Chapter Three

Han stared hard at the closed door before him, as angry and disheartened
as he'd been in a long, long time.  What had started as a rather
pleasant evening with his family, had somehow turned into the latest in
a series of curt little spats between Leia and himself.

Nearly three months had passed since she'd told him of her pregnancy. 
Now well into her second trimester, Leia was anxious and on edge, far
more than he remembered her being while carrying either the twins or
Anakin, despite the fact that during her other pregnancies they'd been
engaged in the highly stressful activity of intergalactic warfare.

Han pushed his fingers through his thick brown hair, forcefully exhaling
his frustration, and strode over to the refreshment center where he
poured a serious portion of good Corellian rum.  With a flick of his
wrist, he downed the fiery liquid, poured himself another and crossed
the suite to the double doors leading to the balcony, stepping out into
the cool night air.

The quasi-calm exterior he maintained for the benefit of those for whose
opinion he cared about least had of late begun to chafe, and this
evening Han felt its acidic bite deep within his gut.

He had seen it all in his years, from power mad warlords to the vilest
of gangsters; from the wide-eyed innocence that had been the young Luke
to the icy malevolence of Darth Vader watching with cold detachment as
Han was lowered into the carbon freezing chamber on Bespin.

But he had never seen anything quite like the New Republic and all of
the dirty little secrets that dominated its political climate.  He had
never seen an entity so greedy to possess, so determined to conquer.

Han had experienced a brief flirtation with respectability while he
reluctantly wore a general's insignia, only to resign his commission
when it became clear that outside influences were intent upon running
his life.  He had not felt such outrage at the audacity of others since
the day he calmly walked into Admiral Akbar's quarters on Coruscant and
told them of his decision.

The Alderaanian High Council had been pressuring Leia to marry Prince
Isolder of Hapes so that the refugees could obtain a new home planet. 
They had voted to send Han as far away from Leia as possible, ostensibly
on a mission of great military import, but Han had decided that no
commission was worth compromising his future with the woman he loved. 
He'd, therefore, resigned, then later whisked Leia away on the fateful
journey to the planet Dathomir, thus unwittingly instigating the events
which would join them for life.

Han smiled wistfully at the memory of her outrage over his actions. 
But, despite her anger, their feelings for each other had triumphed over
all the adversities they had encountered on that eventful trip, and
they'd married shortly after their return to Coruscant.  Sometimes
boldness paid off. 

Now, as he stood alone looking out over the brilliance of Imperial City
under the cloak of night, he wished he were bold enough to whisk his
wife away again, to take his entire family and steal away to the fringes
of the galaxy where outside influences carried no weight over the
decisions they made, to a place where political figures were of no
importance.

Over the last several weeks he and Leia had sparred repeatedly over the
increasingly rigid itinerary set for the Chief of State.  Negotiations,
conferences, appointments and seemingly endless personal appearances
dominated her calendar.  Despite her best efforts to limit her duties to
those that could be carried out on the surface of Coruscant, the demands
of office had continued to keep Leia busy every waking moment, shuttling
from one diplomatic function to another and always, always on standby
for the New Republic.  The additional strain of her pregnancy, and Han's
increasing discontent over their hectic lifestyle, had precipitated
numerous arguments between them over the last few weeks.  Their most
recent spat had come about earlier this evening. 

Han glanced over his shoulder to the dimly lit windows that illuminated
the children's wing.  The kids had long since settled down for the
night, but Anakin, persistently troubled with nightmares, had awakened
in the midst of his parents' most recent tiff, calling for his mother at
a rather inopportune moment.  Upon reflection, Han found that he was
glad of the interruption, and kicked himself for making the comment that
had started the whole thing in the first place.

He'd not had the best of days himself, had come home edgy and out of
sorts, and the umpteenth interruption of their evening by one of Leia's
aides had rankled him sorely.

"They won't be happy until you move yourself lock, stock and barrel into
your office," he'd grumbled after the aide had left.  "They'd like to
just keep you there, make it so that you'd never have to leave."

He'd snapped his fingers, as if suddenly hit by a brilliant idea. 
"Hell, Leia, maybe they could even arrange for you to give birth in your
office," he'd snidely suggested.  "A little rearranging of furniture
ought to do it.  You could stop for a few hours, have the kid, and get
right back to your desk without missing a beat."

Leia, torn between her duty to defend the needs of her government and
her secret dread that Han was accurate in his infuriating sarcasm, had
reacted with the hair-trigger temper typical of her in their early days
together.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she'd retorted icily.  "Then you'd be
free to take off with Chewbacca on some contrived little jaunt across
the galaxy, getting away from me, from responsibility, from having to be
constantly at the beck and call of another, albeit your wife and, like
it or not, Chief of State."

Before Han could recover from his surprise at the frostiness of her
tone, Anakin had cried out with a pitiful wail and Leia had left in some
haste, clearly glad of an excuse to leave him yet again.  Han was left
to seek the comfort of a rare drink and the lonely solitude that the
balcony now afforded.

He took another sip of his rum, trying to arrange his thoughts into some
sort of order so that maybe, just maybe, he could make some sense of
what was happening to them.

Han knew deep inside that Leia would rather the situation were
different, but it was rapidly becoming clear to him that the
self-imposed demands of office were not going to loosen their vise-like
grip on her without a fight of the highest magnitude.  Given his wife's
devotion to duty, Han worried more with each passing day that she would
not be able to make the break with Coruscant for the months preceding
their baby's birth, as they had planned.

Although he had little doubt that Leia longed for a respite from the
relentless call of politics, Han doubted that she would ever allow
herself to leave while her presence was needed, out of reverence to the
cause that the Rebellion had once been.  Meanwhile, as their baby grew
daily within her, Leia grew more and more edgy with the stress of
wearing too many hats at one time.  Han was at a loss as to how to help
her.  Perhaps some divine inspiration would come to him out here among
the stars.

He lifted his face to catch the breezes that carried on the night winds
from the Manarai Mountains far to the south, closed his eyes and allowed
himself the rare luxury of fantasy.  He dreamed of absconding with his
family into the night, making camp deep within the mountains and leaving
the madness of Imperial City behind.

Before meeting Leia and settling into a more or less civilized way of
life, there had been many occasions when mechanical difficulties with
the Falcon had forced him to seek shelter on alien worlds.  There had
been times when survival meant living off the land, making his own way
with the means at his disposal.  He supposed, in a way, that this was
precisely what he had been doing for the last decade or so.  He'd done
his best to make the most of the morass of political and military
intrigue that had been dumped on him when he fell in love with Leia, one
of the most powerful women in the galaxy. 

Han now longed to escape to the simpler life of providing a home for his
family by the sweat of his brow, never again to be at the mercy of
others who placed little importance on mere personal needs.  He yearned
for liberty to pursue the things they wanted to do rather than the
infinite number of things they needed to do, had to do.  Maybe Leia was
right, he thought ruefully; sometimes the responsibility did wear him
down.

Han snorted at the impossibility of the situation, and irritation
scorched him.  He shook his head, annoyed that he had allowed his life
to become so firmly entrenched in a society where he would never quite
mesh, one he had tolerated solely out of respect for his wife.  Tossing
back the last of his drink, he slammed his glass down on the table at
the balcony's edge, grimacing as he heard the glass crack.

The sound snapped him out of his uncharacteristic bad mood and he lifted
the glass to get a look at the damage, embarrassed at having lost his
temper enough to do something so stupid.  He seemed to be perfecting the
art these days.

With an effort, Han shrugged away his melancholy and turned to go
inside, stopping as he beheld his wife's silhouette in the light from
the doorway.  He caught his breath as she stepped onto the balcony and
welcomed the subtle easing in his tension at the sight of her.

Not quite five months pregnant, Leia was only now beginning to show the
first signs of change, the curves and hollows he knew so well taking on
a new lushness with the ripening of her body.  Her rich dark hair,
always his obsession, had acquired a new luxuriance, her eyes large and
luminous, capable of converting him to her will with one look into their
velvety brown depths.

The very sight of her often took his breath away; he found that he loved
her more than ever, and was deeply disturbed when they were at odds, as
now.

He set the damaged glass back on the table and moved toward her as she
approached him.  Wordlessly they embraced and stood clinging to each
other in an agony of tenderness and regret.
  
Long moments passed, the silence pierced only by the thundering of his
blood in his ears, the slamming of his heart against his ribs.

"I'm sorry," Leia murmured, her cheek against his chest, her arms tight
around him, his own wrapped around her still slender frame.  Han felt
her level of stress in the tightness of the muscles across her back,
like iron cords beneath his arms, and he held her close, absorbing her
fear, feeding her his strength. 

He caressed her shoulders as he held her.  "I'm sorry, too," he
confessed, rubbing his face against her hair, breathing her scent.  He
felt and accepted the outpouring of love and remorse that emanated from
her, returned the emotions in equal measure.

Han drew back a bit, lifted her chin and kissed her lips lightly,
surprised at their salty taste.  Looking at her closely, he saw that
she'd been crying.  Her tears affected him as always, twisting his
stomach and turning him inside out.

He brushed his lips against each eye, kissing away with awkward
tenderness the remnants of her sadness.  "Hey, sweetheart," he said. 
"None of that.  It'll be okay, I promise."  Han wished he could put more
conviction behind the assurance. 

Leia buried her head against his chest again, snuggled more deeply into
his embrace.  "What's happening to us?" she asked softly, her voice
quivering in a manner that he had never heard from her before.

Han smoothed the wealth of dark hair that rested against his chest,
stroking soothingly, searching for something inspirational to say, or at
the very least, something witty to break the dreadful melancholy that
permeated the balcony.  There seemed to be nothing he could say, and Han
felt again the familiar frustration, distressed at his inability to ease
her troubles, where he had always managed to do so before.  "I don't
know, sweetheart," he finally admitted.  "Tell me what you want me to
do," he urged quietly.  "I'll do anything you ask, you know that. 
Please, Leia...just talk to me."

Leia yearned for his comfort and understanding, yet feared letting him
read just how profound her depression had become.  For weeks she had
nurtured private fears, sensing darkness, deep and dreadful, a frozen
feeling of impending disaster.  Her inability to interpret these
perceptions was maddening, driving her deeper into despair with every
passing day.  Embarrassed at her own weakness, Leia had been determined
to keep these alien emotions to herself, suppressing them, hiding them
from Han and Luke and everyone else who cared for her.

In an unconscious act of self-preservation, she had even hidden them
from herself, choosing to believe instead that if darkness was not
acknowledged, then its existence was not a reality. 

She had repeated it to herself like a talisman for weeks, and had
recently come to fear that the charm was losing its effect.
 
"I just want you to hold me," she finally whispered, burying herself
deeply into her husband's embrace.  She drew fortitude from the lean,
hard body she pressed against, pulling from him a measure of the
strength that was uniquely his and hungrily grasping at its sustenance. 
"I don't want to talk.  Please...just hold me."

Tightening his arms around her, Han strove to remove all traces of
anxiety from his Sense.  Now was not the time to worry about the future,
he reasoned.  At this moment the thing they most needed was to
concentrate on the present.

They were here, together, holding each other beneath the evening's
star-spangled sky.  That was enough.  For now, that would have to be
enough.

*******************

//Leia Organa Solo...Leia Organa Solo...//

Deep in slumber, Leia recognized the voice sing-songing in her head, a
voice buried in her earliest childhood memories, and with it came
soothing projections of tranquility.

//Return to Endor.  There will you find your peace.  Return to
Endor...Leia Organa Solo...Leia Organa Solo...///

Abruptly the tone and timber of the voice shifted and Leia awoke,
smiling as she realized the voice in her ear was that of her husband. 
"Leia Organa Solo," he whispered.  "Leia Organa Solo."  She felt his
lips on her neck.

Turning automatically toward his voice, she smiled sleepily and reached
out a hand to stroke his scruffy chin, opened her eyes to his, inches
away.  "Scoundrel," she said lovingly.

"Mrs. Scoundrel," he growled, pulling her close and nuzzling the satiny
skin behind her ear.  "I still like the sound of that."  Then he took
her fully in his arms, and for a while the rest of the world went away.

Later, as she lay peacefully beside him, listening to the strong beating
of his heart beneath her ear, Leia marveled at the maturity of the
relationship she and Han had cultivated, the love growing stronger
through the years, the trust more profound.

Although they had had their share of disagreements, such as the silly
tiff of the evening before, they had persevered through all of the
adversities the Force had sent them, and with each victory Leia felt
their union strengthen.  She smiled dreamily as her thoughts carried her
back to their holiday on Endor, home of their most pleasant memories.

Endor...vague pieces of a dream swam in her head.  Endor.  She closed
her eyes, running through the Jedi memory enhancement exercises Luke had
taught her.  Her head lolled on Han's shoulder and she let her thoughts
drift back to an hour before...in a rush the verbal details of the
vision returned and Leia sat up with a start.  "We have to go back," she
said aloud.

Han reached for a length of her hair where it lay strewn across the
pillow, and leisurely draped it over his face, breathing in its heady
scent.  "Back where?" he mumbled.

"To Endor," she intoned in an absent sort of voice, seeing in her mind's
eye a panorama of ancient trees stretching endlessly before her.  It
seemed to Leia that she was taking in the vista from the very heart of
the greenery itself, surrounded by the lush vibrancy of the forest
moon.  

Han brushed the dark strands from one eye, peering through and cocking
an eyebrow quizzically.  "Again?"  Reaching with a lazy arm, he pulled
his wife back down against him and nuzzled her neck.

Leia willingly sank into his embrace, yet felt the need to justify her
outburst.  "I think I just had contact with someone."

"How very perceptive of you!" Han teased, biting her ear gently.

She laughed lightly and kicked him under the covers.  "I mean before I
had contact with you," she said.  "During a dream, sort of the way Luke
says Ben Kenobi used to come to him."  She thought for a moment.   "I
think it was my mother," she added slowly.  "My real mother..."

It had been so long, the vague memories she had retained from childhood
fading with each passing day.  But Leia remembered the delicate beauty
of her mother, the quiet intelligence in the dark brown eyes she'd
passed on to Leia, eyes she now saw in the twins.  "She told me to
return to Endor," Leia continued quietly, "and that I would find peace
there."

"So why don't we?"  Han seized upon the thought.  Only last evening he
had dreamed of taking off with his family, fleeing as far as possible
from Coruscant and the numerous outside influences in their lives. 
Excitement surged through him at the thought that they might actually do
such a thing. 

"I can't do that," Leia said patiently.  "At least not yet," she looked
down and patted the gentle swell of her stomach, mentally caressing the
new baby.  "Not until she's ready."

Han sighed, having anticipated such a response, yet resolved not to
reopen the subject, given the events of the preceding evening.  Instead,
he rested his hand on top of hers, slid it over to the side and caressed
the barely perceptible roundness.  "Have you felt her move yet?"  It was
a time he particularly enjoyed, when the new life within her made its
presence very much known, the bumps and kicks he could sometimes feel as
she snuggled against him at night making the coming child more of a
reality.

"Not yet," she murmured.  "But I should be feeling her any day now." 
She took his hand from her belly and kissed it.  "You do remember, don't
you, that it'll still be several weeks before you will be able to feel
it?"

Reluctantly he nodded.  "I know, I know.  I just wish I could go through
it all with you at the same time."  He was quiet for a moment.  "Like
Luke seems to be doing with that Jedi business you two share."

She glanced at him in surprise.  "You're not jealous, are you?"  At his
silence she pressed further.  "Han?  How can you be jealous of my own
brother?  Luke can't help what he feels, nor can I.  Neither of us can
lessen the bond that we share, as brother and sister, as twins, as Jedi
twins.  Luke only wants to make sure he looks out for his loved ones,
and he loves us all." 

She squeezed his hand.  "Surely you know that."

Grudgingly, Han nodded his head.  But somewhere deep in his gut there
was a slight twisting like a bad taste in his mouth, something he had
tried very hard to put behind him, but had never quite succeeded in
doing.  That special closeness that Luke and Leia had always shared,
while logically nothing to feel threatened by, nonetheless at times
rubbed Han the wrong way.

He especially resented the nagging suspicion that by the very nature of
such close contact, Luke was somehow intruding upon the intimacy Han
shared with Leia, at a time when there were already too many others
wanting bits and pieces of her for themselves.

Han impatiently pushed the thought away, as he had done so many times
during the past few weeks, wanting nothing to blemish this peaceful
interlude with his wife.  "Have you thought about what we'll call her?"
he asked, picking a much safer subject.

Leia rubbed her belly again, her eyes taking on that slightly absent
look she tended to get when reaching out through the Force.  "Arcadia,"
she said with conviction.  "I want to name her name Arcadia.  Because
she was conceived in Paradise."

"Arcadia Solo," he tested the name on his tongue.   "Arcadia Solo." 
Yes, he found he liked the sound of it.  The name had a certain strength
of character and was somehow fitting.

"Arcadia Organa Solo," Leia amended.  "I get to take some credit, too,
don't you think?"  She rose against his chest, kissed the scar below his
lower lip.

Han gazed up at his wife, and in meeting her eyes knew he could deny her
nothing.  Her cool fingers traced light patterns on his forehead.  He
trapped them in his, brought her hand down to his lips and kissed each
digit one by one, placing a final kiss in her palm before closing her
fingers over it. 

"Absolutely, Your Worship," he murmured, his eyes merry.  "After all,
this is a joint effort."