so much, she'd missed him so much, and that was a part of him; but the circumstances had been so dire, and she didn't think she wanted that without him – and now, Han was back, and that was gone forever, and her father was Darth Vader –

She felt a wave of nausea and turned to the side sharply, afraid she would vomit. She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to cry – she hadn't cried since Luke had told her about Vader – she realized she couldn't stop herself. She tried to cover her mouth, bury her face in the furs, but it was useless, and she burst into sudden, hard sobs, her shoulders shaking.

She felt how badly it startled Han; next to her, he jolted awake, mumbling swears and blinking wildly, grasping for his blaster, and then remembering where he was. He leaned down over her, his hands on the side of her face, and her hip.

"Leia?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep, panic rising in his chest. "Leia? Sweetheart?" He bent closer, his lips moving near her ear. "Shhh," he soothed. "What is it?" he asked, settling down on his side and pulling her close. "Nightmare?" he murmured.

She shook her head.

She wiped her face and her nose with the furs and turned onto her back, accepting the protection his embrace offered, and cast her eyes down, even though she could feel him looking at her.

"I didn't agonize over it," she said shakily. "I—I – It didn't sit down and work up the courage or, or, barely find myself able to go through with it, I knew that's what I was going to do, it was the only thing I considered –

"What are you talking about?" Han interrupted quietly.

She looked up at him.

"Please, Han, you know what I'm talking about," she said hoarsely.

Han reached up and rubbed his temple, forehead creasing.

"The abortion?" he mumbled warily.

"Yes," she hissed, her head spinning. "I found out I was – pregnant, and I – immediately knew what I was going to do, and I'm not saying it was easy – but that's, that's fucked up, isn't it?" she asked. "That's something sinister…it's a baby, Han, I was – supposed to want it – I didn't, I don't think I did," she gasped, "I shouldn't have had such an automatic resolve to end it."

Han looked at her a little helplessly.

"It's cold. It's something Vader would do."

Han sat up a little, his face going through a volley of emotions.

"Doesn't that make me like him?" she asked, throwing her head back – looking at the thatched roof, and almost asking it of herself.

"Leia," he barked at her, more angrily than he meant to. "What the hell are you talking about? Cold? You're upset about it!" he pointed out, his chest tightening – more upset than you let on, Sweetheart, he thought, scared of what it meant for him.

"Yes, I'm upset!" she cried. "It hurt to lose you, and I was miserable going through it without you, but even if you'd been there, Han, I think I still would have," she broke off, shaking her head. "I wasn't ready!"

Han sat up, drawing one knee up and resting his arm over it. He ran his hand over his face to wipe sleep from his eyes and steady himself, alarmed at her distress, and trying to get a grip on himself – what was he supposed to feel?

He didn't feel anything, except distress over her distress.

"That doesn't mean you'll never be ready," he said after a moment. "You can still have 'em, can't you?"

Leia sat up, running her hand through her hair. She twisted her fingers into it, hiding her face behind her wrist.

"Medically," she whimpered – nothing was wrong with her in that respect. "How can I possibly have a baby now that I know about – about – that bastard," she moaned shakily. "I can – I can never forget that, I can never un-know about it," she closed her eyes, tears spilling furiously down her cheeks, "so now I think, that was my last chance, I should have kept it, because I was oblivious, and I would find this out and accept it – but now I have to contend with consciously deciding to bring a thing with Vader's capabilities into the world."

Han swallowed hard, his mouth dry, throat scratch and constricted.

"I got rid of something that was inconvenient to me, and it's because – I have bad blood, and I have to live with it, and you have to live with it –

Han shook his head.

"You aren't anything like Vader, Leia – it obviously bothers you! You're hurting right now!" Han said huskily. "Why didn't you tell me how much you were hurting?"

Leia let her hand fall, and stared at him, laid bare.

"I didn't know," she said faintly. "Han, I…all I could think about was how much I wanted you. I didn't want to do that without you. I didn't know how you felt about babies. That there was an endless war and I was marked for death," she licked her lips, "but we're going to win, and you're here, and you said – that you'd help me deal with it," she said, her face crumpling again, "You said you'd stick around," she whispered, "and I feel like I killed something."

Han sat forward heavily, shaking his head slowly. He reached for her knee, grasping it tightly.

"That's irrational – "

"Don't call me irrational!"

"You can't change your mind on something you did four months ago because of what you know now!" Han insisted, eyes boring into hers.

"I feel violent, and soulless," Leia cried.

"You shouldn't!" Han fired back desperately. "Leia, please – you were alone, you were traumatized. You didn't know if I'd end up dead or alive."

He was only reciting back what she'd said to him a few days ago, but it made sense, and he was so sorry she was feeling this way now.

"You didn't know what I wanted," he said, his shoulders falling.

Leia held the furs to her chest, bowed over in pain.

"It hurts more now, all of a sudden," she confessed shakily. "I was okay. I coped. It just had to happen – and now I feel – like I did everything wrong – I feel selfish, and sad – why does it hurt so much more now?" she asked herself softly, wiping at her face.

Han rubbed his face again and then crawled towards her, shifting things around. He pulled her towards him and into his lap, let her straddle him, her knees on either side of his thighs, furs between them and around them – he could tilt his head up at her, this way, be on eye-level.

"It doesn't make you like Vader," he said hoarsely. "It just doesn't, Sweetheart. You're too sensitive. You have too much soul in you. Someone like Vader wouldn't feel this bad."

Leia put her hands on his chest, listening. Han leaned forward and kissed her shoulder, resting his head there against her collarbone.

"Han," she asked, "Why do you act like I can't do anything wrong?"

Startling her, he laughed, huskily.

"You can!" he said into her skin, lifting his head to look at her incredulously. "I get mad at you all the time," he said stubbornly. "I'm not mad at you for this!"

She looked at him with her red eyes, and didn't believe him.

"What do you want me to do, forgive you?" he scoffed.

Leia felt like a dam had broken inside her, and she clutched at his shoulders.

"Yes," she gasped, identifying it wildly, incoherently. "I need you to forgive me."

He looked shocked, overwhelmed.

"Leia, I'm not," he shook his head, stumbling, guilty and uncomfortable. "I'm not mad," he repeated helplessly, "I don't care that you did it," he said, and then he winced, terribly, because it sounded so coarse, and awful. "I don't want you to feel like this," he tried to correct himself, his words heavy and full of his own shortcomings, "but I couldn't have – "

He squeezed his eyes shut, hating himself.

"I'm glad you're not pregnant right now."

Leia was silent. She bowed her head, and while he watched her, thinking he'd just ruined everything, made her hate him for the rest of her life – she looked up, her mouth open, lips parted slightly in a way that – almost read like a painful, six-month-long gasp of relief.

He swallowed hard, and shrugged.

"I forgive you," he said – if that's what you need, Sweetheart, "but I don't blame you," he said thickly.

Leia touched his neck, and his jaw softly, fingers pressing into his cheeks. She turned her head to wipe her tears on his shoulder, and seemed to relax, her weight heavy on him, but the load lifted off her shoulders.

She slid her arms around his neck and placed her head against his shoulder.

"It's like I was hollow for so long, wondering why I didn't feel devastated," she whispered, "and now I feel devastated, and I'm angry because I – I know I did the right thing, in that moment," she murmured, "but now I've lost all my innocence. I lost the luxury of asking myself if I want to have a baby," she paused, and grimaced against his skin, "now I have to ask myself if I want to…have…one with…Vader's blood."

Han ran his hands over her back, stroking her spine soothingly. He tucked his head down near hers.

"My blood," he reminded her. "Yours, too."

"Doesn't it scare you?" Leia asked.

Han shrugged a little. It didn't, not really. The idea of being a father terrified him completely, but who he, or she, may or may not be related to didn't really alter that for better or for worse.

Leia lifted her head a little, tilting it towards his ear.

"You don't feel like I betrayed you?"

Han sighed.

"No," he murmured. "You were alone, Leia. I don't want you to be alone with something like that."

Leia was quiet.

"Your mother was alone," she said in a small voice. "If she'd – well, then I wouldn't have you."

Han smiled a little sadly.

"Yeah, I loved my mother, Princess," he said. "I can't complain about where I ended up," he added, kissing her temple. "But that doesn't mean I want my kid growin' up like I did."

He thought, bitterly – maybe he'd have been a better man, sooner, if he'd had a father around; but that was a fluke, too, he figured; fathers could be awful things just as easily as they could be blessings. He just wanted to make sure – when the time came – that he was one of the good ones.

And on Bespin, even just before Bespin – he wasn't there yet.

Leia hugged him, drying her eyes on his shoulder. She didn't make any effort to move for a long time, and when she did, she laid back down with him beside her, taking deep breaths – perhaps she had needed to cry for a while, and perhaps she had just needed to rage about how complex it all was.

She still wasn't sure she understood herself. She knew it was a relief to hear Han say, definitively, that he didn't blame her, and that the idea of being unexpectedly a parent didn't sit right with him, either – even if there still lingered the feeling that she must be cold, and inhuman.

She tried to be calm, and she tried to pinpoint what exactly had set her off so badly now, specifically since she knew about Vader?

Han pressed his lips to her jaw, holding his arm over her waist possessively. He ran his hand over her side, and then splayed his hand over her stomach, and she didn't know, this time, if it was an absentminded, natural gesture, or if he was quietly offering to fill the empty space with his presence, and his comfort – without asking him the meaning of his touch, she closed her eyes, and let his hand rest there –

"I still love you," he mumbled gruffly.

- she laughed quietly, closing her eyes – how any of her peers could ever look down on Han, she didn't know, but they were led astray, deluded – he was a better man on a bad day than most people she'd known in her life.

Sunrise, on Endor – sunrise, on a world without a Death Star, without Darth Vader, without an Empire to crush it, and Leia got up early to watch it happen, watch the pink and gold and orange and yellow rays burst over the horizon, through the trees – onto her face.

Brazenly on the treehouse porch, clad only in Han's shirt and her underwear, she watched the dawn, and she looked around over the little tree village, the network of families – a free society, at their fingertips, with just a fresh burst of fighting, and then it would be theirs –

"Mmm, Your Worship," Han drawled sleepily, lazily strolling out of the treehouse behind her, his voice deep and laced with that early-morning sensuality. "Hey, you might be seen. You're all exposed."

Leia took a deep breath, resting her palms on the branches that made the sturdy railing.

"Oh, who cares?" she murmured fiercely. She looked over the sleepy morning. "I don't care," she added fiercely.

Let them look up and see her half-clothed in the sunlight, with Han kissing her throat or standing near her, laying claim. She'd fought for her own freedom as much as she'd fought for anyone else's, she'd made sacrifices for it, professional and personal, and for her relationship with Han, she had sustained injuries so they could be whole in the future, so let them see her.

Han stepped up behind her, kissing her hair, resting his chin on the crown of her head lightly. She felt him take a deep breath, and he squeezed her shoulders gently.

"Better?" he asked quietly – is it any better, this morning, Sweetheart?

Leia took a deep breath, carefully choosing her words. She nodded, and looked down at her hands on the wooden railing, enjoying the warmth of the sun, and his hands, for a moment of silent.

"I think I understand something," she said softly, "now."

He lifted his head and moved around to stand next to her, leaning back against the railing as she faced it. He crossed his arms and looked at her intently, patiently, his expression that sort of – unpredictable, comforting beautiful that she valued so much.

She hesitated, and then looked at him sideways.

"I was caught off guard," she began quietly, and honestly, "by how much I wanted – no," she stopped immediately, and re-worded herself: "how much I liked the idea," she said, more comfortably, "of a baby," she paused for only a split second, and then clarified, pointedly: "your baby."

That was it; that was the rub – the feeling she had refused to acknowledge, stamped out and tried to destroy even when Luke asked her if she was sure she wanted to go through with it – in the middle of all that mess, and all of her certainty that that was not the right time to have baby, and she didn't know if she wanted children anyway, in the middle of all that, she'd suddenly wanted a baby with Han.

"I knew I couldn't do it, right then," she said softly, "and I didn't – want to, then," she said, with difficulty, because it still felt callous to admit that she just didn't want it, even if it was the truth, "but it felt like I made that one decision, and it meant it was the only decision I could ever make."

Han tilted his head up a little, thinking that over, and Leia stopped, licking her lips – she hoped she was making sense. She'd let herself think that – deciding to end that pregnancy was somehow synonymous with deciding she didn't want any pregnancy, or maybe didn't even deserve it –

"When Luke told me about Vader, I felt so repulsed by the idea of family," she whispered, "and it made me feel even worse. Like now I could never have it." She rubbed her arms lightly. "You still wanted to sleep with me even with that risk there, so I just thought you must like the idea a little, and I don't know how long it will take me to feel ready for that."

Leia sighed.

"There's so much wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you," Han said plainly.

"I know, I mean, I just mean that I need to be," she sighed shakily, "in a better place mentally and, ah, emotionally," she explained, "to be a mother."

Han looked at her for a while, and then he unfolded his hands, and slipped them into his pockets.

"You want to hear somethin' crazy?" he asked. He smirked a little, and tilted his head at her. "I never wanted kids. Thought you had to be stupid to want that," he said bluntly. "Ties you down, y'know?" He shook his head. "'Cept you said you got pregnant, and for a second, I thought – well, it's different," he said, speaking slowly, "'cause it's Leia's."

Leia bit her lip, and he held up one hand, waving it gently.

"Nah, Leia, c'mon, I already told you, I'm not mad," he said, easily identifying where her head was about to go. He shrugged. "'M just sayin', I get it. I think."

Leia stepped over to him, standing in front of him and leaning into him a little. He smiled, placing one hand on her hip.

"It's, maybe," she began thoughtfully. "We might have one, later," she ventured, "it just…couldn't be…that one."

Han touched her cheek gently. He nodded, and lifted one shoulder.

"Yeah, Sweetheart, I reckon that's it."

Leia dipped her head, compressing her lips. She pressed her fingertips against his chest, tapping out a rhythm, drumming lightly against his heart.

"Well, that's that," she whispered, nearly wonderstruck.

She looked up at him through her lashes, and he grinned, after a moment.

"I don't know. Think we got a couple of things to do first," he said seriously.

"Do you?" she asked softly.

"Sure," he said, dipping his head closer. "I should marry you."

Leia laughed skeptically, the sound of it swallowed in a well-timed kiss on his part. She opened her eyes wide, staring at him as his lips moved, and pushed him back. She looked at him thoughtfully, her head tilted and he just shrugged, and nodded.

"You want to marry me, Solo?" she asked lightly, almost a joke.

He held her gaze unabashedly.

"You're askin' me like it's a hard question," he said, cocking an eyebrow. Of course he did. It felt like the only thing he wanted to do, right now - after all this? He wanted Leia forever. He wanted the things that would come later. "Don't test me, Princess. I'd do it right here," he pointed to their feet, and jerked his chin around at the village. "I bet they got some kinda priest."

Leia looked to the side, her hands resting on his hips. He leaned forward, catching her eye, lips close to hers.

"What do you say?" he asked quietly.

Leia turned to look behind her, and looked up, at the bright sky – still smoky from battle, but warm, and gorgeous, in the dawn.

She turned back to him, and bit her lip in a smile, taking a deep breath –

- and in the moment when she gave him her answer, she felt – not absolved, but vindicated.

Part 3/3

The End

is that what you thought was coming !?
i decided to infuse it with a little bit of original Lucas ROTJ concept, the rumor that it was supposed to end with a wedding
(and no, I don't care what happened in the Disney Aftermath series. I don't care at all.)

Final comments: Again, story wasn't a political statement. Wasn't even intended to resolve a major issue or answer any major emotional questions. It's just a story about a thing that happened and a choice made to deal with it. The end.

-Alexandra